


To Know You is to Love You

by Coyote Laughing Softly (BitterNovember)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 561,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterNovember/pseuds/Coyote%20Laughing%20Softly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calm, rational discussions have never been their strong point. When a pre-wedding fight shows them that they need to get it together, Hermione suggests couples counseling with an innovative new method. Ron reluctantly agrees, and now the two of them are going to learn about each other in a way never before possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone! I'm new to the fandom, so thanks for taking the time to read this. I write for a different series under another name, so I'm not completely new to this. Ron and Hermione are one of my top two otps, so it was important for me to get their characters right. Reviews and PMs would be greatly appreciated, so I can see how I'm doing. I hope you all enjoy my take on the characters and this universe, and that I can meet some of you in the fandom! IMPORTANT: THIS IS ONLY THE FIRST CHAPTER. I can't get the tags to change it from saying one of one, because I'm inept. If anyone could enlighten me, it would be much appreciated. 

 

Hermione sighed as she Apparated into the entryway of the flat she shared with Ron. It had been a long day, and she was looking forward to removing her pinching shoes, releasing her hair from it's constraining bun, and finally being away from the judgemental eyes of her coworkers. She had been understanding of them at first, knowing that they would have reservations with working with someone likely to get special treatment, but she had hoped that once they saw the effort she put in, they would realize she was just as serious about this job as they were. She had done her best, trying to make office relations as unstrained as possible, yet it didn't seem to be doing any good. Being Hermione, she had put her head down and tried to work through it.

For two years.

If something didn't change soon, she was liable to snap, and that had never ended well for the opposing party. Hopefully, she would be able to do so in a manner that didn't end up with her being sacked. Pushing these negative thoughts to the side, she slipped her feet from her heels and stepped into the living room, taking her hair from it's clip and giving it a shake.

The sight that met her made her smile; Ron was seated on the couch, textbooks and papers spread around him and all over the coffee table in an untidy mess. His bright red hair was in slight disarray from where he had probably been running his fingers through it, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. His lips twitched as he poured over his notes, as they did whenever he was trying particularly hard to memorize something he was reading. She marveled, as she always did, how this could be the same person that could put off writing a paper until the last possible moment, and then end up getting her to do more than half of it, back when they were at Hogwarts. She supposed that it was different now that he actually cared about what he was studying.

The air was almost solid with his nervousness. He was nearing the final test of his Auror training, and the pressure had him in a state of high panic. All week his nerves had been stretched taut, the worry over whether he would manage to pass or not being so strong that he had actually lost his appetite. Hermione hated seeing him so pale and drawn, because she had no doubts whatsoever that he would succeed. He had focused so much effort into his training that he was near the top of the class, and his swift grasp of tactics and strategies had pretty much ensured that he would eventually rise to a high level position. She was immensely proud of him, but he didn't seem to realize that. He was pushing himself so much over these finals that she was afraid he was going to make himself sick. And he still had more than two weeks to go before the written exam. From there, those remaining would be sent to the field for a three week survival camp, with the top twelve going on to graduate. It wasn't unusual for an Auror candidate to have to repeat training, but Ron was determined to make it through the first sorting or die trying. And Hermione was beginning to fear that it just might come to that. Which would be unfortunate, seeing as how they planned to be married in just a bit over three months.

He hadn't been in for training today, and he only helped George occasionally in the shop anymore. Since he was wearing jeans and a sweater striped in shades of brown, with no sign of shoes or socks anywhere, it looked as if he had been on the couch all day. She came up beside him and placed a hand on the back of his neck to rub the tense muscles. Ron jumped at her touch, letting out a little yelp. Looking up at her in surprise, he scowled as she giggled.

"What the hell are you doing, Hermione? You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!"

She pushed a few books aside and sat down next to him. "Shouldn't the mighty Auror be aware of people Apparating into the apartment? I wasn't trying to sneak up on you, but I still managed to catch you off guard!" She teased.

"That's Auror in training, thank you very much. Besides, a man shouldn't have to be on guard in his own home!"

"Whatever happened to constant vigilance?" She laughed, leaning in to kiss him on the lips.

Distracted from pouting, he deepened the kiss, his hand going to the back of her head to draw her closer. She indulged him for a few moments longer before breaking away, smothering a smile at his look of disappointment.

"Have you been studying all day?" She asked softly.

Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get a decent snog in, he leaned back, stretching his sore muscles, then bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose.

"You know, I always thought potions classes back at Hogwarts were bad, but I think now I'm prepared to fail on a whole new level." He answered miserably.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I highly doubt it's that bad. Are you ready to break for supper, or have you already eaten yet?"

Normally easily distracted by the mention of food, Ron was a bit miffed that she had dismissed his concern so casually. Still, he wasn't in the mood to argue, so he bit his tongue.

"Actually, I don't think I've eaten since breakfast, so food sounds great."

Hermione stood and headed for the kitchen, calling back, "I'll get the water boiling and the sauce started for some spaghetti, if you'll come in and watch it for me while I take a shower, alright?"

Ron replied in the affirmative, shuffling his notes around, attempting to get them in some semblance of order. He had almost lost himself in his studies again when the scents from the kitchen began pulling at him, his stomach growling loudly. He stood leaning into the doorway, watching her as she stirred the bright red sauce in the saucepan, her eyes narrowed in thought. Her hand absently rubbed her lower back, and Ron realized she looked as tired as he felt. In a few quick strides he was across the room, taking the spoon from her hand and pushing her away gently.

"Go on and take your shower. I'll go ahead and finish this up."

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks, that sounds lovely. I won't be long."

Kissing his cheek, she left, the absence of any protest a sure sign that she was more exhausted than she had let on. Ron glowered at the sauce as if it had deeply offended him. He knew those arses at the office were still giving her trouble, and it was all he could do to keep himself from going down there and giving them a piece of his mind. Not long ago he would have done just that, but he had developed a bit more patience and discretion over the years. That, or he was just getting old. A smug grin crossed his features at some of the things he had gotten up to with Hermione last weekend. No, getting old was most definitely not his problem. For a moment he preened over his growth in maturity, but his spark of happiness quickly faded, being replaced by worry. His upcoming exams had him constantly on edge, and he wasn't sure how he would handle it if he didn't pass. Harry had told him to stop worrying so much, that his spot was practically guaranteed. That did little to comfort Ron; obviously Harry had gotten the two of them mixed up. Of course, it was easy for Harry. Not only was he already comfortably off financially, but every department in the Ministry would kill for the chance of having the Chosen One work for them. Ron, on the other hand, had to face the very real possibility of having to beg his brother for a full time job if this didn't pan out.

The idea didn't set well with him. He loved George, but he would go mental if he had to work for him on a permanent basis. He winced at the thought of Hermione having to introduce her husband as a joke shop clerk. He could practically see the disdain on their faces, knowing that Hermione would become less in their eyes by her association with him. He couldn't let that happen. She deserved more than that. Hell, she deserved more than him, but through some miracle she had chosen him, so the least he could do was minimize the level of disappointment her decision was bound to cause her.

Hearing movement from the bedroom, he quickly drained the pasta, and was just putting the plates on the table when she came in. Her hair was still damp, and she had changed into dark blue pajama pants with a lighter blue t-shirt.

For most of the meal they ate in an easy silence, both taking pleasure in the food they had badly needed. Once the gnawing edge of hunger had worn off, Hermione ventured a question.

"So is your studying going well? If you're having any problems, I can help you once we're through in here." She offered.

Ron rolled his eyes as he swallowed a mouthful. "Thanks, but I think I can manage on my own."

Hermione shrugged. "Fine. It's just that Harry mentioned he was having a hard time, so I thought I would offer."

"Of course. If Harry's having problems, then there's no way I could be doing well on my own, is that it?" Ron bristled.

Setting her fork down with a sharp click, she frowned. "That's not what I said! Don't put words in my mouth, Ron!"

"My words wouldn't fit in your mouth, Hermione, it's always too full of your own." He retorted sharply, then immediately regretted it at the look of hurt that flashed across her face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I've just been stressed lately, and I'm snapping at everything."

"I don't understand why you're so upset about this. You've done well so far, and you and Harry are sure to-"

Ron shoved his empty plate away, no longer hungry for seconds. "Harry, yeah. But that doesn't guarantee me a spot. They made that clear on the first day of training."

"Only because they didn't know you! They stopped giving you such a hard time once they realized you weren't relying on Harry to get you through!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly, the memory of the whispered gossip and outright bullying Ron had had to put up with his first few months still able to spark her anger.

He snorted. "That may be true, but let's face it. Harry could skip this last test and he'd pass right on through. I have to be lucky enough to be one of the twelve, no, eleven, not counting him, that makes it out of a group of fifty."

"That's not fair. You know he's working just as hard to-"

"Not the point, Hermione! Is Harry good at this? Yeah, he is. Does he deserve to be an Auror? Again, yes. But no matter what he does, he's going to be given a free pass for who he is. I'm not mad about that, it's just the way it is. But right now, I'm more concerned with my results than his."

Her jaw clenching at the hostility in his voice, Hermione stood and carried their plates to the sink, setting them to wash with a flick of her wand.

"But you're going to do fine! You've gotten excellent marks so far, and your instructors have said positive things about you. Harry said-"

"Can we leave him out of this? Please?" He gritted out, his temper fraying.

Hermione swung around, her drying hair falling into her eyes. She brushed it out of the way impatiently. "That's rather hard, Ron! For Merlin's sake, he's your best friend, you're going through training together, you're going to be working with him, and if that wasn't enough, you're practically in-laws already! How do you suggest I not bring him up? Honestly, you could try to handle this in a mature manner-"

"This isn't fourth year, Hermione. This is my job, my future I'm worried about. I'm sorry if that isn't mature enough for you!" His voice was sharp and cold, and his ears had reached a dangerous level of maroon.

But Hermione's natural temper and the stress of her work week blinded her to the warning signs, and she was set for a good argument to vent her frustrations on. He had been difficult to live with for weeks, and she was getting tired of it.

"While I'm glad that you're taking this seriously, quite frankly, I'm more concerned with how Harry is going to manage. I was talking to him about it the other day and-"

She might as well have been reciting poetry in Mandarin. Ron heard nothing after the words, 'I'm more concerned for Harry.' That had cut him deeply. Here he was, trying so hard to make something of himself, to ensure they had a good start to their future, and all she could think of was bloody Harry Potter, The Boy Who Was Assured Gainful Employment!

"I'm not doing this." He said quietly, turning on his heel and going straight for the front door, stopping only to jam his trainers on. His hand was on the door when he heard her panicked voice behind him.

"Ron? Ron! Where are you going?"

He turned back, the thinly veiled terror in her brown eyes bringing back uncomfortable memories.

"I'm just going for a walk to cool down. I'll be back in a little while, I promise." His voice was softer than it had been all evening. He hated that he had to say this every time he needed a break from a fight. She had forgiven him, but still carried the fear of his leaving all those years ago. Part of him worried she always would. Part of him knew that the day she stopped asking him would most likely be the day when she didn't care if he came back or not.

If that was the case, he didn't want her to stop asking. Even if it stabbed his heart every time.

At her tiny nod, he left the flat, wandering aimlessly down the street. While they bickered on an almost daily basis, they rarely had a serious fight, but when they did, it could turn ugly. He hated that; he hated hurting her, and he hated being hurt by her. The problem with knowing each other as well as they did was that they knew just what words to use to inflict the most pain, and in the heat of their anger, they didn't hold back. They were always incredibly sorry afterwards, and the make up sex was wicked, but he wished they could skip the harsh words and raised voices and go straight to the shagging.

The cool night air soothed his flaming ears, and he concentrated on returning his breathing to normal as he walked, the street lights flickering on around him. Now that he was away, he knew he had probably overreacted. He had come a long way, but he still had a bad habit of getting defensive under pressure. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't brought up Harry every two sentences. He loved Harry; he was his best mate, and, as Hermione pointed out earlier, nearly his brother-in-law. But when he was having a problem, he just wanted her to focus on him. He wanted words of understanding and compassion, not impatience and comparison to Harry. He had gotten over his jealousy for the most part, but when he was feeling down, he selfishly wanted all of Hermione's attention for himself. At least until he snapped out of his funk and got his head on straight. Then she could fuss over Harry as much as she wanted, and he would just roll his eyes in fond exasperation.

He came to himself with a start, noticing for the first time how dark it had gotten. It was later than he had planned on, and Hermione was probably getting worried about now. Turning in the direction of home, he mentally went over what he needed to say. An apology for snapping at her was in order. He knew he hadn't been the most pleasant person to live with recently, but she had been more than good about it. He would promise to make more of an effort in these last few weeks leading up to his test. Briefly, he considered telling her how her words had made him feel, but he knew he would mess that up somehow, and she would be upset with him for thinking she was choosing Harry over him, even though that wasn't what he meant. Glancing at his watch, he calculated it had been a bit over three hours since the beginning of their fight. His lips lifted in a small smile. While their fighting was still explosive, at least they no longer went months before making up.

The lights in the living room and kitchen were out when he got back, so he knew she was already in bed. Hopefully she had stayed awake; if she had gone to sleep, it would mean that he would be getting the cold shoulder the next day. Expecting to find her either sleeping or propped up reading a book, he was taken aback to see that she was just sitting against the headboard, her knees drawn up to her chin with her arms wrapped around them, her eyes pink rimmed and puffy from crying.

He stood in the doorway, unsure how to proceed. His mind sought the appropriate words for the situation; something to convey his regret about the fight, that he wasn't mad anymore, and that he didn't want to argue with her. In his head, he was smooth and articulate.

What came out of his mouth, was, "Hey."

Bleeding hell. He mentally slapped himself. Hey? Was that really the best he could do?

"Hello." She sniffled, her voice still thick from crying. Kicking off his trainers, he edged over to the bed, sitting next to her. He put his arm around her shoulders, praying he was making the right move. Hermione was anything but predictable. What would set her off one day would have her melting into him on another, and he had long since given up trying to figure out the pattern as a lost cause. Tonight he was lucky, and she turned to him, her arm sliding around his waist as she buried her face into his chest. He rested his chin on top of her head, opening his mouth to speak. But in typical Hermione fashion, she beat him to it.

"Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come home and snap at you like that, but Elkins has been on my case all week, I have four reports due, and everything seems to be coming at me at once. When I said that I was worried about Harry, it was only because I know he hasn't been doing well in the written portion of his classes. He does wonderfully out in the field at the spur of the moment, but he isn't very good at planning things out, and he can't seem to picture tactics and manuevers in his head just by looking at them on a piece of paper like you can."

The twelve year old that lived in the dark recesses of Ron's mind cheered at this bit of praise, but he squashed it back, focusing on what was fast becoming a flood of words from his fiance's mouth.

"And I wasn't trying to imply that I thought your worries weren't important! I know how much this means for you and how hard you've worked for it! I was just trying to tell you that I believe you have nothing to worry about because there's no way you could possibly fail, but every time I try to tell you that, t-the words come out all w-wrong and I just end up m-making you a-angry!"

Her words ended with a small wail, as she had begun to cry again, her body shaking with repressed sobs. Her tears had already soaked through the thick material of his pullover, and he saw that her nose was red when he cupped her cheek to tilt her face towards his. Gently, he brushed his thumb over her lips, halting her explanations.

"Easy, there! Hermione, calm down. I know you didn't mean anything by it. It's just that I've been so wound up lately, it didn't take much to set me off. These last couple of months I've been a right bastard, and I've hardly said anything to you that hasn't been some sort of complaint. That's not fair to you, and I'm sorry for that."

Her sobbing had subsided, but tears still hung in her eyes. "I still should have handled that better. What you're dealing with is hard enough, and I never should have mentioned Harry."

Ron sighed deeply. Just as he had thought, she had taken it wrong. "Look, I'm not...I'm not jealous of Harry, if that's what you're thinking. It's just that it's hard enough as it is always being linked with him and having everything I do measured up against him during training, that when I come home, I don't really want to deal with it here, too. I know it's not a competition. It's just hard trying to live up to him and everything that he's done. Impossible, actually."

"What do you mean, 'everything that he's done'? You've done just as much as Harry!"

He snorted so hard it ruffled her fringe. "I'm sorry, did you miss the whole defeating Voldemort bit?" He asked dryly.

"Ron," she spoke, her voice earnest, "don't you see? Harry had to do those things. He never had a choice!"

"I know that. I'm not saying he did. But-"

"All the things he's done, it's only because he would have been killed otherwise! But you, you always had a choice! And you chose to risk your life, time and again, because your friend needed you! You could have stopped at any point, and no one would have blamed you, but you didn't!"

His eyes darkened as thoughts of a cold, rainy night in a wooded area far from home filled his mind.

"But I did stop. Remember?" His voice was rough with self-loathing.

Hermione dug her fingers into his shirt, gripping him tightly. "And you came back!" She answered him fiercely, her eyes telling him that she wouldn't let him go there, wouldn't listen as he put himself down.

He closed his eyes, holding back the sting of his own tears. "You say all these things, and sometimes I can almost make myself believe them. But other times, I'm about thirteen again, and it's like I have no confidence at all."

That wasn't something he had been intending to confide, and regretted it as soon as her fresh tears registered.

"I know. And I hate that no matter how hard I try, I can't make you see you the way I do! What do I have to do, Ron? Why can I never find the right words to get through to you? Sometimes I think you'd be better off with someone who could-"

"Don't. Say that. Ever!" He growled, covering her mouth with his hand. "Don't talk as if you're not the best thing that's ever happened to me, because you are. Don't talk as if the thought alone of being with someone else doesn't make me sick. Understand?"

At her nod, he removed his hand, ducking his head to kiss her. He had meant it to be brief and reassuring, but her hand shot from his chest to his hair, holding him in place as she deepened it, her lips parting to allow her tongue to dart out. He groaned into her mouth as her leg raised up to hook over his waist, knowing where this was headed. After these types of fights, each one seemed almost desperate to get as close as possible to the other, as if to say with their bodies what their words failed to convey.

Gripping her at the back of her knee, he pulled her tighter against him, grinding himself into her. His hand slid further up her thigh, reaching her arse, guiding her hips as she began to thrust. Her hands had wandered to the edge of his jumper, pushing it higher to stroke the heated skin of his abs, which had gained a nice definition during training. As his shirt reached his shoulders, he twisted awkwardly to help her remove it, tossing it back towards the foot of the bed. Deciding that things would be even better if she too, was topless, he tugged the thin material over her head, a strangled sound catching in the back of his throat when he saw that she was braless. His hands, large to begin with, looked even bigger splayed over her ribcage. He inched them up to cover her breasts, which were bobbing with her ragged breaths in what he always considered an enticing manner. She arched her back as his thumbs skimmed circles around her nipples, her eyes almost black with desire. Not content to merely touch, he lowered his head and engulfed one bud with his mouth, sucking it into a firm peak.

Even after over four years together, he never got tired of this, of watching her come completely undone at his touch. It was during these moments where everything else was washed away. All his doubts and fears, the daily stresses of life ceased to exist. It was just Hermione that all of his thoughts and senses were focused on, and what made it even better was the fact that he knew it was the same way for her. Her mind wasn't on work or books, none of their various friends or family. It was all him, and his name never fell sweeter from her lips than it did when she called out for him.

Trailing his mouth downwards, he slipped his fingers into the elastic waistbands of both her pants and knickers, pulling them down to her knees as he nibbled on her hipbone. She worked them down to her ankles and kicked them away, her legs spreading as he settled himself between them. Her folds were already slick with moisture, which he eagerly lapped up before he went to work on her clit. His tongue flicked over it in short, firm strokes, which he alternated with sucking. Tracing his fingers around her entrance, he dipped one inside of her, starting a slow pace that he quickened when her hands tangled in her hair and she began bucking into his mouth. Adding a second finger, he crooked them forward, hitting the spot that always got her off the fastest. Her cries became louder, and he felt her muscles clamp down on him as the waves of her orgasm crashed down on him.

He crawled up her body, shedding his jeans and boxers as he went. As her body shook, he placed small kisses up the column of her neck to the spot behind her jaw, nipping the tender skin. His cock was hard, and he rubbed it into her thigh for a bit of relief. She moved under him, wordlessly signalling that she was ready. With a smooth thrust borne of much practice he entered her, groaning at the tightness. Her heels locked together behind him, urging him in deeper. Sweat slicked both of their bodies as they moved together, fringe clinging damply to foreheads as the curses he had been holding back escaped him. His thrusts became harder as her nails raked paths down his back, leaving red welts in their wake. He held out as long as he could before he felt the familiar tightening in his stomach. At his release his mind went blank, barely registering his name being shouted once more. When he floated back into his body, he rolled to the side, fearful that he had crushed her. Apparently he hadn't, for she only smiled up at him sleepily before kissing his jaw.

Rolling onto his back, he tried to hold on to the lightness that filled him for as long as possible, the fingers of his left hand toying with her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder while she traced slow patterns on his chest. He sighed contentedly, feeling better than he had in days. They had fought, cleared the air, and made up. It would all happen again, he knew, but that was just the way they were; they were both stubborn and temperamental, but that didn't mean they didn't love and respect each other. Their relationship had always had it's ups and downs, but it was much steadier than it had been when they were children, and he was sure, given time, that it would become even more so. The bickering would continue, but their most explosive battles should become fewer and farther between.

"Ron, we can't go on like this."

Her words startled him out of his thoughts like a bludger to the gut. He flipped onto his side, his eyes searching hers for any sign that she didn't mean what she was saying.

He didn't find any.

"Wha- but, I thought we were sorted? It wasn't that bad, was it? I know I can be hard to deal with, but to say you're ready to chuck it in already-" his voice cracked, but he didn't care. All he could hear was his world shattering around him.

Hermione blinked rapidly, quickly scrambling into a seated position and taking his face in her hands.

"No! I don't mean us! I mean the horrible way we fight!"

The beating of his heart slowed back down to something approaching a normal pace at her words. "What do you mean? You know we say things we don't mean when we get mad, Hermione. We've always been that way. We blow up, and then we get over it."

She released a heavy sigh. "I know that. That doesn't mean that I like it, or that it's right. I hate how we do this to each other, and we never seem to fix things between this. We always end up...distracting ourselves, and then ignoring it."

"We're getting better." He muttered, unable to argue with the accuracy of her statement.

A fine eyebrow arched in response. "Are we really? Ron, we may be alright now, but I can't help but believe that we're just going to keep bottling up all these little things until one of us finally explodes. I don't think I could take that. You...you mean too much to me to lose you over something like this."

"What do you think we can do about it?" He asked in resignation, knowing she was right. He had been lucky with her up until now; surely he could only press his luck so far before she got sick of trying.

He watched curiously as she shifted away, her eyes darting around as she chewed on her lower lip. Interesting. This was the way she acted when she had either done something that would possibly get her into trouble, or was about to. He didn't think he had seen her look like that since after the war while he was still living back at the Burrow, sneaking around behind his mum's back to do decidedly more than snogging.

"Do you remember Seth and Justine Carrington?" She finally asked.

Eyes scrunched in thought, he matched the names to faces of a couple that worked in the Ministry. "Yeah, what about them?"

"Well, you saw them at last year's Christmas party. There was practically a wall of ice between them, and rumors were flying about them headed for divorce."

Ron winced, none to happy at bringing up divorce before they were even married. Then a thought struck him. "Hold up, didn't we run into them in the shops about a month ago? We did! And if I remember right, they were completely soppy over each other. Almost enough to put me off my lunch!"

Hermione beamed at him, nodding eagerly. "Exactly! I found out why, too. They went to this new therapist in a last ditch effort to patch things up, and it worked wonders! I was skeptical, but I've done a bit of research, and this woman is really good at what she does. Apparently, she's developed an entirely new method of couple's therapy." She spoke faster when she saw the doubt begin to cloud his face. "From what I've heard, the sessions last under a month, which is practically a miracle in itself. So it's not like it would take up much of your time-"

"I dunno, Hermione. Are you sure there isn't another way?"

Her eyes narrowed at his interruption. "Are you saying that we're not worth it?" She asked with a hint of frost to her voice.

He leaned back, hands raised in defense at what he mentally referred to as her 'canary face.' "Not what I meant! I'm just not keen on some stranger pushing her nose into our business and telling us we're doing everything wrong, is all."

The stiffness in her shoulders relaxed as the defensiveness seeped out of her. "The idea doesn't thrill me too much either, but I really think we should give it a chance. Besides...I heard there are, um...added benefits to her methods." She mumbled the last part almost too low for him to hear.

"And what would that be?"

Her face flushed a deep shade of red that he was more accustomed to seeing on his own face as she answered, "I'm told that no matter how good your sex life is, it always ends up even better after the sessions have ended. So will you please consider thinking about it? You would at least get something out of it this way."

He fluffed up his pillow, watching her out of the corner of his eye. If he was honest, it didn't really sound all that bad. And if he went along, at least this way she could never say he hadn't made the effort, right? More than anything, he wanted things between them to work. He had come close to losing her so many times before, and the thought of that actually happening was unbearable.

"Hermione, you don't have to bribe me with sex, as brilliant as that sounds. Make an appointment, and we'll see how it goes."

The air was knocked out of him as she lunged herself onto his body to wrap him in a hug, a pleased smile lighting her features. "I'll look into it on my way home tomorrow. I only have to work a half day, so I should be home in time for a late lunch."

He arranged his limbs to accommodate her frame more comfortably. "I only have morning exercises tomorrow. They're telling us to spend more time in self study, so I'll be here when you get back. Just try to set things up for a weekend meeting, if you can."

Hermione nodded happily, snuggling into him. He watched her as she drifted off. He really, really hoped he hadn't agreed to something he was going to regret. Of course, he supposed the worst thing that could happen was that this woman would try to get him to talk about things with Hermione that he had no intention of ever discussing. That shouldn't be too hard to avoid; Hermione knew the issues that he couldn't even deal with himself, much less get into with her. She wouldn't press him. So really, he had nothing to worry about, right?

That would have been true if they had stuck to the conventional methods of talking a problem through. But Ron was about to learn that he had much more than words to fear...

The next day, Hermione watched the seconds tick away on her office clock impatiently, grabbing her briefcase and making for the exit the moment it struck eleven. Using the Floo network to get to the Leaky Cauldron, she found the small side-street off of Diagon Alley where the address she was looking for was situated. She had expected something professional looking, and was surprised when she saw that she was standing in front of a quaint three story Victorian style home. It was painted in a soothing shade of blue with yellow and white trim, and when she stepped inside, the color scheme followed her.

To the left of the door sat a heavy set receptionist with frizzy brown hair, with a small name tag that read, 'Mildred.' She smiled up at Hermione pleasantly, and asked if she could be of any help.

"Yes, I was hoping to make an appointment with Dr. Fletcher. If it's possible, sometime on a weekend would be best."

Mildred flipped open an appointment book, with appointments in glowing red ink, and free dates in blue. Taking up a quill, she glanced at Hermione inquiringly.

"There is a questionnaire for the two of you to fill out before your appointment is confirmed, but if you take it home tonight and have it owled back in the morning, we can set you up for next weekend."

"That would be perfect. Is that all I need to do?"

"I just need your names, relationship status, length of said relationship, and what you hope to address in these meetings."

"I'm Hermione Granger, and my fiance's name is Ron Weasley. We've been together just over four years, but have known each other closer to eleven." She hesitated, wondering how best to word the next part.

"I suppose you could say we're hoping to work out our communication issues before we get married."

Mildred nodded approvingly as she jotted the answers down in neat, tidy script. "Premarital counselling then? A wise idea." She turned to a short filing cabinet, pulling out two thin stacks of paper from a yellow coded folder.

"Each of you needs to fill one of these out. Please answer honestly, and to the best of your ability. If we receive them before nine, we can have your reply by noon. So, unless you have any questions, I think you're all set!"

Hermione took the papers, hoping Ron would do his part without too much grumbling. Paperwork had never been something he was keen on.

"Is there anything we should be prepared for on our first session? I have a general idea of how things work normally, but I've been lead to believe that things are done differently here."

"That is true, but it's nothing to worry about. Further instructions will be sent along with your confirmation, and will explain what is expected of you."

With that, Hermione was wished a good day, and she stepped outside to Apparate home. Ron was back in his nest of books and papers on the couch, but unlike yesterday, he noticed her arrival. He stood with a smile, crossing the room to pull her into a loose embrace, kissing her softly.

"So how did it go? Did you find out anything useful?"

Hermione walked over to the couch, setting her briefcase on the coffee table. "If things go well, we should have our first appointment next weekend."

Ron cocked his head to the side, following her and clearing a space on the couch. "Don't you know whether we do or not?"

He was handed a sheaf of papers as an answer. "We have to fill these questions out and send them in, and then they'll send us an answer."

Groaning, he ran his hand through his hair. "Merlin's flabby tits!Are you seriously telling me we have to take a test for this?"

She crossed her arms, her chin jutting forward. "It's not a test! It's only a few simple questions, and I'm sure they're used in some way to evaluate what we need to work on. Come on, I'll change my clothes, and it won't take us long at all. After we're done, we can go out for lunch."

Knowing he was being bribed with food but unable to muster any resistance, he plopped down, taking up his quill and preparing to get it over with. Hermione went to the bedroom and changed into a pair of jeans and a purple turtleneck, then rejoined him.

Half a page in, Ron looked up to gaze at her incredulously. "What the bloody hell? What kinds of questions are these? 'Do you prefer bacon or sausage? If you were reincarnated, would you be a trout, or a duck? Explain your answer.' Hermione, are you sure this woman's not an escapee from Saint Mungo's?" He read over the paper once more. "Or a relative of Luna's, for that matter?"

Hermione's mouth worked silently as she tried to come up with an answer, when in truth she was just as befuddled as he was. "I don't understand...none of this makes any sense, but her results don't lie. At least the questions aren't too personal or invasive." She finished weekly.

A non-committal grunt was her only response, but she figured it was best to leave it at that. As he worked, she noticed he frequently snickered in amusement, so at least he was entertained enough to go through with it.

Twenty minutes later they had both finished, and folded the papers into envelopes for Pig to deliver in the morning. As they got ready to go out, Hermione gave them one last look. She hoped that the actual appointment was more straightforward.

The next day, she sent the questionnaire off early, Pig streaking into the sky energetically. She was concerned when he hadn't returned an hour later, but relaxed when he came fluttering in at a quarter to noon, a letter clutched in his claws. Taking it from him, she gave him a treat and a scratch on the neck, placing him in his cage while he hooted in contentment.

"Was that Pig?" Ron called from the kitchen, where he was working through a plate full of ham sandwiches.

Hermione had opened the letter and scanned it quickly as she walked back to the table, sitting in front of him.

"Yes, he came back with the answer. We're supposed to be there at seven Friday morning. The strange part is, we're supposed to make arrangements to be gone until Sunday evening."

Ron nearly choked on his sandwich. That sounded far to long to talk about squishy things like feelings and emotions in one setting. He had expanded himself beyond teaspoon range, but this was pushing it. Still, Hermione said that these things usually didn't last more than a month, so it made sense, in a weird sort of way. Maybe he could get Hermione to do most of the talking. He hid a smile. Who was he kidding? If questions were being asked, she wouldn't be able to help herself! If he was lucky, the most he would have to do was nod and make noises of agreement. There was only one other thing to take care of.

"Well, we both have a four day weekend next week, but have you forgotten? We were supposed to spend most of it at the Burrow. What are you planning on telling my family?"

Hermione blinked. "Why can't we just tell them the truth? There's no reason to be ashamed of what we're doing, and I'm sure everyone would be supportive."

Smirking, he rested his elbows on the table, propping his chin in his hands. "That's not the point. This is my family we're talking about, remember? Weasleys? Red hair? Bad sweaters? An opinion for absolutely everything? Do you honestly believe you can tell them what we're going to do, and have them leave it at that? Face it, everyone will have to get their two knuts in, and none of them will agree with the other, and we'll end up smack in the middle of it."

Her eyes closed tightly, a throbbing sensation developing at her temples. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She could vividly picture it now.

His smile stretched larger as he pointed a long finger at her. "Feel that? That's the ghost of Headaches Yet to Come. Still think it's a good idea to tell them?"

Sighing loudly, she made her decision. "Alright, you may have a point. Let's just tell them we decided to take a trip together, just the two of us. We can blame it on the stress at work, and say we haven't been able to see much of each other because of it. It wouldn't even be a lie."

Ron let out a laugh. "Perfect. I love it when you get all devious. Brings back fond childhood memories."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I'm not devious! I'm...pragmatic." she said primly.

"Yeah, I'm sure Rita Skeeter thought you were being 'pragmatic' when you kept her in that bottle, or-"

She kicked his shin, but he only laughed harder, and after a few minutes, she joined him. One of the things she had always loved about Ron was his ability to get her to take things less seriously, herself included.

"Alright, if we're going to be gone three days, I'm going to have to study harder to make up for it." He said, sending his plate to the sink and getting ready to leave the room. Seeing her face fall, he added, "You can help me with the history of Aurors portion, if you'd like. I need to find some way to drill these dates into my head."

Perking up instantly, she began to go on about memory tricks and study plans, delighted to be in her element. Ron was reminded of cramming for tests back at school, not something he recalled fondly. But watching her denim covered arse as she walked away, his mood lightened. He did have his own methods of loosening Professor Granger up, after all. And he had absolutely no problem with resorting to devious means if necessary.

The week flew by, and they were able to keep their squabbles to a manageable level. Each time things started to go too far, their eyes would meet, and they were reminded of exactly what these meetings would hopefully solve. Both felt a mixture of impatience and eagerness to get this over with, so it was with twisting stomachs and jangling nerves that found them on the doorstep of the blue Victorian early on Friday morning.

Ron's jaw popped in a loud yawn as he followed her inside, taking in their surroundings as she checked in with the receptionist. The woodwork was polished cherry, and it gleamed in the light of lamps placed around the room. Cushy armchairs and couches in navy blue were spread out, along with tables containing the usual magazines.

"If you'll step this way, Dr. Fletcher is ready to see you now. You're the first appointment of the day, so there's no sense in having you wait."

They were lead down the hall into a small room that was furnished with the same type of furniture as the waiting room; a couch facing a chair, with a small table in the middle. There were a few pictures on the walls, nature scenes that mostly featured bodies of water. Sitting in the chair was a woman who looked to be less than ten years older than them, with startling white blond hair and blue eyes behind large, purple framed glasses. She was dressed fairly casually in a pressed pair of dark washed jeans and a pink button down shirt topped by a rose pullover. Going by the hair and the almost other-wordly look in her eyes, Ron was even more suspicious of a connection to Luna. That thought was blasted away as her eyes suddenly became shrewd and calculating, taking their measure before they were seated.

"Good morning, Ron, Hermione." She reached forward to shake their hands, her grip firm. "My name is Dr. Fletcher, but please, call me Ursula. I know you may be confused as to why you'll be staying here for nearly three days, but I assure you, it will be clear once you understand exactly what you're going to be doing. Now, I'm sure you have questions before we begin, so fire away!"

She had a light, pleasant voice, and an understanding and capable manner that inspired confidences.

"What was the point of all those barmy questions you made us fill out?" Ron blurted, earning a glare and a hiss to behave from Hermione.

Ursula threw back her head, laughing. "No, that's fine! Most people have the same question. The simple answer is that it weeds out a lot of people that aren't serious about this. I have no intention on wasting my time on someone that isn't committed. And," she smiled devilishly, dimples forming in each cheek, "some of the answers I get are quite entertaining. You'd also be surprised with how much people unknowingly reveal about themselves."

"Such as?" Ron asked again, but this time with no protest from Hermione, who was quite curious herself.

"Such as the fact that you would rather be almost anywhere but here, but that Hermione is important enough for you to overlook your reservations and give this a try."

Ron was shocked. "You got all that from the fact that I like bacon?"

The blond shrugged. "What can I say? I'm good at what I do." She glanced at the small silver watch on her wrist. "How about I start explaining things, and you can ask about whatever you feel that I don't cover?"

At their nods, she sat back, steepling her fingers under her chin. "As you know, this is an entirely new method of therapy, and one, I'm happy to say, that is strongly suited to the two of you. Most of the time conventional means are used, which can mean years of slogging through past events, trying to untangle the the feelings and actions behind them. Apart from the fact that this his highly tedious," Ron found himself in fervent agreement, thankful that he would be spared. "I don't think that would help you very much. You, Ron, are very stubborn, and you don't easily talk about your emotions. You would clam up and withhold, not because you were trying to be difficult, but because you feel as if you lack the means to properly express yourself, and you are afraid of being misunderstood. Hermione, you are also stubborn, but whereas Ron is reticent, you would prefer to take everything apart and study it until you understood it. Both of you would become frustrated, and more problems than solutions would resolve. Do you think that is a fair statement?"

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks, wordlessly communicating how uneasy they were about the fact that she had them pegged so easily. Once again, they nodded, waiting for her to go on.

For a moment, she only watched them, but when she spoke, it was with utter gravity. "Before we continue, I need to stress how important it is that you trust each other. Don't answer lightly; others have, and later regretted it."

"I trust him." Hermione's answer came immediately, no hesitation or doubt in her voice.

Ursula sat forward intently. "Are you sure of that? You have no doubt at all? You're positive he will be there to support you through this?"

Dreading her answer, he turned to face her. Her eyes met his while she answered. "I'm sure. Ron wouldn't leave me. Not for anything."

Her simple words made him want to cry. For years he had been burdened with the guilt of abandoning her during the search for the Horcruxes, sure that her faith in him would never fully heal. For the first time, he saw a glimmer of hope that he was wrong. He squeezed the hand that had made it's way into his, his heart feeling light.

"And you, Ron? You've been awfully quiet. Is that you're way of saying-"

"I trust Hermione with my life!" He answered angrily, almost growling.

Blue eyes regarded him for a long, tense moment.

"That's good to hear. Now that that's been cleared up, we can move on. Are both of you familiar with what a Pensieve is and how it is used? Good. That was actually what I based all of my work on. What you are going to be doing is very similar."

A sense of dread began to form in Ron's stomach, much like he used to get before a Quidditch game.

"I have developed a way to access a person's memories so that not only can you see them, but you can feel their emotions and hear their thoughts at the same time. This means that complete understanding between two people can be achieved; no holding back, no miscommunications. What you will be doing is opening yourself up to the other, letting them see everything from your early childhood to the present. Not every second, you understand, but events that shaped who you are as an individual, and who you are as a couple. That's why you'll be here three days. The two of you are relatively young, so I think it will be possible to do this in one session, taking into account that time spent in memories passes faster than that on the outside. Do you think you're ready for this?"

No. No, he most definitely was not ready! Panic bubbled in his chest. He did not want to do this. There were so many things he didn't want her to see, so many flaws he never wanted her to find! He lurched to his his feet, the thought of escape the only thing on his mind.

"Ron? You just said you trusted her with your life. Has that changed?"

He halted, confused. "Of course not! But this is different, this is-"

"This is your life. Your hopes and fears, weaknesses and strengths. Everything that makes you, you. Trusting someone to keep you alive is easier than you think. No, what's hard is laying yourself bare to another, trusting that in the end, their love for you will remain unchanged."

Her words ran through his head, searing him with their truth. He felt a tug on his hand, and looked down into Hermione's eyes, seeing fear but also determination.

"There are things I would prefer that you never saw, Ron. I won't lie and say I'm not afraid, because I am. But if there was one person I had to share myself with, one person I would let know everything about me, that person would be you."

He closed his eyes, taking in a shuddering breath. He still didn't want to do this. But the fact that she was afraid too gave him an odd sort of comfort. She was willing to go this far to ensure that their future was a happy one. After all the times he had let her down in the past, all the times he had failed to support her, could he afford to be that selfish now? He was supposed to be a Gryiffindor for Merlin's sake! This could be the making or the breaking of them. But if he walked away now, he knew he would be planting seeds of doubt, and that Hermione would always wonder what was inside of him that he didn't trust her with, and it would drive her mad.

Hermione did not do well with unsolved puzzles.

Besides, if he was honest, there were a lot of things that this would answer for him, things he had always been too afraid to ask. He probably wouldn't like some of the answers. Hell, he was sure of it. But he knew Hermione, didn't he? All of the impotant things about her. He loved her, and nothing he learned now was going to change that, and he had to trust that it was the same for her. After all, if they didn't have trust, what did they have? Nothing. And he refused to believe that, that that there could possibly be a future that didn't end with them together.

"Alright. I'll do it." The words barely squeezed around the lump in his throat, but he got them out. The smile he got from Hermione made him sure he was doing the right thing.

"Excellent. If you'll follow me, we can get started." Ursula said briskly, standing and striding to the door. Hands laced together tightly, Hermione and Ron followed, down a corridor, up a flight of stairs, and down a hallway. They entered a small bedroom, with two single beds on either side of the room.

"Go ahead and get comfortable while I set everything up. It won't take long."

"Um, 'scuse me, but why are there two beds? Do we really need to be separated for this?" Ron questioned.

Ursula looked at him in surprise, then her expression softened into kindness. "Many of the couples that come here prefer the distance. Besides, you won't be aware of one another during this anyway."

Ron's ears grew red, and he kept his eyes trained on his feet as he muttered, "Maybe so, but we're doing this together, right? Even if I don't know she's not there, I don't like the idea of not having her next to me."

The woman watched the body language of the younger couple, coming to a decision. "Follow me."

Once again, they went down another hallway and into a bedroom, this one having a twin bed. They sat down on either side, removing their shoes before leaning back against the headboard.

Out of the small leather bag that she had summoned, the doctor pulled out several various colored patches, explaining their function as she applied them.

"The blue ones at your temple act as connectors, allowing the memories to flow between you. The purple ones on your forearms will put your bodies in a type of suspended animation, making things such as food unnecessary. The room is charmed to monitor your health, and if anything goes wrong, an alarm will go off. There have never been any problems, so I don't expect anything to go wrong now. Once I tap the blue patches with my wand, you will experience a falling sensation, and the memories will begin. Are you ready?"

She watched as the hands between them twined together, their faces pale but resolute. It was good that they were nervous; they would be better prepared. What they were about to do was by no means easy.

At their quiet words of assent, she raised her wand. "I don't get to say this to many couples, but I think the two of you are going to be fine. There is something special between you, I can feel it. Hold on to that, no matter what you see. Hold on to it tightly."

A small tap, an electric zing, and they were falling, falling into darkness, the last thing fading the warmth and pressure of clasped hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for everyone who has taken the time to read, review, favorite and follow this fic! Your support has been wonderful! Happy birthday to heronlove; hope I got this out there in time!

IMPORTANT: I've posted these two chapters at once to show how I plan for the story to progress. One chapter will focus on Hermione, and the next on Ron, but they will both cover the same time periods. I feel this will help the story flow better, especially in cases where there are memories that chapters should be a bit more descriptive and in-depth. If anyone finds it confusing, please let me know. As always, feedback is very, very welcome!

Lights and colors swirled around Ron at a dizzying pace, causing his stomach to struggle to keep up. The sensation was much like the first few times he had ever Apparated; thankfully, he was able to keep his breakfast down. Once the spots cleared from his vision, he looked around to find himself in what looked to be the room of a small girl. The small girl sitting on the bed being the dead giveaway. It was a Hermione he had only seen in pictures while visiting her family's house; pudgy cheeks, frizzy, chin length hair, slightly protruding front teeth.

From her window he could see the oak tree in the yard, telling him that this was the same room she would have years later. But instead of the purple walls that he was familiar with, these were pale pink, with framed pictures of cuddly looking animals. The bed was covered in a pink and white frilly quilt, and stuffed toys were scattered around the young girl sitting in the middle. A bookshelf filled with brightly colored children's books took up one wall, causing him to smile. Even at three, Hermione was already obsessed with books.

She had one clutched in her hands as she sprawled on her stomach, tiny pajama covered legs swinging back and forth behind her. Humming, she flicked through the pages at a pace just a little too fast to be actually reading.

With a jolt, he realized he could feel the excitement from her almost as if it was his own, along from the sleepiness she was stubbornly battling. It was her favorite time of day; story time. Her mother should be coming through the door soon, and then the nightly journey into magical, far off lands could begin.

As if on cue, the bedroom door swung open, and Ron found himself next to a younger version of Hermione's mother. Not much had changed about her. The fine lines around her eyes and forehead were missing, and her dark brown hair was longer, coming to the middle of her back, but she still had the same slender figure as always. Her husband followed her in, and he too was nearly the same, minus the small stomach he would develop in later years, and his hair wasn't receding but flopping around his forehead and ears in a mass of untidy curls.

Both of them joined Hermione on the bed, pushing aside the stuffed animals to make room, Hermione practically wiggling under the covers with wide-eyed joy. Helen took the book from Hermione, glancing at the cover.

"This one again, sweetie? But you've already heard it three times this week. Are you sure you wouldn't like to hear something else?"

Her daughter shook her head, her curly hair jiggling around her shoulders. "No! I want this one, Mummy!" Her high little voice was determined.

The adults shared a look over her head, each silently blaming the other for their child's inherited stubbornness. With a mutual sigh, Richard wrapped an arm around Hermione as Helen began to read.

Ron didn't bother paying any attention to the story, but focused on the emotions from Hermione. He had always assumed that her love of books had stemmed from her overwhelming desire to absorb every bit of knowledge in the known universe, but he couldn't have been more wrong. The sheer joy and wonder that the words sparked in her imagination were rich with bright sounds and color, her amazement at things that happened beyond the realm of her normal, everyday boundaries fascinated her. Through her eyes, the world became an exciting place full of possibilities, and Ron knew he would never quite be able to look at books in the same dry and disinterested way again.

As the story came to a close, she smiled up at her parents in satisfaction, stroking the book's front cover lovingly, as one would a beloved pet.

"I want to read it now." She stated.

"You mean you want me to read it to you again? I'm sorry, Hermione, but you know the rule; only one story a night."

Rosy cheeks plumped out, and dark brows lowered. "No, I want to read it like you do, Mummy. Then I can read it whenever I want."

Helen patted her daughter on the head. "You're still a bit too young, love. In a few years."

"NO! I want to do it now!"

Ron snickered. That stubborn set to her jaw meant she wasn't going to give in until she got what she wanted. He had been on the receiving end of it often enough to know when he was facing a losing battle.

The expression was mirrored by her mother, who looked ready to launch into a lecture on all the reasons why this wouldn't be possible. The sound of a throat clearing made her pause.

"Why don't we let her try? You were saying the other day how advanced she was for her age, and it's not unheard of for children this young to learn to read." He said reasonably.

Hermione's eyes darted back and forth between her parents, sensing a shift in her favor. Though her father was the quieter of the two and usually let her mother have her way, when he did speak up, she listened to what he had to say.

After a moment of consideration, she spoke to Hermione. "Alright, if you really want to learn. Just remember, everything you want is going to take lots of effort and hard work. Once you start something, you have to see it through to the finish, okay?"

Solemnly, Hermione nodded. She was a generally well-behaved child, and almost always listened to her parents. And now she was going to get to read! Soon, she could take any book from the shelf and lose herself in it, and not have to wait for Mummy and Daddy!

Grinning from his spot against the opposite wall, Ron witnessed the first signs of the dedication and determination that would come to be so typical of Hermione. As she was tucked in, the world around him began to swirl once more, and he was moved along to the next memory.

Standing across from a long brick building that hordes of young children were streaming into, Ron felt his knees shake with nervous anticipation. Peering around, he spotted Hermione and her parents. This time she was five, and wearing the blue and white checked dress that he recalled from the picture of her first day in a Muggle school. She clutched her bookbag tightly, equally excited about all the new things she was going to be learning about, and the friends she was hoping to make. They would sit together during lunch, talk at recess, and maybe even visit one another's houses. There were so many things in her new books for them to study together, and she was sure they would have loads of fun!

Ron winced, foreseeing rough times ahead for her already. From the few things she had let slip about her early schooling, these years had been anything but pleasant. Her parents seemed to realize this too, for they shared a worried look behind her.

He followed along as she bounced happily into the building and down a hallway filled with shrieking children, until they turned left into a room. There were small tables and chairs filling the center, with a large desk in the corner. Hermione found the seat that had her name on the table in front of it, and waved goodbye to her parents, eager for the lessons to begin.

Her disappointment was keen that first day, as they did little more than things that seemed like a waste of time to her. She could color in a coloring book at home; when were they going to teach her new things? She turned to the chubby boy that was sitting next to her to see what he thought, only to recoil in horror. He was eating paste! He grinned widely at her, face sticky with the thick white substance. Ron shared her disgust, already able to tell that this was one of those kids that would eat anything they could stick in their mouths.

Quickly, Hermione focused on the girl in front of her, who had wavy brown hair held back with a pale pink headband that matched her dress.

"Hello. My name is Hermione. I thought we would be learning something today, didn't you?"

The little girl stared at her blankly for a few moments. "I'm Samantha. Did you expect them to teach us how to read on the very first day or something?"

Hermione blinked at the harsh sounding tone of voice, but tried to be friendly. "Well, no. I just thought there would be something. Besides, my mum already taught me how to read."

She had hoped this might start a conversation about favorite books or other shared interests, but Samantha only sneered at her more.

"Oh, so you're one of those. A know-it-all. Do you think you're special just because mummy taught you to read? She'd have been better off doing something about those gross teeth of yours." She giggled nastily, and the olive skinned boy beside her joined in.

Tears stung the back of her eyes, and Ron could feel them as well. Hermione wasn't used to things like that being said to her; she had grown up with loving (though not always available) parents, with no siblings to introduce her to the finer arts of teasing and torment.

"M-my parents say they can fix them when the permanent ones come in." Hermione answered, holding back the urge to cry, her hands clutching tightly at the strap of her bookbag.

The boy next to Samantha, Kevin, chimed in, "But can they fix your hair? I think I saw something moving in there!"

She raised a trembling hand to her hair self-consciously as the other children laughed harder, her eyes darting around to find anyone with hair similar to her own. She found short hair, long hair, curly, wavy and straight, thick and thin, but she was the only one in the room with bushy hair. As the taunting continued, it felt as if it frizzed out more, and her mouth closed tightly over teeth that suddenly felt too large in her mouth.

Ron ached along with her. Children, he knew, could be cruel, but watching Hermione discover that for herself was harder than he had thought it would be. To him, Hermione had always been so strong and seemingly self-assured. Malfoy had called her far worse things and had received little to no reaction, so he had assumed she had always been that way. But this was a younger, softer Hermione; one that believed that if you were nice to others, they would be nice to you.

The teacher spoke from the front of the room, drawing the children's attention to the next activity. It was too late. The enthusiasm she had started out with had been crushed, and all she wanted to do was go home and crawl into her mother's lap to cry. The brightly colored books on the shelves no longer interested her, and it looked as if making friends was going to be much harder than she had imagined.

Things around him seemed to fast forward, days passing in quick succession as he watched her classmates repeatedly bring her to tears. He felt himself growing angrier and angrier, until he turned around and found himself in the living room of Hermione's house. Hermione was seated on an overstuffed green couch next to a teenage girl with short, choppy brown hair and blue eyes, which flashed with anger as the younger girl told her all about her school troubles. Her own textbooks forgotten, all of her attention was focused on Hermione.

From the thoughts he was getting from Hermione, Ron knew that this girl's name was Jackie, and that she frequently baby-sat Hermione when her parents were out, which was quite often, seeing as how they were very busy with several charities they were involved in. Hermione had known her all of her life, and looked up to her and respected her a great deal. Whatever she was going to say was going to have a great impact on Hermione, and Ron sat on the edge of the nearby armchair to listen.

"It sounds as if you've been stuck in a class of brainless monkeys. Honestly, I don't know where they get the nerve to be insulting you. I imagine half of them can't even wipe themselves, much less recite the alphabet or count higher than three."

Hermione choked on a laugh, covering her hands with her mouth. Ron snickered as well, already deciding that he liked this girl.

The laughing didn't last long before Hermione's eyes saddened once more. "But I don't understand. I try so hard to be their friend, but they just keep being mean to me! I try to help them with things, and they get mad about it. What am I doing wrong?"

The sadness and confusion, along with a heavy dose of hurt, swirled in her chest, which Ron experienced through the connection. Hermione liked helping people. She enjoyed teaching them new things, watching them be able to do something they couldn't before. Though he had always known it deep down, Ron saw that what others mistook for a superior nature was rooted in concern for others; she genuinely wanted others to do better so they could be happy. She shared knowledge not because she thought she was better than anyone else, but because she found the information so fascinating and assumed others would also. What she didn't understand was why people got mad when she tried to show them they were doing something wrong; wasn't it better to learn the right way? Didn't that make things easier? Her parents had always taught her that if you could help someone, then you should. Why hadn't they told her that people wouldn't want her help? Was there something wrong with her?

"You aren't doing anything wrong, Hermione. People can be cruel, even to the ones who are trying to help them. Especially if you're different than them, which you are. You've always been more serious and more mature than other kids your age, and I suspect that frightens them. The fact that you can do so many things they can't probably makes them jealous, too. You need to stop letting them see how much it bothers you. You've given them power over you, and you need to take it back."

Hermione tilted her head to the side, not fully understanding that last part. "What kind of power? You mean like when they hit me, or steal my things and break them?"

Jackie's jaw tightened, and Ron could tell she would be having a talk with Hermione's parents when they got home. "No, that's not what I mean. You're so upset by what these people are saying, and your feelings are hurt. You've even started to think some of it is true, when it isn't. They enjoy seeing your pain, and you're letting them. Why? You don't like them, and in a few years, you probably will never see most of them again in your life."

"What do I do, then?"

Taking Hermione's chin in her hand gently, she stared into her eyes. "Don't let them see you cry. Ignore the hurtful things they say as much as possible. When that doesn't work, don't sink to their level, but call them on it. Make it clear that you won't be treated that way. Above all, don't let them ruin the things you love. You enjoy reading and learning; be proud of it, don't hide it. Don't change who you are hoping that that will make other people like you. The ones that are important may not like the same things you do, or understand them, but they will still accept you. Don't care about the opinions of people that you can't respect. Can you do all of that? You'll have to be strong and brave, and it won't be easy." Hermione bit her lip nervously for a moment, before a fierce look of determination filled her eyes. Ron felt the roar of the Gryffindor spirit surging into wakefullness within her, her inner strength coming forth. Along with her emotions, he was filled with an overwhelming burst of pride for her. This was the birth of the Hermione he knew; the girl who stood up for herself and others, someone who was strong, but hadn't lost their ability to care. Jackie must have seen it too, for she grinned, the expression lighting her face as she pulled Hermione into a tight hug.

The scene melted away, and once more he was at school, this time on the playground. This time, there were subtle differences. Hermione, who was usually alone, was crouched on her heels next to a boy with messy brown hair. He was a transfer student, and he didn't talk much. Large, splotchy freckles covered his face and arms, which had earned him the nickname 'Spot.' His real name was Tommy Perkins, but only the teachers and Hermione called him that.

As she squinted her eyes at the warm spring sunlight, Ron noticed that a year or two had passed. Her hair was longer, and her cheeks were no longer as plump. Her eyes weren't as open as they used to be. There was a new reserve, as if her guard was permanently up. Still, she had that same urge to mother and protect, so it had been almost inevitable that she had tried to befriend this boy. They had spent lunch and recess together for nearly two months, and while he wasn't very talkative, it was nice that she didn't have to be alone all the time. In fact, she was very happy to finally have a friend. She was planning on asking her parents if he could come over some Saturday, and just thinking about it made her excited.

Ron groaned as he saw a group of children coming up behind her. These were her chief tormentors, led by Samantha. Her lips had developed a permanent Malfoy-like sneer which he had the urge to smack off. A malicious light gleamed in her eyes as she neared her two targets, but her plans were thwarted when Hermione saw the shadows fall across the ground in front of her and she twisted to the side, narrowly missing the kick that had been aimed at her backside.

"If it isn't Stranger Granger. Tell me Stranger, is Spot here your pet or your boyfriend? Although knowing you, it's probably both."

"Did you want something, or are you just moving your mouth to hear yourself talk? If you're done, please go away. It's warm enough without all the hot air you're blowing." Hermione spat.

She had stood up, her arms crossed and her hip cocked forward aggressively. Tommy had made it to his feet too, standing slightly behind her with his face directed at the ground, a sullen, resigned look in his eyes.

Samantha's eyes narrowed. The others in her group waited to see what she would do, knowing she hated it when people stood up to her. Getting an idea, she smiled slyly.

"Do you enjoy being Stranger's dog, Spots? Do you want her to be your giiiiiiirlfriend? Or would you rather join us?"

Ron swallowed a curse. He knew even before it happened how this was going to play out. He could tell by the way the boy's eyes darted back and forth between Hermione and the others. The longing for friends and acceptance was written all over him, and the moment he made his decision, his face twisted into something ugly.

"Tommy?" Hermione's voice was hesitant, as if she knew what was happening but didn't want to believe it. Her body was stiff, braced for a blow that was going to be emotional instead of physical.

The boy stepped away from her in the direction of the others, a small flash of regret the only indication of the shame he felt. "Who wants to be stuck with a know-it-all beaver girl?

Hermione drew in a sharp breath as he walked off with the laughing group, Samantha tossing her a smug smile over her shoulder as she went. The stabbing sense of betrayal was sharp and hot in her chest. She held her head high, though, her chin up, spinning on her heel to walk over to lean against a tree at the edge of the schoolyard. Her eyes stung, but she wouldn't cry until she was in bed that night. She wouldn't give that troll Samantha the satisfaction of her tears. Gloomily, she stared out at all the other children, clusters of large groups playing together while others were paired off in twos and threes.

She had already lost her first friend. Well, she supposed he hadn't really been her friend. It still hurt, though. She had been the one to be nice to him when everyone else shut him out, and she knew that the others would go back to treating him the same way now that they had gotten what they wanted. Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she looked to see a bird flutter from the ground to a branch. It brought to mind the animated films she sometimes watched where animals of the forest would come and and comfort the lonely heroine. (Ron knew what these were not only from Hermione's memories, but because over the last several years, he had gotten a better grasp on Muggle things, and they went to the cinema on date night quite often. He had found films in general amazing, but animation absolutely blew him away.)

The idea had always appealed to Hermione, and she wished something like that would happen to her now. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't notice as the branches began to fill with birds of various size and color. Ron watched with wide eyes as more birds arrived, landing on the surrounding trees and playground equipment. Hermione's gaze settled on Tommy, and her temper flared. Her grief turned to anger, rage bubbling just below the surface as she bit her lower lip hard enough to release a thin trickle of blood. She hated Tommy, and wanted to make him sorry.

All at once, the sky became black with feathers as the birds rose and flew around wildly, and Ron gaped as a large crow swooped down and pecked Tommy on the top of the head. Children were screaming and running in fear, the two teachers on duty calling for them to get inside immediately. Several more crows joined the first, and Tommy was crying, terrified.

He wasn't the only one. Hermione watched in horror as the birds attacked, her hands coming up to cover her face. "STOOOOOOOOOP!" She screamed shrilly, sick at what was happening. As if they understood, the birds ceased their assault and began to fly away, leaving Hermione to tremble in fear and confusion. It was almost like the birds had come to do what she wanted, but that was impossible. Things like that didn't happen in real life. Besides, she may have hated him for a moment, but she didn't honestly want anything bad to happen to Tommy.

Next to her, Ron shuddered. It wasn't unusual for children to lose control over their powers, but it was rarely quite as violent as that. He felt it as she cringed guiltily, even though she had no idea why. Quietly, she followed the others into the school, her mind racing to find a logical explaination. Unable to resist, Ron reached out to pat her head in a comforting manner. While he was able to lean on walls or sit on chairs, touching people in memories was less substantial, feeling as if his hand was passing through semi-solid smoke.

The canaries in sixth year had been bad enough; he felt very fortunate that he hadn't had to deal with bloody great crows! The doorway lead into the front hall of Hermione's house, and he shook off the disorientation that accompanied these shifts in locations.

Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears, her lips pursed up in the way they always became when she was upset. She felt as if she had been lied to, that her parents were being unfair. They were standing by the door, dressed up for what looked to be an evening out. Richard was wearing a nicely cut black suit and pearl gray shirt with a pewter tie, while Helen was wearing a long, strapless cobalt gown with a cropped sliver jacket. Ron caught the sents of cologne and perfume hanging lightly in the air, a distinct smell that Hermione associated with being left behind.

"But Mum," the eight year old begged, "you promised that tonight we could go to the cinema, and then we would come home and play a board game!"

Helen sighed for what was probably not the first time that night. From what Ron could make out, this argument had been going on for a while now.

"I told you, Hermione. Your father and I had forgotten we had to go out tonight. We can try again next week, but only if you stop making a fuss."

Hermione's heart sank. Her parents were so busy all the time. If they weren't at work, they were attending various charity events, or else they were helping great-aunt Flora. To Hermione, it seemed as if the only time they spent with her was when she had done extremely well in class, which was one of the main reasons she pushed herself so hard. She was afraid they might not notice her at all if she didn't get top marks. She knew that they loved her, but she wished they would make more of an effort to be with her. Not that she could tell them. Just thinking it made her feel ashamed and embarrassed.

Ron became uneasy. He knew her parents hadn't meant to send the message that the only way to earn their love was through schoolwork, but it was more than clear to him that that was what had happened. Though they had only discussed the possibility of children and things such as how many they would prefer, Ron decided that they should probably go more in depth into the subject. He never wanted to make his children feel that they had to compete for his affections the way Hermione was right now.

"Of course, that's if she still wants to go through with even marrying me after all this. She may see enough to put her off me for keeps." He muttered.

"But you promised." Hermione repeated accusingly, knowing how much importance her parents placed on honesty and keeping your word. "Is whatever you're doing more important than being with me? You're grown-ups. You don't have to go if you don't want to." She figured tossing in a bit of guilt couldn't hurt.

Richard stepped forward to kneel in front of her, his hands resting on her shoulders so he could look her in the eye. He was serious, but kind.

"Hermione, I know we promised, but we had already made a commitment for tonight. We are sorry about that, but it isn't something we chose to do to you because we don't care about you. What we're doing tonight is going to make it possible to help a lot of people; if we don't go, they might not be able to get it. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

Hermione shook her head. The need to help others was something she had inherited from her parents and understood.

"Sometimes," Richard continued, "you have to do what's right, even when you don't want to, even when it means that you can't be with the people you love the most. That's a hard lesson to learn, but I hope that someday you're able to understand. At some point in your life you'll have to choose between what you want and what is right. Can you understand?"

The tears had leaked from her eyelids as she studied her father's face. She could tell that he wasn't lying. He wanted to stay with her, but he couldn't. If he could have said no, he would have, but since he couldn't, she needed to show that she was alright so he didn't feel bad. Someday, she would make them proud. She decided that she would always choose to do the right thing, even if she had to pick it over the person she loved, no matter how much it hurt. Deep down, she hoped she would never have to choose, but she was realistic enough to know that that wasn't likely. She just hoped that whoever it was that was in her place right now didn't end up hating her for it, and would be able to see that she didn't really have a choice.

Ron had to close his eyes. He knew he would be the one to force that choice on her, and that he would fail her horribly when she made the right one.

"I understand." She answered.

Richard smiled. "Good girl. Now, if you behave for Jackie, I'll see if I can't talk your mum into stopping for some ice cream when we go out."

Smiling, Hermione accepted the peace offering, hugging her parents goodbye. She smiled until the door shut, before letting herself cry again. Of all the things that she hated, being left behind was the thing she hated most.

Ron thought guiltily of all the times he had walked away from her in anger over the years, each time most likely making her feel the way she did now. There had always been a part of him that knew that it upset her, but he had never understood just how deep it went. Her parents had had a reason; he, on the other hand, was just the world's biggest prat.

Following her absent-mindedly, he looked up to find that he had missed another shift in time. They were in the dining room, which was covered in multi-colored streamers hanging from the ceiling. The Hermione that sat at the table made a pang shoot through his heart; she looked almost exactly as she did the first day they had met, a day that was surely coming up soon. Paying more attention to her thoughts, he learned that today was her eleventh birthday. The streamers were up for the party that would be held this evening, which Hermione looked forward to half-heartedly. She would have prefered if it had just been her parents and Jackie, but her mum had insisted that she invite Heather. She was a small blond girl that lived down the street, but they hadn't met until about three years ago when Hermione's parents had gotten the bright idea to put her in dance class. Their reasoning that it would be a good form of exercise, would help develop coordination, and would be a nice place to socialize with children her age outside of school hadn't thrilled her. Rather than going through pointless repetitive motions, she could have been doing something productive. Like reading. Or studying. Or washing the dog. Never mind that they didn't have a dog; the point was, if they did, she would prefer grooming it over shuffling around awkwardly with some sweaty handed boy.

Choking back a laugh, Ron made a mental note to tease her mercilessly for this later. While in no danger of becoming a professional, he had wondered how someone who was always buried in a book could have learned to dance as well as she did.

Back to Hermione, he tried to figure out her feelings for this Heather girl. Apparently she was nice enough, and wasn't one of the ones who gave her a hard time at school. In fact, she went to a private school, so she had no idea what Hermione went through. Hermione didn't dislike her, but her bright, puppy-like attitude was hard for her to deal with in anything but small doses.

A sound from the front door signaled that the post had arrived, and Hermione, already finished with her breakfast, went to get it. Scooping up the pile of envelopes, she walked back to the table slowly, scanning them for any sign of a birthday card. Her name jumped out at her from one, but it looked rather official and didn't have handwriting that she recognized. Puzzled, she opened it, her confusion growing as she read. This didn't make any sense. Surely, it had to be some kind of joke, but she couldn't think of anyone she knew that would do this. This wasn't the type of thing anyone from school would do, and none of her parents friends would bother. Her only other relative besides her mum and dad was great-aunt Flora, but she dismissed that instantly, along with the possibility of it being from her parents.

Ron became excited; he would recognize that envelope anywhere. He had always wondered what it had been like when Hermione got her Hogwarts letter, and now he would get to see for himself.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Did someone send you a letter?" Her mother asked as she looked up from the paper. Her father, returning from clearing the table, read over Hermione's shoulder.

"Strange. Do you know anything about this Hermione?"

She shook her head and passed it to her mother. "I have no idea. Someone must have made a mistake."

Helen opened her mouth to agree, but a knock at the front door interrupted her. Shrugging, Richard went to answer it, with Hermione right behind him. He opened the door to be confronted with a tall, thin, middle-aged woman with dark hair, wearing a strangely pointed hat and a dark green cloak.

Ron felt his jaw drop. What the bloody hell was McGonagall doing here?

"Yes, can I help you?" Richard asked politely.

"Good morning. I am Minerva McGonagall. I assume the letter has already arrived. May I come in?" She spoke in the familiar clipped brogue that had Ron standing instinctively straighter.

As if she had been granted permission, she swept through the doorway, leaving Richard no choice but to lead her to the living room.

"Dear, who was it at the-" Helen began, coming into the room. Seeing their unexpected guest, she stopped abruptly. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you." She looked to her husband, who only shrugged.

"She said she was here about the letter." Hermione piped up, never one to stay silent when she had the answer.

McGonagall gave her a small smile. "You must be Hermione. Yes, I'm here about the letter, and to answer the questions I'm sure you have. It's standard procedure when the letter is sent to a Muggle-born."

Hermione frowned at the unfamiliar word. "Muggle?"

"Yes. That's how we refer to non-magical people in the wizarding world."

"Pardon?" Helen spoke up, and it was plain that she thought she was speaking with a madwoman.

McGonagall seemed to realize this too, for she spoke tetchily. "This is bothersome. I suppose the quickest thing would be to do this."

No sooner had she spoke than she had stood, her body morphing into that of a cat. Helen let out a strangled shriek and clutched Richard's arm, who looked about ready to faint. Hermione, on the other hand, looked impressed but unafraid.

"How did you do that? Scientists haven't discovered a way to change one thing into another." She said suspiciously, looking for a trick.

Transforming back and resuming her seat, McGonagall answered, "That was magic. As a witch, that would be something you would eventually learn how to do, assuming you accept the invitation to Hogwarts."

"My daughter is certainly no which!" Helen spoke sharply.

She received a raised eyebrow. "Are you saying that there have been no strange events in your daughter's life? Nothing that has happened when she's afraid or upset that cannot be explained?"

Ron had expected more of a fight, but a look passed between the Grangers, and they sat down on the couch.

"I think maybe you should tell us exactly why it is that you're here." Said Richard quietly.

"As the letter stated, Hermione has been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is a boarding school for young witches and wizards, where they will learn all they need to know about magic and how to control it. Of course, you still have the option to refuse."

"Is it possible to hurt people? With my magic, I mean." Hermione spoke up.

Startled, McGonagall answered stiffly, "while that is certainly possible, it is not something that is encouraged, or even tolerated at Hogwarts."

Hermione shook her head. "No! I meant is it possible to hurt someone accidentally, if I don't go to this school and learn how to control the magic."

This explanation relaxed the professor, though Ron could see the worry in Hermione's eyes. She was thinking of the bird incident, and was terribly afraid of something like that happening again.

"I see. Yes, something like that could very well happen."

"Will that be all I learn? Are there magical type jobs afterwards, or do I just go back to normal? Do I get to see my family, or would I have to go away forever?"

McGonagall blinked at the rapidfire questioning, while her parents tried to come to grips with what was happening. They had told Ron that they had always known that there was something different and special about Hermione, and though it surprised even them, they had been able to believe the nature of their daughter quite quickly.

"There are many subjects that you would learn. Herbology, Potions, History of Magic, and Transfiguration to name just a few. These courses would enable you to seek employment in the magical world, which opportunities are as many and varied as they are here. There are seven years of schooling to go through, but you would of course return home for Christmas and summer holidays."

Hermione had become unmistakably eager as the subjects were listed, and her parents realized that it would be nearly impossible to open up a new world of knowledge to Hermione, and then deny her entry. True, they still had reservations, but from what the letter said, they had a year to come to terms with it.

"Well, Hermione? It sounds like you'll be going to a very interesting school." Richard said gently.

"Actually, I'd prefer a bit more time to think about it. This is my education, after all, and it's going to affect my future." Hermione would love nothing more than to say yes, but her responsible nature refused to let her jump into something without thinking about it first.

McGonagall looked at her assessingly. Ron knew she was thinking that most kids would leap at the chance without a thought, and the fact that Hermione hadn't done so interested her.

"If you would like, I could send you several books concerning the history and practices of our world, so that you could better make an informed opinion."

"Books?" Hermione breathed. "Yes, please! That would be wonderful!"

Her rapture seemed to clinch something for McGonagall. She stood and shook the hands of the Grangers, who still seemed a bit lost, promising that the books would be delivered soon.

Once more, things sped up around him, and Ron watched as Hermione began trading letters with McGonagall, her excitement growing as she received answers to her many questions from the teacher and from the books she devoured. It shouldn't have surprised him when he discovered her main concern about Hogwarts would be the effect it would have on her family. She was young, but she was a planner and she was realistic. Someday her parents would be old, and would need her support. Swanning off into a world of magic sounded nice, but if it meant she couldn't see her family, or couldn't get a good job if she needed to help them later financially, she wouldn't be going. Ron goggled at this. Not many eleven year olds thought that far ahead. But, he reminded himself, this was Hermione, and if he asked her now he would probably find out that she had not only planned out their next holiday but had named their future children as well.

But her reasons for going to Hogwarts saddened him as well. Her sense of not fitting in played a large part of it, and she hoped that she could find her place in the magical world. She wanted to belong somewhere. She wanted to have friends. This was a chance to start over and do everything right, and once her concerns were laid to rest, she had no intention of passing it up. She would learn everything she could beforehand so she wouldn't mess up, and she wouldn't make the same mistakes she had at school here. Surely, if she tried hard enough, someone would like her, right? She smiled to herself as she turned a page of Hogwarts: A History. She would. Not only would she throw herself into her classes and prove that she belonged there, but she would make more of an effort to be outgoing. She wouldn't change who she was, and she wouldn't let herself be seen as vulnerable just in case things turned out badly. But if she was helpful and interesting enough, maybe she could leave the days of insults and isolation behind. With a new purpose, she began scanning the pages for interesting bit of trivia so she would have something to talk about...

Ron slapped a hand over his face. What he had thought had been the ramblings of a snooty know it all had in fact been the awkward attempts of a girl trying to protect her feelings and make friends at the same time. "Blimey, Hermione! That's not exactly conversation material for a normal first year. Especially not freckly ginger gits whose main concerns are chocolate frogs and second hand rats!" He moaned. As if he had triggered the memory, his ears were filled with the unmistakable sound of a train station, the smell of smoke drifting past.

He knew, without looking, where he was. He was about to meet one Ronald Bilius Weasley, age eleven.

"Bloody buggering hell."


	3. Chapter 3

Though Hermione had not known what to expect, she was unsurprised when she took in her surroundings to find she was at the Burrow. In the small, cramped guest room that was mainly used for storage, to be specific. Like the rest of the home it was filled with clutter, but like every room under Mrs. Weasley's care, it remained dust free. Hearing a small whimper, she let the sound and the feeling of impending doom lead her to look under the aside a box, she came face to face with a three year old Ron, wide eyed and terrified as he lay curled on his side and gripping a teddy bear to his chest. He was hiding from Fred and George, something that had already become routine even at this young age. It was only Fred that should be angry, but when you got one twin, you got them both. That was great when they were on your side; absolute misery when both were against you.

They were usually against him.

He hadn't meant for this to happen! If Fred had just shared his toy broom, nothing would have gone wrong! But he wouldn't let Ron even touch it, no matter how hard he begged, so he had waited until the twins had gone outside, and then snuck into their room, which was bad enough in itself. The prospect of just a short fly around the room had been enough to blind him to any trouble he might get into (Hermione rolled her eyes. Typical Ron.), and he had snatched at the opportunity. Sadly, steering wasn't as easy as his brothers made it look, and he had accidentally flown out of the room and to the stairs, where he had promptly fallen off. The scrapes on his knees were forgotten as soon as he saw the broom. Like a twig, it had snapped in two, and Ron knew it couldn't be fixed. So he did the only thing he could; hide until his brothers came to kill him.

Hermione had an almost uncontrollable urge to pull the boy out, scold him, kiss him, and send him to bed with a mug of hot chocolate. This was confusing, since she knew her normal reaction would be to smack his arm and call him a prat. But there was just something about the remorseful resignation and the trembling, pouting lips that brought out the maternal side of her. These thoughts were banished as the door banged open, and two small hurricanes of devilishness whirled into the room.

She shared a gasp with Ron, but for entirely different reasons. Where Ron was afraid of being discovered, she was dealing with the blow of coming face to face with Fred. She had forgotten that since these were Ron's memories, she would be seeing him. It was hard to look at the mischevious five year old, knowing what was going to happen to him. Seeing his smiling face caused a bittersweet ache.

Ron's fear increased as the twins stomped around the room, his heart about to spring from his chest. He clutched his bear tighter. Hermione narrowed her eyes as the twins shared some sort of silent message, nodding first to the bed, and then to the door. As they tore out of the room, she felt the relief that spread through Ron's body as he slid out from under the bed. If he stayed in the room until dinner, he should be alright. Pleased that he had eluded the twins, he grinned, not feeling the toy in his arms begin to stir. Hermione wanted to call out, but she knew it would be useless. Instead, she was only able to watch as the teddy bear transformed into a giant, hairy legged spider with huge eyes and pincers.

Ron looked down to see what was wiggling in his arms, and let out a dreadful shriek. Only the faint light from the window illuminated the room, making the spider appear even more sinister. Ron tried to throw it away from him, but the legs had gotten caught on his sweater, and it clung to him, no matter how hard he tried to bat it away.

Once again, the door opened to reveal the twins, howling with laughter at their brother's punishment. But the laughter quickly faded once they saw that Ron wasn't just scared; he was completely terrified, and his screams hadn't let up since they had started. George held him still while Fred peeled off the spider, both of them shooting anxious looks at the door, no doubt fearing the arrival of their mother. They were wise to do so, because it didn't take her long to come see what all the noise was about.

She took one look in the room, and with hands on her hips, tore into them in classic Molloy Weasley fashion. "FRED! GEORGE! WHAT HAVE YOU TWO DONE TO YOUR BROTHER?"

"But Mum, he broke my broom! We were only-"

"Teaching him not to mess with other people's stuff!"

As their mother continued to berate them, Hermione watched as Ron trembled and shook, his face as pale as a glass of milk. Quiet, muffled whimpers escaped his throat, his hands opening and closing, searching for the comfort of a teddy bear he knew he would never hold again. Hermione couldn't move from the shared panic that was flowing into her. Ron had always been so matter of fact about his fear of spiders that she hadn't realized it had been this big of a deal. She felt bad for ever having laughed about it, and now found him even more amazing for what he had gone through in second year than she had before. The pressure in her chest eased as the world faded around her, transferring her into a new memory.

She hadn't gone very far; they were still at the Burrow, but now they were up in Ron's room, where he was sprawled across his bed on his back, slowly kicking the walls with his heels. Even without the shared emotions Hermione would still be able to tell what kind of mood he was in. His red eyebrows were lowered in a scowl, and he was biting the inside of his cheek. He was probably one of the most angry looking five year olds that Hermione had ever come across.

Ron felt as if he had good reason to be angry. His day had been lousy so far. First, he had hardly gotten any sleep the night before thanks to the ghoul rattling around extra loud overhead. Just as he had fallen into a deep sleep, his mum had yelled up the stairs at him, angry that he was late for breakfast. He had tossed his clothes on and gotten down there as quick as he could, but his older brothers had already gone through the food like a swarm of ginger locusts. All that was left for him were two small, shriveled sausage links, a piece of toast with the last of the jam barely covering half, and a few spoonfuls of cold, rubbery eggs. He had asked for more, but his mum told him that maybe that would teach him the importance of getting up on time. As if that was something he needed to learn! If he wanted anything decent at meals, he had to sprint as fast as he could from his room at the top of the house, skipping as many stairs as possible in order to beat his brothers and Ginny.

Then he had been roped into helping clean the house, since his Aunt Muriel and her sister Eunice were coming over that afternoon. His mum must have thought she had given birth to a bloody house elf, because no sooner had he gotten done with one thing, but she had six other chores to replace it. Bill and Charlie were away at school, and Percy and the twins were smart enough that they had volunteered to work outside where it would be easier to skive off. (Not that Percy wouldn't do what he had been told. He would just conveniently not come back inside for more instructions. The sly prat.)

But what really irritated Ron was the fact that Ginny didn't have to help at all. He could hear her in her room upstairs, dressing up their poor, put-upon cat. Oh well. Better the cat than him. Lunch had been a let down, too. Hungry from his too small breakfast and all that work, he had dashed into the kitchen at his mum's call, only to be met with a plate of corned beef sandwiches, the one food he could absolutely not stand.

Afterwards, finally free, he had tried to join his brothers when they took the brooms out for a fly, but none of them would double with him, and he wasn't allowed to fly one by himself. He watched them fly off over the pond to their makeshift Quidditch pitch, their laughter echoing back as if to taunt him. Dragging himself up to his room, he had discovered that several of his new chocolate frog cards had been nibbled to bits by Percy's stupid rat. With a muttered curse, he threw the remaining pieces away, swearing that one day he would kill that bloody rodent.

So now here he was, trapped in his room, listening to the acidic voice of Aunt Muriel as it floated up from the living room. Scowling, he hoped she wouldn't say anything to upset his mum this time. The old bat. His mum might be a bit of a nag, but she was still a good mum, and he wasn't going to let any dried up hag say otherwise.

Hermione smiled. That was Ron. The people he loved might irritate him to no end, but he was always protective of them. She followed him as he slipped out of the room, careful not to cause the stairs to squeak as he snuck down to eavesdrop. The clattering of dishes told him that Mum was in the kitchen getting tea ready for the guests, so with one eye on the door, he hid himself behind the coatrack, which was close enough to the living room that he could hear the conversation.

"I tell you Eunice, I simply cannot understand why Molly wasted herself on Authur Weasley. She could have married that Pendergast boy, old Edward's son, remember him? He was going places, and she would have been set for life! But no, she insisted on marrying a man who barely had two Knuts to rub together, and now she's slaving away in this hovel with seven children."

"Now Muriel, Arthur is a sweet man, and the children are-" Eunice's soft voice cut in reasonably.

Hermione tried to recall her, but then vaguely remembered that she had died before Bill's wedding, leaving them with only the charming Muriel. She checked Ron's ears. As suspected, they were red in anger at the slur against his father.

"Oh, the children are well enough, I suppose, considering where they came from. The two oldest are at Hogwarts already. Bill seems steady and reliable, and Charlie is cheerful and athletic. Reminds me of Father, he does. Percy is quite bright. He'll probably end up in the Ministry, though I hope he shows more ambition than his father. The twins take everyone in with their charm, but if you ask me, they'll come to no good end. And Ginerva, well, Molly finally got the daughter she always wanted. Took her enough tries. We'll see in a few years if she turns out pretty enough to make a decent marriage."

Wondering why he had been skipped over, he perked up when Eunice voiced his question.

"What about the other boy? Ron?"

Muriel snorted. "Not much to say about that one. You can already tell he isn't going to be as good looking as his brothers, or as smart, either. No, I'm afraid that one was just Molly's failed attempt for a daughter. He was supposed to have been a girl, you know. I'm sure disappointed when he turned out to be another boy."

Not wanting to hear more, the boy trudged back up to his room, his pale ankles flashing under his too short jeans as Hermione followed him. She was torn between wanting to go back and hex his foul aunt, and wanting to hold him and tell him her words hadn't been true. But the seeds had already been planted; the sharp, spade-like words had already dug deep into his young, fertile mind. Self-doubt began to grow and blossom, each remembered look of disappointment from his mum and teasing from his siblings twisting into something that they had never intended.

Hermione wanted to cry. He had already placed his brothers on a pedestal in his mind. Bill and Charlie could do no wrong in his eyes. Percy, even though he was snooty, was still brilliant, and the twins were loads of fun. Ginny was harder to relate to, but he had always secretly thought it was neat that he had a little sister to look up to him. Now he doubted that she did. Why look up to the ugly stupid brother when you had five others? He gave a growl, punching his pillow. Someday he was going to prove them all wrong. He would make something of himself, even though right now he had no clue as to what that could possibly be. They would be just as proud of him as he was of them.

Hermione cried as well, even as things shifted around her. She had always wondered where he had gotten the idea that he was somehow less than his siblings, because she knew that his parents had never treated him that way. But now she understood that this had put it in his head, and that he just thought his family was too nice to say anything about it, which only served as more proof of how much better they were. It certainly explained a lot of his later behaviour. Impatient to see more, she blinked away the tears, stepping into the next memory.

It smelled like Christmas. Meat pies. Pudding. Turkey. Molly Weasley put on a feast every year, and anyone who was ever fortunate enough to attend one never forgot it. The meal was over, and Ron, stuffed more than the turkey in his much hated maroon jumper, was in front of the fire, watching Bill and Charlie playing a game of Wizard's Chess as Mum's radio wailed in the background. The twins were in the corner of the room, whispering plans for a snowball fight, while Percy sat a few feet away in an armchair, reading a new book. Ginny sat between her parents on the sofa, half asleep.

The fire crackled, it's light casting strange shadows over the chess board. Ron watched avidly; he had always loved watching his brothers play, and was trying to stay quiet enough so he wouldn't be sent away. He had memorized the movements of each piece, and was now trying to figure out what the best move would be before his brother took his turn. He was getting better about figuring out the right one, but he knew Bill would beat him easily. With Charlie, he might be able to hold him off for a while, because he got easily distracted from games that didn't require you to move.

"Hey Ron. Want to come over here and learn how to play?" Bill asked.

Ron hesitated to make sure he was serious. When he saw that he was, he scooted across the floor to sit between Bill's legs.

"Can I really play?" He asked, trying to hide his eagerness. Hermione laughed. It was the same look he got when he was offered the last chocolate frog.

"Sure, it's about time we showed you how to play. You don't mind, do you Charlie?"

Charlie grinned, reaching over to ruffle Ron's hair. "Nah. Maybe with Ron on your side you stand a chance of beating me."

They laughed, except for Percy, who looked over the top of his book disdainfully. "Don't you think he's a bit too young to learn? I doubt he has the attention span for it."

Ron glared at Percy. Know it all bookworm! Just because he didn't sit on his arse for hours with a book didn't mean he couldn't pay attention when he wanted to! Honestly, Percy was the kind of person he couldn't stand. He loved his brother, but sometimes he didn't like him much. He had already decided to avoid anyone who read as much as he did, for fear they would have the same attitude.

"Well then. I already had a strike against me even before we met. No wonder I always seemed to rub him the wrong way." Hermione sighed. She had to admit, she had certainly given the impression that she was going to be a female Percy. That was probably the reason Ron always looked like he was about to bolt whenever he was around her for the beginning of first year.

Bill rolled his eyes. "I'm sure Ron can handle it, Perce.. Alright, Ron, I know you've been watching. What would you do next?"

Ron studied the pieces, his features set in intense concentration. After a few minutes, he reached out, moving the knight. He looked back at Bill questioningly, his hand staying on the piece just in case.

Surprised, Bill nodded. Charlie gave a low whistle; that had been a pretty good move for someone Ron's age. They played slowly, Ron taking over Bill's place more and more, with only a few whispered corrections in his ear to help him. An hour later, he was beaming in triumph at having Charlie in check, the twins cheering loudly from the side where they had come to watch. Even Percy had looked up from his book long enough to say something encouraging, and Ginny was clapping her hands, giggling at Charlie's melodramatic wail of defeat.

Yawning sleepily as he went up to bed, Ron considered this to be the best Christmas ever, if he overlooked the horrid color his mum insisted on making his jumper. Chess was brilliant; it was the first time he had ever felt really smart, like he was actually good at something. Maybe, he thought happily, if he tried really hard, he could get even better than Bill! Yeah, that was a great plan. By the time he went to Hogwarts, he would be a wicked chess player. At least if he did that, there would be something about him that stood out.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. It made sense now. Whenever Ron had felt as if he was doing poorly in class, the chess board would emerge. Obviously, he had used it as a confidence booster, and not just a means of procrastination, as she had previously thought. If she remembered correctly, he had always studied better after a few games. Oh, he had complained just as much, and tried to wheedle her into doing it for him, but his results were a definite improvement over his usual efforts. Not only did it relax him, but it seemed to make him feel smarter, as well. Maybe she should try to get him to take more chess breaks from studying when they got back. She would definitely have to let him know that while he was amazing at chess, it was by no means the limit of his intelligence, something she should have made clearer years ago.

It was with a jolt she realized that she was no longer at the Burrow; she had wondered if she was going to see any memories away from there before it was time for Ron to go to Hogswarts. If she thought about it though, it made sense. The Weasleys, not having much money to spare, generally stuck close to home. The thrill of the outing had Ron bouncing along his mother in high spirits, he and Ginny both begging her to stop for an ice cream while they were out. She brushed them off in a harried fashion, her eyes darting from her destination down the street and back to her children, trying to make sure they were all staying with her.

Hermione's interest was caught by Ron's older brothers. There was a strange, stiff air about them, even as the twins laughed and joked loudly. Charlie smiled weakly, but Percy's expression was downright sour. Every time something would catch Ron or Ginny's eye in a window they would wince, and hurriedly change the subject after quick glances at their mother. Hermione knew that the boys were sensitive to their financial situation, and even Fred and George tried not to do anything to make their mother feel badly. What confused her was Ron; she had always known him to look in the shops wistfully, quickly hiding any side of longing with a quick flex of a cheek muscle and an off-hand comment. But the Ron in front of her was acting like any nine year old boy, darting from one item of interest to another, obviously hoping he would be allowed to buy something.

They arrived at Gringott's, the goblin sneering at them from his tall chair. Molly stiffly asked to be shown to their vault, and Hermione followed the family of gingers as they trooped inside. The reason for the special trip floated to Hermione's mind. It was the twin's first year at Hogwarts, and they had come to Diagon Alley for school supplies. Percy would be starting third year and Charlie sixth, while Bill had been out for a year, already studying to become a curse breaker. Ron and Ginny were wide-eyed as the cart sped down the track to the correct vault, and Hermione felt the dizzyness herself as they came to a screeching halt. Charlie stayed behind with Ginny, who had enjoyed the ride, but didn't really like it down there. Ron, not willing to miss anything, followed his brothers, who curiously seemed to be blocking him every chance they got. Shrugging it off as just teasing from Fred and George and big headedness from Percy, Ron peered around them, straining to catch a glimpse of the inside of the vault.

This couldn't be right. There must be some mistake. Had they been taken to the wrong vault? Or did they have more than just the one? Ron's chest tightened as the truth forced itself upon him, as ugly, hard truths have the habit of doing. At the center of the farthest wall was a small pile of coins, hardly worth the trouble of having a vault. To be honest, there was more dust than money, the floor coated so heavily that it wiped any hope that maybe they had just come during on off time, that maybe there was more money here than most people kept in a sock under their mattress. It all made sense now. The homemade or hand-me-down clothes. The second hand toys. The way his mother always carefully scraped the Floo Powder out of the pot, letting none go to waste. His ears burned, in stark contrast to the cold air on his ankles, which were exposed as always from his jeans being perpetually an inch too short.

He felt a stinging shame as he recalled how he had behaved less than an hour ago, pestering his mum for things they most definitely couldn't afford. He felt like such a fool; why hadn't he seen it before?

Abruptly, he was yanked, quite literally, from his thought by the twins, who had pulled him by his robes until he was standing outside of the vault.

"Sorry, Ronnie. Didn't mean for you to catch on quite like that." Fred whispered, his unnatural seriousness enough for Ron to ignore the childish nickname.

"W-we're really poor, aren't we?" He asked, voice cracking.

George tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, you certainly didn't think we were rolling in gold, now did you?" He joked feebly.

"Maybe now you'll think before you go asking for things you don't need." Percy whispered harshly.

George flicked him an angry glance. "Lay off, Perce! He's only nine. It's not like he knew."

The irritation melted from Percy's face, to be replaced by a look of guilt. "Sorry, Ron. I know you didn't mean it. I just get worked up when we have to go out and spend so much. Didn't mean to take it out on you."

Ron nodded faintly, not paying much attention to the apology. In the back of his mind, he knew Percy meant it, and he appreciated that, but it wasn't anything he wasn't already beating himself up for. No, he was more concerned with the memory of complaining about his shirt this morning, and whining about the fact that his shoes didn't fit.

It was in a daze that he left Gringott's, his eyes dazzled by the sun as they left the dark, dank building. He walked heavily behind his mother as they went from shop to shop, taking in things he had never noticed before. The way cheaper material was picked out for the robes. How they went straight to the used book section of Flourish and Blotts. His stomach twisted in knots as he mentally added the prices of each item that his mother picked up. The wretched feeling must have shown in his face, for once more he was pulled aside, this time by Percy, while the twins kept their mother and sister distracted.

Percy was unusually understanding, his tone gentle when he gave Ron's shoulder a small shake. "Ron, you need to snap out of it. I know it's a bit much to take in all at once, but you need to put on a good face for Mum. You know she and Dad would get us nice things if they could, and it makes them feel bad when they think we're disappointed. You don't want to upset her, do you?"

Ron shook his head. "But how...why are we...is Dad not doing well at work?"

There was a spark of familiar impatience in Percy's eyes, but he kept it under control. "Dad's job doesn't exactly pay as well as most Ministry positions, and there are nine of us. That stretches things pretty thin."

"Can't he get a different job?"

Percy snorted. "Dad loves his job. You'd have a hard time prying him away from it. But now that you know, you can start making things easier for yourself later. Why do you think Bill studied so hard? He wanted to be able to find a good job. Even Charlie hits the books enough to make decent marks. If you're smart, you'll do the same. The rest of us have already decided we'll find a way to save up some for when Dad gets too old to work, so he and Mum will be taken care of. You can join us if you want, but you don't have to."

"Of course I'd help Mum and Dad!" Ron snapped indignantly. It couldn't be that hard to make enough money to buy clothes that fit and set aside enough to help out his parents, could it?

"Knew you would. You may be an irritating little prat, but you're a good kid." Percy said, giving him a rare grin.

Some of his tension eased. They were poor, and of course that sucked. But really, the only difference was, now he knew it. Nothing had changed. Once they got home, his mother would cook dinner like she always would, his dad would come home and work out in his shed with the weird Muggle things he was forever turning up with. Fred and George would most likely blow something up before the end of the day, and he would have to fight his siblings in the nightly battle over the bathroom. Would he be happier if he had clothes that fit, and didn't have to settle for his brothers' broken rejects instead of buying his own things new from the store? Probably. But things weren't really too bad. He still had bacon sandwiches and the occasional chocolate frog, and his chess set, even though it was an old and battered one that had belonged to his grandfather, was his own. If he could just make it through the next eight years, he could graduate from Hogwarts, get a job, and never have to worry about money again. A tall order, but he was already going to have to do at least that to prove he was as good as the rest of his brothers.

Before the gnawing of self-doubt could sink it's teeth into him too deeply, Percy spoke again.

"You'll be fine. Just remember, not a word to Ginny. She's still far too young to know."  
Ron goggled as Percy strode off. Not tell Ginny? Was he completely mental? If she found out the he had known and hadn't told her...he shuddered. Ginny had her fair share of the Weasley temper, and he had no intention of having it directed at him.

Hermione watched sadly as he joined his family. The subject of money had always been a delicate issue with Ron back at school. He rarely spoke of it, but sometimes he would let loose a heated complaint that showed the feelings he tried to bury. There had always been a hint of shame in his eyes after he had cooled down, and Hermione had wondered if it was because he was ashamed of his family. The longer she knew him, the more she came to realize that that wasn't the case, and his feelings now were further proof. Ron didn't like the fact that they were poor. Who would? But he didn't hold it against his father, as Percy seemed to. Ron took it more personally, as if it was just another thing that was wrong with him. He was tall and scrawny with far too many freckles and bright red hair. He wasn't very bright. Or strong. Or funny. It just seemed right that to top it off, he was poor, too. He would do his best not to let it bother him, but he couldn't help the flashes of jealousy and resentment that sometimes hit him.

The shop dimmed, and when Hermione was able to focus again, her surroundings had changed once more. They were back at the Burrow, but this time they were outside. Ron paced the porch with nervous energy, anxiously watching the sky. Where was that blasted owl? Surely, the school owls weren't as pathetic as Errol. Could it be lost? Maybe it had been attacked. There were any number of things that might have gone wrong, really.

Like...or possibly...

He drooped, his tongue poking out to lick chapped lips. Maybe he should just face the facts that he wouldn't be getting a letter from Hogwarts. Never mind that he had already showed that he had magical ability (making it rain inside the day their old calico cat had died, though he would die before admitting it). Never mind that every Weasley in the history of forever had been accepted into the school. What was wrong with him? How did they find out? What was Mum going to say? And if he lived through that, what would the twins have in store for him?

He moaned loudly, regretting that second (third) slice of cake. He was doomed, to way around it. Happy bloody birthday to him.

Hermione sat down next to him on the crooked steps. It was strange seeing him at this age. He was both new and familiar; at this point in the past they hadn't met yet, but she could read his mood from every tilt of the head, every quirk of the mouth.

The screen door creaked open behind them, and Mrs. Weasley came out, a concerned expression on her face as she gazed at her youngest son.

"Ron? Don't you want to come in? You should spend some time with Bill and Charlie before they have to leave."

Ron looked over his shoulder briefly, before turning back to scanning the sky. "In a few minutes, Mum. I just want to see if..."

"I'm sure it will come. Maybe there was a problem at the school, and they have to waituntil tomorrow."

"Has that ever happened before?"

"Well. No, not that I know of. But there's a first time for everything. Cheer up, Ron. No one should be gloomy on their birthday."

He wouldn't be gloomy if the bloody letter would just get here, but he wisely kept that thought to himself, instead giving her a weak smile. It didn't seem to convince her, but she went back inside anyway. Ron stayed where he was, his fingers idly picking at the paint that was peeling off of the step behind him. He wasn't left alone for long. His mother had been gone less than ten minutes when Fred and George came clumping loudly out of the house to sit on either side of him, their sly expressions making Hermione's eyes narrow in suspicion. She had a hunch that they knew quite well where that letter was.

Fred slapped Ron on the back. "Well, well, well! Ickle Ronniekins is eleven! Big day, wouldn't you say, George?"

"Indeed I would, Fred! It's an important day in a young wizard's life. A marker!"

"A milestone!"

"A cause for celebration!"

"A-"

"A big fat disappointment, so you lot can just shove off, or say whatever it is you came out here to say." Ron interjected, having no desire to sit through one of their comedy routines.

"Why Ronald! Whatever has your knickers in a twist? Can't we wish our little brother happy birthday without being suspected of underhanded intentions?" George questioned, adopting a wounded look.

"No." Ron stated flatly. He knew them too well; they had been making sneaky references to his lack of a letter all day. They were just here to take the mickey out of him further.

"So why are you out here, anyway? Waiting for something specific?" Fred questioned.

No longer caring about being teased, Ron blurted, "You know I was looking for my letter. You've been giving me a hard time about it all day. It's not coming. You know it, I know it, even Mum knows it! Not that it's a big surprise. So unless you've come up with a plan to sneak me into Hogwarts, I wish you would just leave me alone."

Fred and George traded a look over Ron's head. They had been hoping to get a rise out of him, because his reactions were always hilarious to watch. They hadn't expected him to be this dejected.

George thumped him on the back. "What do you mean you're not going? Of course you are! You're a Weasley, aren't you?"

"Not much of one. If it wasn't for the red hair and freckles, I'd have to wonder." Ron muttered. "Should have seen it coming though. If there was one of us who wasn't going to get to go, it would be me."

"That's a depressing point of view. Why would you think that? 'S'not like you're a squib. You've got as much magic as the rest of us. And while we're on that subject, relax a bit. You're making it rain." Fred pointed out.

Startled, Ron looked up. Fred was right. Fat raindrops had began to sprinkle down on the porch. Once they had stopped, his brothers beamed at him, each throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"That's better!" Said Fred. "Cheer up. You're definitely going to Hogwarts. George and I will take you under our wings, to ensure that you don't become a prat!"

"A ponce!" George chimed in.

"A pillock!"

"A prick!"

"A prefect!"

They shared a sour look, and said together, "A Percy!"

"Worry not, Ronniekins! Fred and I will teach you all you need to know; everything from the right time of day to set off Dungbombs in the Common Room, to the best ways to avoid Filtch and Mrs. Norris."

Ron grinned. That was the best thing about the twins. They gave him a hard time, but they were just as quick to turn around and let him join in on the fun. He started to look forward to pulling some of the pranks they were describing, but then reality set in, and his shoulders slumped once more.

"Sounds brilliant, but you're forgetting something. I didn't get my letter, so I won't be going."

"Oh, didn't we mention that?" Began George airily. "Your letter came early this morning. It's up in our room right now."

"We bribed the owl with some treats before Mum came down to start breakfast." Fred added.

Ron leapt up with a yell, lips stretching into a wide grin. Then a thought seemed to strike him, and he scowled, fists clenched at his sides. "Wait a minute...you knew this whole time, and you just..."

Watching his ears go from pale white, to a rosy pink, and then a deep maroon in a matter of seconds had his brothers standing hastily, backing off of the porch.

"Now Ron, it was all in good fun, right?" Said Fred soothingly, holding his hands up.

"He knows that, Fred! Ron can take a joke!"

Hermione thought that was rich coming from George, who was backing away from his younger brother as if he expected him to erupt at any time.

And erupt he did. "YOU BLOODY TOSSERS!" he roared, leaping off the porch.

"Run for it Fred! He's young, but he's fast!"

"I only have to run faster than you, old boy!" Fred quipped.

With loud whoops they were off, streaking across the yard, Ron's lanky frame in hot pursuit as he hurled invectives at them.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears of laughter as she held her stomach. The scene before her was achingly familiar from their years at school. The twins loved nothing more than riling their brother up. Fred once confided to her that they used to compete to see who could make his ears turn the deepest shade of red. She had asked George if that was true a few months after Fred died, while they were reminiscing about him. George had confirmed it, adding that they had struck gold as far as subject matter went in Ron's fourth year; nothing drove him further round the bend than being teased about her.

Her eyes were still blurry when the ground began to sway under her. She looked down quickly, finding red carpet at her feet. The sounds of children's voices filled the air, and with a thrill, she realized she was on the Hogwarts Express.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of bushy brown hair. Ron had just passed the compartment she had been sitting in with Neville, and she groaned. She had always known that Ron's first impression of her hadn't been exactly...favorable. She had never thought she would get to experience it for herself. Wryly, she smiled. Ron was only minutes away from meeting his 'nightmare,' otherwise known as Hermione Jean Granger.

As Ron would no doubt say; Bloody hell.


	4. Chapter 4

Again, I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed so far. The feedback has really meant a lot to me. This is turning out to be quite a fun story to write, and I hope you all stick with me to the end. If anyone would send me recommendations for my romione playlist, it would be much appreciated!

The familiar sights and sounds of his own first ride on the Hogwarts Express washed over Ron, along with Hermione's jelly-kneed nervous excitement. She had stowed her trunk in the first available compartment that she came to before dashing to the loo to change into her new uniform and robes. Her wand shook in her trembling fingers, but she had managed one or two of the minor spells she had read about, and that had boosted her confidence. She licked her lips, preparing to leave the loo. Giving herself a shake, she put herself together. She could do this. She was going to make a place in this world. She would make friends, succeed, and finally, finally belong. So shoulders back! Head high! Stiff upper lip! Well. Maybe not too stiff. No sense tempting fate by drawing too much attention to her teeth. Yes. That was better. Now, walk out there with confidence, and don't, under any circumstances, let them see how nervous you are!

Ron smiled wryly as he followed her back to her compartment. If he could, he would have told her to relax. She obviously had no idea how imposing she looked.

As she slid open the door, his smile spread into a grin at the plump arse that was waving around in the air, a muffled voice begging something to come out from under the seat. That could only be one person, and the next few moments confirmed it.

Stepping inside and sliding the door closed, Hermione cleared her voice. "Ehem. Have you...lost something?"

The boy jerked up, hitting his head on the underside of the seat. He gave a whimper, sitting back to stare up at her with eyes brimming with tears.

"It's Trevor, my toad. We aren't even halfway there yet, and I've already lost him! Gran's going to kill me!"

Hermione pointed behind him. "Is that your toad, there?"

The boy whirled around, grasping at the warty creature before it had the chance to hop away. "I thought I had lost you for good!" He smiled up at Hermione, awkwardly staggering to his feet. "Thanks. My name's Neville Longbottom. Is this your first year at Hogwarts too?"

Hermione returned his smile, taking a seat opposite him. "It is. My name is Hermione Granger, by the way. Do you come from a wizarding family? I don't. We were all quite surprised when I got my letter."

Neville looked a bit sheepish. "Well, everyone else in my family are magical. I expect I'll be a bit of a disappointment, though. I'm quite clumsy, and my memory is rubbish. I don't see how I'm going to get through all seven years."

"I'm sure you'll do fine, as long as you give it your best. I'm good at studying; if you ever need help, just ask."

This made Neville brighten, the gloom lifting from his round face. "Really, you'd do that? That would be swell of you!"

They beamed at each other; Hermione felt light as a feather as they continued to talk, almost floating out of her seat in triumph. She was making a friend! It hadn't been hard at all, and she had been right all along. All you had to do was show a little kindness. Perhaps this year would be even better than she thought.

When Neville decided to go change into his robes, she waved at him cheerfully, turning to the window to watch the scenery rush by. It felt as if no time at all had passed when he returned, panic written all over him.

"Trevor's gone!" He wailed.

"Oh Neville, not again!" Hermione exclaimed. She could already tell that this was going to become as common as toast.

Unable to resist his silent plea, she stood, briskly walking out to join him. "Come along. We'll just check all the compartments. Let's start in this direction."

Briskly, Hermione made her way down the aisle, taking one side while Neville took the other. She asked everywhere if anyone had seen a toad, but had no luck. Which wasn't really surprising, since most everyone was too busy with their own concerns to notice a toad hopping about on the floor. She came across a boy with dreadlocks holding a box that kept shifting by itself, and, judging by the gleeful smirks he shared with the red headed twins on either side of him, decided she would be best served to avoid them.

When they had reached the end with still no sign of Trevor, Hermione started back the way they had come, Neville trailing behind her in dismal spirits. Ron held his breath; this was it. Her hand was on the door to the compartment he had shared with Harry. Within seconds, her bossy little voice sounded out, asking them if they had seen a toad. He watched, from her point of view, while Harry gave a tentative smile, and his younger self gave her a look like she had just made a rude noise. He had almost immediately dismissed her in favor of trying out a stupid spell on his bloody rat. Ron glared at himself. The damn animal caused more trouble than what it was worth. Looking at the rat currently known as Scabbers, he felt sick to his stomach, knowing how that would turn out.

Hermione had stiffened when she got a good look at him. She knew it was foolish, but she couldn't help her instant distrust of boys with freckles. It was something she needed to get over, so she steeled herself, forcing herself to be polite as she questioned him about the magic he was using. She watched dubiously. It certainly didn't sound like any of the spells she had studied in her book. When she mentioned this, he grew hostile, as if his failure was somehow her fault. The other boy, Harry Potter, seemed more her sort. Quiet and studious looking. They would probably get along. It would be harder with Ron Weasley; it would require effort, but she was determined to push past her silly prejudice.

Ron snorted. Trust Hermione to turn something as simple as making friends into some kind of personal challenge. When he was eleven, he had just assumed she had taken it upon herself to show him up. Discovering she had set out, in her own, specially mental way, to make friends with him was a bit disconcerting. She had gone about it all wrong, but watching his own face twist from stunned confusion at her rapid-fire comments into acute dislike, he had to admit he hadn't made it easy for her.

Harry at least looked halfway polite; he, on the other hand, looked as if he had bitten into a spinach flavored Bertie Bott's Bean. Hermione seemed to realize she was talking too much. She couldn't help it, though. Whenever she was uncomfortable, random facts always managed to pour from her mouth. Abruptly, she reined herself in, using the excuse that they should change soon as an excuse to leave hastily. Her cheeks burned as she marched back to her seat. Why, oh why had she drawn attention to the dirt on his nose? She had only meant to be helpful, but she could tell as soon as he said it that he had taken it as some sort of insult. If she had been thinking, she would have left much sooner, until she could think of a better way of going about this. She shrugged. Oh well. She would just have to try harder. Unless...unless they were put into different houses. Then it was entirely possible that they wouldn't see very much of each other. That might be for the best. He certainly didn't seem to like her much. Maybe it was because his spell hadn't worked? She nodded. If they were in the same house, she would make a point of helping him with magic. After all, being helpful had worked with Neville, hadn't it? Pleased, she settled into her seat, pulling a book out of her bag to pass the time.

Ron was stunned. Merlin's saggy balls! He had been her first spew-type project! Instead of trying to make him look bad, she had been trying to help him. Of course, he had fought her at every turn, which she found extremely frustrating. He had completely misread her. Sure, there had been a part of her that was showing off, but that was only because she wanted to fit in. He could understand that. If he had known, he wouldn't have given her such a hard time. Well. Maybe. He had always been short-tempered, and she had managed to push his buttons from the very beginning.

With a jerk, he was transported from the train to a classroom. Kids were streaming out the door, babbling about the lesson. Ron tried to place the memory as Hermione scooped up her books. There was Flitwick at the front of the room, and on each desk was a...feather. He groaned, knowing exactly where he was.

"You have to make the 'gar' nice and long." He drawled.

Her brows were lowered in a heavy scowl as she impatiently shouldered her bag, brushing her wild hair out of her face. The pleasure she felt for succeeding in class was dampenedy by a certain ginger, who had already left with a group of other boys. What was his problem? She had done her best to help him before he embarrassed himself by doing something like blowing himself up, as Seamus seemed to do every time he tried to perform magic. This had gone on for the past two months, and she was getting tired of him being shirty with her. Honestly, if he would just slow down and pay attention to what he was doing, she wouldn't even have to say anything. If he and Harry would put as much effort into their schoolwork as they did skulking around the halls late at night, they would probably be able to do magic just as well as her. Perhaps she shouldn't have been as hard on them about that. After all, Malfoy could have used a good thrashing, even if she would never condone such violence out loud.

This thought made Ron cackle. So she had been on their side after all! But her next thought sobered him, as they walked outside in the direction of their next class.

She shifted her heavy bag. Her reaction wouldn't have been so severe if she hadn't been terrified at the prospect of being expelled. How would she ever explain that to her parents? They had trusted her enough to let her come to this school, even though it meant they wouldn't be seeing her for months at a time, and they were worried about how she would do in a place that would forever be a mystery to them. She couldn't bear to disappoint them. A flash of red caught her eye. Ron and Harry were still with the other boys, and she hurried to catch up. As she got nearer, his voice floated back to her.

She nearly tripped over her feet, her vision becoming blurry.

Nightmare.

No friends.

They were laughing.

They were all laughing.

Speeding up, she brushed past them, choking down the sobs that threatened to escape. Behind her, she heard Harry tell Ron that she had probably heard him. She didn't slow down to wait for an apology. There wouldn't be one coming. Not from him; not for her. Blindly, she climbed stairs and down hallways, coming to one of the girls' loos. Shutting herself in a stall, she slumped to the floor, finally letting herself cry. What a horrid boy! He was crude, and awful, and nasty, and...right.

She didn't have any friends. All of the girls in her year thought she was strange and stuck up, and had pretty much ignored her after the first week or so. The boys stuck together in their own group, and even Neville, as nice as he was, usually preferred their company over hers. This whole thing was a gigantic failure. Her one chance to start over, and she had already ruined it. Seven long, cold years stretched out before her, days turning into weeks where no one outside of the professors spoke to her. That might have been bearable, but now, not only did she not have a family to go home to at the end of the day, but the teasing had started. Oh, there had been whispers of what a know-it-all she was, but this was different. This would get them going even more. She whimpered. Bullying in the Muggle world was bad enough. What was she going to do if they used magic on her?

Ron kicked the wall. He wanted nothing more than to go back down and smack himself upside the head, to try to get it through his thick skull how much he had hurt her. But it would do no good even if he could. He had been a stubborn little prat, and he wouldn't listen to anyone, not even himself. Although, he had thought that she didn't have friends because it was her choice. Now he saw that she had been trying, but no one had bothered to take the time to get to know her, to put her at ease. Once Hermione relaxed, she could be a lot of fun. It just took a while to figure that out.

The door to the outside creaked open, and two girls came in and stood at the sinks, talking a mile a minute. Hermione gave a loud sniff, and it was enough to get their attention.

"Who's there?" Asked Parvati.

"It's just me." Hermione said around the lump in her throat.

"Hermione? Is that you in there? Are you all right?" Said Lavender, coming to stand just outside the door.

"I'm fine, really."

"You don't sound fine. Did something happen? Was it that dreadful Weasely boy? He said something nasty, didn't he."

"He...no...it's fine." Hermione had no idea what to say. No one outside of her parents and Jackie had ever bothered to ask her how she was.

"Ugh, he is such a pig! I don't know how you could even stand being around him." Lavender continued, earning a bemused quirk of the brow from Ron.

"Go on there, Lavender. Say how you really feel." He muttered. He was confused when Hermione became oddly defensive.

"He's not so bad, really...I...I just irritate him, that's all."

"Well, you shouldn't stay here crying over him. Come on out, the feast is going to start soon." Parvati added.

"No thanks. You two go on ahead. I don't feel very hungry."

"Alright, but you'll be missing some really amazing desserts, and I heard Dumbledore had something special planned." Tempted Lavender.

"Maybe later. Right now, I just want to be alone for a while."

Giving her up as a lost cause, Ron heard the other girls leave. He watched sadly as Hermione hugged her knees to her chest, refusing to leave until she was sure she was done crying. She sat there for several hours, the cold from the tile floor seeping through the fabric of her robes and skirt. Wiping her swollen eyes with her sleeve, she finally stood up, grabbing the strap of her bag as she stepped out of the stall. Going over to run some cool water for her face, she jumped in surprise as a loud crash came through the door, looking up in time to see a large form stagger through, before to door slammed shut behind it. There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

For one, brief hysterical moment, she thought it was some kind of wizard Halloween prank, and she was ready to go up to the Common Room and chew out the twins. But the scream that was coming from her own mouth was enough to prove that this was no joke. The troll turned at the sound, lumbering in her direction, swinging a club that she knew would crush her skull if it connected. Everything began to move so fast; she was running, tripping, clawing at the locked door. Finding no escape, she darted around the room, the air from the swinging club tickling her neck.

This was it. She was going to die. She wondered, abstractedly, if her parents would be allowed to come for her body, or if she would be delivered like an early Christmas package. If there was enough left of her...

Suddenly, the door was thrown open, and two familiar heads of hair burst into the room. One black and perpetually messy, one a shock of bright red. She blinked. Had the troll hit her on the head without her realizing it? Harry, she could possibly understand. He hated to see someone in trouble. But Ron? He hated her, didn't he? Why on earth would he mess with a troll, just because of he- oh. He must have followed to help Harry.

Oddly pleased at this bit of logic amidst the chaos, she rolled under a sink as the club came down again, narrowly missing her. It was in a dreamlike state that she watched them fight the troll. She wanted to help, but couldn't. Her mind refused to accept that she was no longer about to die alone.

She sucked in a breath as she watched Harry astride the troll's shoulders. If something didn't happen soon, she was going to have to watch him be killed.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" Ron shouted from her left.

A smile flicked momentarily over her face. She knew he could do it if he really tried.

From the corner, Ron barked out a laugh. That was his Hermione; faced with death, she would still find some pleasure in being proved right. He watched as the troll went down with a thud, the teachers rushing in soon after. Hermione hadn't taken her eyes off of him, something he had been too busy to notice at the time. He wondered how many times he would find that to be the case.

She was silent as the teachers began to berate the boys. They had come back. After months of either being ignored or met with harsh words from them, they had come back. For her. McGonagall's angry voice cut through her thoughts. They had come back for her, and now they were going to get into trouble for it. Harry, who had so much to deal with already. Ron, who didn't like her at all, but came anyway because his friend needed him. They had been wonderful and brave, and now they were going to be punished for it.

No.

And without even caring about the consequences, Hermione opened her mouth and told her first lie since she was three years old.

Ron was torn. He had never really known how important this moment was to Hermione. For once, she felt like she was worth something to someone besides her parents, and it had engendered an instant, fierce loyalty within her. But he was sad, too. Sad, because she really thought that he might not have helped her if it hadn't been for Harry, that he wouldn't have cared if the troll had killed her. Which wasn't true. Yes, Harry had been the one to remember where she was and that she was in danger, but he had never wanted anything bad to happen to her, and had been secretly guilty over his thoughtless words. He hoped that Hermione would see that when she looked through his memories.

One scene faded into another, and now he was walking down the hall with Hermione. She had just exchanged some books from the library, and was on her way to join Ron watch Harry at Quidditch practise. Or, to be more precise, to read while she sat with Ron as he watched Harry. They were getting along much better now, and the times spent together without Harry weren't as strained. They still fought over homework, but it had lost the harsh edge of dislike.

She was striding down the path to the Quidditch pitch, pulling her scarf tighter around her throat, when someone stepped onto the path in front of her. Stopping short, the polite apology for nearly bumping into them died on her lips. Standing in front of her, wearing the sneer passed down from father to son for numerous generations, was Draco Malfoy.

Ron was caught off guard by how small he looked. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that the two meat-puppets that usually flanked him like bookends were missing, leaving him to stand alone. He narrowed his eyes. There was something about the little ferret's expression as he watched Hermione that Ron couldn't quite place, but knew he didn't like.

Hermione didn't budge, refusing to be the one to move out of the way. She detested this bully, this spoiled little rich boy. Hermione tried very hard to be a fair person, but she struggled to find something kind to say about Malfoy. The best she could think of was that he kept his two pet trolls well fed.

"What are you doing out here, Granger? Don't tell me you got lost on your way to the library." He drawled.

Chin jutting out, Hermione snapped back, "For your information, we're no where near the library. But I wouldn't expect you to be able to figure that out, seeing as you have no map with you."

The sneer slipped sideways on Draco's face for a moment, then he pushed back. "I see you're all alone. Do Potter and Weasley not need you around to do their homework?"

Hermione pushed down her fear, refusing to let him see that he had struck a nerve. This was something she had asked herself before; did Harry and Ron keep her around just to use her? As much as it hurt to admit, she couldn't think of any other reason. But she couldn't quite believe that. They had never sought her out. In fact, she was always the one to badger them about homework. Besides, she didn't think they were the type of people to use others like that. She glowered. Unlike the smarmy boy standing in front of her. No, Ron and Harry were her friends. And you fought trolls for your friends, even if they weren't there to see it.

Even if the troll in question was a spoiled rich boy.

"I think you're confusing them with yourself."

Malfoy smirked. "Aren't you supposed to be the smart one? I can see why you would put up with it from Potter. Gets you a bit of reflected glory, right? But why waste your time with that pathetic weasel? He's a ginger freak that wouldn't know what to do with a knut if he got his hands on it."

Hermione was bubbling with anger. Ron could practically see her hair bristling like a cat's, her small body stiffening up to deliver a scathing retort.

"Ron doesn't need money! People like him for who he is. He doesn't have to buy friends, unlike you!"

Ron was surprised by the quick flash of hurt in Malfoy's eyes.

"What are you implying?" He snarled.

"Where are your two thugs? Is today their day off, or are they demanding a pay raise?" Hermione jibed.

Draco took a step towards her, reaching out a hand to grip her arm tightly. "Stupid girl! I had considered letting you join my group, even if you are a Gryffindor! Are you really telling me you'd choose those two bumbling idiots?"

Hermione yanked her arm away, leaning closer to hiss in his face. "Join you? Even you couldn't pay me enough for that!"

Finished with this nonsense, Hermione stepped around him, ignoring him when he called out, "You'll regret that, Granger! Just see if you don't!"

Hermione ignored him, but Ron was gobsmacked. Everything from Malfoy's expression to his tone of voice reminded him of the time he had broken one of his toys so he wouldn't have to hand it down to Ginny; a petty, imature, if-I-can't-have-it neither-can-you type move.

"That rat-faced wanker fancied her!" He yelled. Not quite being able to come to terms with that bit of information, he jogged to keep up with Hermione, who had almost reached the Quidditch pitch.

Adjusting her bag, she looked up, scanning the stands. Spotting Ron was easy, thanks to his hair, and she began to walk in his direction. Her mind was still on her confrontation with Malfoy. How dare he act like he was so much better than Ron! True, Ron could be short-tempered, and his words bordered on the thoughtlessly cruel, but for as long as she had known him, he had never set out with the intention of hurting someone for fun. And when he did end up hurting someone, you were always able to tell he felt bad about it once he cooled down. Not that she could say much; her own words could be a bit sharp.

Ron rolled his eyes as he walked beside her. "Sharp as Gryffindor's bloody sword, you mean."

Looking up, Hermione caught Ron's eye, and he grinned, waving her over. A smile lit Hermione's face. Ron was much more pleasant when he smiled instead of scowled, and the more time they spent together, the more often she got to see this. She gave a small skip. He was happy to see her. Even now, when homework was the last thing on his mind, he wanted her to be around. Even though it was probably too early to think so, somehow, she knew he had the potential to become a really great friend. As he passed her a slice of bread and jam he had saved for her, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at the weight of her bookbag, she thought about the two boys she had begun to spend so much time with.

Harry was quiet, but with a smart tongue if he was pushed. He was laid back, and easy to talk to. Ron was different. He spoke his mind and didn't back down from an argument, and his quick, dry wit kept pace with hers in a fight. Really, she should by all accounts get along better with Harry. But as she watched Ron cheer on the players as they practiced, she couldn't help but think there was something special about him, something that made him stand out from other people. She wasn't sure what that was yet, but she was definitely going to find out. Reaching for her book, she gave a tiny smile, content to be sitting by her best friend, watching their other best friend on his broom. For so long, she had been looking for a place where she fit, where she felt like she could belong.

She thought she finally may have found it.

Ron couldn't help being confused. Neither he nor Harry had done much to earn this reaction from her, or her heated defence of him against Malfoy. In fact, he had been a git to her more often than not. Although, he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised. Once Hermione found a cause she believed in, she threw herself into it with everything she had.

He wasn't given time to ponder that any further, for now he was back in the castle. Or, to be more accurate, under it. Hermione was shaking, the giant chessboard stretching out in front of them ominously. Her eyes kept darting from Ron to the giant pieces in front of her, wincing every time one moved in her direction. Her shoes were slippery on the marble, and she was deathly afraid she was going to slide off her square and lose them the game. She tried to take deep, even breaths as she listened to Ron call out the moves. He sounded so sure of himself, and she found that oddly comforting.

The game dragged on, the pieces being slowly eliminated one by one. They were nearing the end, and her skin prickled at the note of strain that was now in Ron's voice. She looked at Harry, trying to make sense of what was being said.

No.

No!

He couldn't do that! There had to be another way! She bit back a whimper as he called out the final move, the queen sliding to stand before him in one quick movement. Until now, she hadn't thought twice about letting Ron get them through this challenge. He was brilliant at chess, and she had had every confidence that he could handle this. What had she been thinking? This was madness, and now she was expected to stand here and watch as one of her best friends, in all likelihoodn, got killed!

She gave a scream as he was knocked from his horse, his body falling to the floor where it laid in a crumbled heap, shrapnel and dust from the broken pieces covering his body. Her stomach began to dry heave. Lurching in his direction, she was stopped by Harry. It took every ounce of control she had to stand there as he finished the game, but once he had, she practically flew to Ron's side. It barely registered when Harry joined her. All she could focus on was the relief was that Ron was still alive. Blood poured from a gash on his head, and she didn't know which to worry about more; a possible concussion, or blood loss. What if there was internal bleeding? They needed to get him to a hospital!

The sight of his own lifeless-looking body on the floor was disconcerting. He had the advantage of knowing he was going to be fine, but the poor twelve year old Hermione did not. They had never told him that Hermione had wanted to stay with him. He could feel it as she ran alongside Harry, the urge to turn back to help him warring with the knowledge that Harry was probably going to need her. She had sucked in a breath as they snuck around the unconscious troll, one that looked like a twin to the one that had attacked her months earlier. The potion puzzle that they were confronted with next worked to soothe her nerves a bit by giving herself something to focus on, and it was with a guilty sense of relief that she found that only one of them could move on. She was terrified for Harry, but she knew that if she could just get back to Ron, the two of them could go get help.

Her legs pumped furiously as she ran back the way she had come, hoping that he had woken up in the time she had been gone. He hadn't; he lay sprawled in the same heap where the queen had drug him. Falling to her knees, her hands fluttered over him, unsure about the best way to go about waking him up. Should she shake him, or slap him? What if that caused more damage? She moaned. There was so much blood!

"Ron? Ron! Come on, you have to wake up! Harry needs us!"

He made a gargled sound, his body flinching away from where she was poking him in the ribs.

"Please wake up! Harry needs us to go get help, but I'm not leaving here without you!"

Ron watched his eyes flutter open. He had never known what she had actually said to him. It had been the barely restrained hysteria in her voice that had woken him up.

Hermione helped him up, throwing one of his arms around her shoulders, bracing herself against his swaying weight. He looked horrible; bright, wet blood was plastered in his hair and streaming down the side of his face, which was nearly as pale as one of the castle ghost's. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, as if he didn't quite know where he was.

"Ron, can you stand? Do you know who I am?"

He pulled away, his voice thick and slurred when he answered, "'Course I know ya...yer Mynee. Can tell by the hair."

She let out a grunt as he staggered back into her, lolling his head onto hers. "Huh. 'T's soft. Niiiiiiiice. Think I'm gonna shleep now. Niiiiiiight."

Next to them, Ron blushed. Had he really snuggled into her hair like that? He thought that particular urge hadn't set in for a few more years. He was just glad that she was too preoccupied to notice it. She could wait to learn that he got...cuddly...when he was sick or injured, something his mum could attest to but thankfully kept her mouth shut about. It wasn't fair telling tales about a bloke when he was too delirious to know what he was doing!

"No! You can't! Ron, Harry's down there all alone with Snape! We have to go get Dumbledore!'

"Harry? Snape?" Her words seemed to bring him around. He shook his head, taking a few tottering steps towards the door. He squinted, raising a hand to his head.

Hermione stood beside him, chewing her lip in agitation. "Can you make it? Do you need to lean on me?"

"Yeah, come on. We need to get out of here." He grunted, becoming steadier on his feet as he lead the way.

She caught up to him, saying in a quiet voice, "What you did back there was really brave, but don't you ever do that again!"

He shot her a look. "Are you mental? I thought I was the one with the head injury. Of course I'll do something like that again if I have to! It was the only way!"

They didn't have time to fight about it, so she said nothing. It had been a wonderful, incredibly brave thing he had done, and she was terribly proud of him.

But she despised how easily he threw himself away.

Oh. So she hadn't been in a snit just because she had thought he was being reckless.

"Here, you take this one." Ron offered, handing her one of the brooms he had snatched up.

"No, we're going to have to take the same one." She responded, reaching into her pocket.

"Look, Hermione, I know you don't like to fly, but for once, could you just-"

"Unless you can fly a broom and play a flute at the same time, you're going to have to deal with it!" She snapped, waving the flute in his face.

"Wha-? Oh. Oh! Bugger, I had forgotten about that. Alright then, I'll steer, you play."

He mounted the broom, waiting to feel her get on behind him before he kicked off. Hermione took advantage of the situation to hug him tightly, disguising the move so it looked like she was trying not to fall. She had been so afraid he wasn't going to wake up! But here he was, bickering with her like everything was normal. She buried her face in the back of his sweater. She knew she couldn't say anything about it or give him a proper hug, because that would just be strange. He would think she was being a silly, soppy girl, and they would both be uncomfortable. She squeezed harder. He was alright. They were all going to be alright.

It had been smart of her not to make a big deal of it, Ron thought. He would have been embarrassed, and would have had no idea how to handle it. His emotional range wasn't even remotely close to a teaspoon at that point. Still, he knew that if he had known how worried about him and proud she was, he would have been pleased. Hell, it was ages ago, and he was happy finding out about it just now!

Flying into the darkness, he emerged not in the room with Fluffy, but once again found himself on the Hogwarts Express. The three of them were sitting in a compartment, Hermione across from the two boys. They were munching on Cauldron Cakes and drinking pumpkin juice from the snack car, talking about their plans for the summer.

Hermione was both excited and anxious about going home. She had missed her parents, and was looking forward to spending time with them, but had noticed that over the Christmas break there was something...different. Before, she could talk about her schoolwork with her parents, and have enjoyable conversations about what she was learning. They would answer any questions she had, or they would look it up together. Now, they were lost. They struggled to understand, but to them, magic was magic, and they only thing they had to go by was the type seen in films, where everything happened with little to no effort. They knew she was working hard; they just couldn't grasp to what extent. It didn't help that she couldn't even show them, due to the under age magic law.

The other problem had been that her mind had been elsewhere over break. It had been focused on Harry and Ron, and the mystery of Nickolas Flammel. She couldn't help but feel guilty; she loved her parents very much, but she had wanted to stay at Hogwarts. Not that she told them, of course, but she suspected they knew. It had been a strange and wonderful thing, having friends, and leaving that behind, even for a few weeks, was hard.

Now she would have to do it again, this time for months. Nervous questions ran through her head. Would they be friends next year? Would they forget about her over the summer? Would they think about her at all, or would she become just another name they recalled as someone being in their year? She shook off these thoughts, choosing to enjoy the train-ride as much as possible. Taking a deep breath, she gave her attention to what they were saying.

Ron was telling Harry that they would have to owl each other over the holiday. Hermione squirmed. She wanted to ask if they would write her as well, but she was afraid of being pushy. She wanted them to write because they wanted to, not because they felt like they had to.

"Wait, what about Hermione? She doesn't have an owl." Harry asked.

Hermione looked up at the sound of her name, surprised to be included.

Ron blinked. "I didn't think about that. Never knew anyone who's family didn't have an owl before. Sorry 'bout that Hermione." He added apologetically.

"Oh, no, that's fine! I wasn't expecting anyone to write me or anything!" She said with a false brightness, having forgotten her lack of an owl herself.

Harry and Ron traded a look. "Of course we were going to write you. Weren't we Ron?"

"'Course! Look, me and Harry will send you our letters first, and you can send your answer back with Errol and Hedwig, alright?"

Hermione perked up, but tried not to look too excited. Coming across as clingy and pathetic was not how she wanted to be seen.

"Alright then! Wait, they will be able to find me, right?"

"Sure, that's what they do. Although Errol may take ages to get there. If he passes out, just lay him on a dresser or something until he comes to." He said gloomily, his ears turning pink.

Hermione knew he was embarrassed by his family's owl, so she tried her best to smooth it over. "That's fine. My mum finds owls a bit frightening and fierce looking, so maybe getting to know Errol will make her more likely to let me get one of my h own. Having him stay over for a bit will give me practice taking care of one."

Ron smiled, relaxing a little as the subject changed, pleasing Hermione. Inside, she was relieved. They had been intending to write her all along, as if it was perfectly natural to do. For some reason, this more than anything else assured her that they really did consider her to be a friend. Suddenly, summer looked far less lonely than it had only minutes before. She could go home, enjoy the vacation her parents had planned, and read the books she had been saving up. Her mum would cook her favorite foods, and her dad would take her to the pool on hot days.

But the thing she was looking to forward most was that first letter.

Ron paled considerably at this. He had come very close to not sending it at all. Once the twins and Ginny had found out he was writing a girl, they had become merciless with their teasing. In his embarrassment, he had nearly left it up to Harry to to keep in contact with Hermione, trying to justify it by telling himself that she'd rather hear from Harry than him anyway, but was too polite to say so. But once his mum had found out that he had promised Hermione, she had insisted, and after several letters the twins had gotten bored and moved on to something else. Then he and Hermione had figured out that none of their letters were getting through to Harry, and that had given him something to focus on. Seeing how much his messy scribbles had meant to her made him glad he had gone through with it. He made a mental note to thank his mum.

The window of the train warped, shifting into the window of her bedroom. An owl tapped at the glass. A letter had arrived. Ron followed along behind Hermione's bushy hair, both eager to read what was inside.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione followed Ron as he dragged his heavy trunk behind him, watching as he peered into each compartment before moving to the next. He was all alone. Percy had disappeared, off to do whatever it was that disgustingly perfect students did. Fred and George had bounded away to find their friend Lee, and though Ron knew he could count on them if he actually needed help with something, he preferred not to start off being known as the irritating tag-along. He had enough obstacles to overcome as it was, no sense giving people another reason to make fun of him...he sighed. A ginger's lot was a hard one.

Reaching the end and turning back, he saw that he had missed the last compartment on the opposite side. Looking in, he saw that it was only occupied by one person, the boy he had seen earlier. Fred and George had said he was Harry Potter, but Ron had lived with his brothers long enough to be skeptical. He was relieved at being told he could come in; he had begun to fear that he would spend the entire trip walking up and down the corridor.

Finding out that the other boy actually was Harry Potter came as a shock. All his life he had heard the stories, and now here he was, sitting right across from him, scar and all! When he realized he was staring, he blushed and turned to the window. He had probably made the poor bloke feel like a freak. Brilliant, he had finally been able to talk to someone his age, and now it probably looked like he was only talking to him because he was famous.

Harry didn't seem to hold it against him, though, so he found himself slowly relaxing, until his brothers popped in. Praying that they wouldn't pull one of their practical jokes just yet, he almost didn't pay attention to what they were saying.

Until he heard the word, 'spider.' He grunted a reply, knowing that this was the twins' subtle way of warning him not to come looking for them. They weren't exactly models of sensitivity, but by unspoken agreement they never used spiders to tease him, and usually made sure he didn't have to deal with them. Which, Ron thought, was only fair, since it was their fault he had this...condition to begin with. Fortunately, they left without doing anything that would make him look stupid. Things were going well, until the snack cart arrived, the smells wafting in and making his stomach growl.

He wanted to buy something, anything, off of the cart so badly that he almost ached. His ears burned with embarrassment as he pulled out the sandwiches his mum had given him, groaning when he saw that they were corned beef, the one meat on Merlin's green earth that he couldn't stand. It was that wanker Percy's favorite, and he cursed him silently, before realizing that Harry had just bought a huge pile of junk food and was offering to share. His mouth watered as he fought the urge to dive in. He didn't like accepting favors he knew he couldn't return. It made him feel...well, strange, as if he were using people. All he had were his nasty sandwiches, but a sense of fairness and pride made him offer them anyway. Harry was polite when he turned them down, but the gesture made Ron feel better. He was put even more at ease when Harry described that he was always stuck with hand-me-downs himself; there was something nice about talking to a person that knew where he was coming from. Although he got the feeling that Harry's family didn't like him much, if at all. He shuddered. His family might be annoying, but at least they never treated him like he was worthless.

They continued to gorge themselves on the food, only interrupted by a plump, tearful boy asking if anyone had seen his toad. Ron felt bad for him. He might not have a lot, but at least a rat was a step up. He eyed the sleeping rodent critically. Well, now was as good a time as any to try that-

The door swished open, and Ron looked up to find a girl with bushy hair that floated around her head like a cloud. She asked if they had seen a toad, and her tone of voice was so bossy that it immediately set his teeth on edge. She was giving off strong, Percy-like vibrations, and the more she talked, the stronger it got. Not only did she insult his spell (he was going to smother the twins in their sleep tonight), but she couldn't seem to shut up, her words coming so fast and clipped that he could only really grasp the fact that she was ordering them to change their clothes. Blimey, if you cut Percy in half and put him in drag, you would end up with this girl right here!

Hermione moaned in mortification, her hands covering her face. She wanted to reach over and cover her own mouth to shut herself up, but could only watch as she dug herself in deeper, drawing attention to the dirt on his nose. She saw him bristle up, taking it as some sort of slur against his family, as if she had insinuated that because he was poor, he obviously lived in filth. She couldn't find it in her to be surprised when he told Harry that he hoped they wouldn't be in the same house. Harry had been wise enough not to mention the dirt; had she really lacked that much tact at that age?

Ron soothed his wounded feelings with another chocolate frog, making a mental note to avoid that girl in the future. He already felt inferior enough as it was, he didn't need to hang about with someone who was going to continually rub his face in it. Not that he thought he had to worry. He could tell she was probably incredibly smart, so she would most likely end up in Ravenclaw, a house that he was in no danger of being sorted into. No, the most he would be seeing of her was across the Great Hall at meals, which suited him just fine. Best not to even think about her, really, when he had bigger problems to worry about. Such as if he would make it into Gryffindor...

The train sped through a tunnel, the walls melting into a corridor of the school. It was one Hermione knew well, even after all these years. She was standing right outside Professor Flitwick's class, students streaming out, voices raised as they discussed the days lesson. Her stomach dropped as she heard the word 'feather.' She knew exactly what day this was now.

"All the sensitivity of a warthog!" She hissed as he walked past, along with Harry, Dean, Seamus and Neville.

Ron was silently fuming. How was it that he got paired up with that bleeding Hermione Granger? As if classes weren't hard enough! He always got nervous when he was first trying something new. He got so caught up in trying not to look stupid, that he ended up choking. Which, in turn, lead him to looking stupid. It was a shitty cycle, but one he had gotten used to playing off like it didn't bother him. Her constant yammering of what he was doing wrong just made it even harder for him, and then she had to go and do it perfect on her first try! She had probably done it on purpose, just to make him look bad. Deep down, he didn't really beileve that, but when he was mad, his emotions carried him, his mouth usually going along for the ride. Which was why, when Seamus made a comment about how quick Hermione was to catch on to magic, the words left him before he could really think of what he was saying.

They were still hanging in the air when someone brushed past him, someone with unmistakable hair. His mouth hung open as he watched her shoot ahead, head down and shoulders hunched. When Harry said that she had heard him, he felt queasy. He could tell he had hurt her feelings, and, as mad at her as he was, that was something he hadn't intended to do. His skin flushed guiltily, aware that as bossy and harsh as she could be, she had never gone so far as to insult him. And he had just said something really cruel, in front of other people, which only made things worse. He felt downright lousy, but he had no idea what to do. Come to think of it, had he ever even apologized to someone without his mum making him? He doubted it. Hoping the problem would go away if he ignored it, he pushed those thoughts aside, instead concentrating on the upcoming feast.

Which worked reasonably well, until Neville opened his big fat mouth to say that she had been crying all day. Thanks loads, mate. The sweet candy turned sour in his mouth, and the lump in his throat made it difficult to swallow. He had made a girl cry. More than that, he had made Hermione cry, a girl he imagined as having bollocks of steel. In the back of his mind, he had always sort of hoped he would get a spell right in class, preferably one she was having trouble with. She would be amazed, admit he was brilliant, and ask for his help. Of course, he would brush his success off as no big deal, show her what she was doing wrong, and then bask in her praise as she admitted he wasn't as worthless as she thought. That dream was looking less and less likely to happen, seeing as she hated his guts now. The thought made him strangely unhappy.

Hermione flinched, for once not at his table manners. She had never thought he was useless, but seeing things through his eyes, she understood how he came to believe that. She was constantly on him, always telling him what he was doing wrong. She never bothered to praise him when he was doing something right, acting as if that was to be expected. Each little fact or random bit of trivia was seen as a highlight of his ignorance, which explained why her conversational gambits always fell so painfully flat. She could only hope that she had gotten better over the years, because her unwitting part in his insecurity was painful to watch.

He was chewing on a piece of pie when Professor Quirrel burst through the doors, squawking and flailing about a troll. The room filled with the screams of panicked students, and Ron was thankful that his mouth was too full to join them. He did his best to surpress the fear bubbling in his chest as they were being lead back to the dorms, until Harry hissed in his ear.

Bugger.

Had he felt sick before? If so, it was nothing compared to the way his stomach was churning now. Harry was right, she had no idea what danger she was in. She may be the most brilliant which Hogwarts had, but a troll didn't fight with wits. She didn't stand a chance, and it would be all his fault. It had been bad enough that he had hurt her feelings; he didn't think he could live with the guilt he would have if she ended up dying.

His heart hammered in his chest as he tore after Harry, trying and failing to come up with a way out of this that didn't result in at least one of them being killed. There was a brief moment of peace when they had locked the troll into one of the rooms, but that was shattered by the sound of a shrill scream. He met Harry's eyes, seeing his own horror mirrored there. Hastily, they scrambled into the bathroom, and he gulped audibly at the scene.

That troll. Was. Fucking. Huge.

This was not what he had had in mind when he wished for a way out of writing his potions essay. In fact, he would write five at double the length if someone would come along and save them. But the luck of the day held, and no help was forthcoming. Instead he followed Harry's lead by chucking debris at the troll, a move to be futile at least, suicidal at best.

He snorted. Face it, Weasley. You ordered your own coffin the second you stepped through that door.

The sight of Harry being whipped around on the troll's shoulders would be hilarious under other circumstances, but right now it had Ron's knees shaking. How was he supposed to help? What could he possibly do that wouldn't fuck things up more? Wasn't it at least partially his fault that they were in this mess to begin with?

A glance at Hermione told him that if anything was going to be done, it had to come from him. Her skin was an unhealthy shade of white, and it was a miracle she hadn't passed out yet. She was going to die thinking he was not only a screw-up, but a complete and utter bastard.

That thought did something to him, and without even realizing what he was doing, his wand was pointed in front of him, the words that had been burned into his brain hours earlier erupting r from him.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

Somewhere, somebody must love him, because despite all common sense, it seemed to work. The floor shook under him as the troll dropped, and he closed his eyes briefly, still not quite sure how it was that he was still alive. Loud voices came from behind him, causing him to groan.

Of course. Now the professors would show up. Not in time to help, mind you, just in time to rip him a new arse. At least Harry was going down with him, small comfort that that was. Or was he? You could have knocked him down with a Wingardium Leviosaed feather when Hermione piped up, lying as smoothly as one of the twins, a fact that gave him pause. What really floored him was that Hermione Granger, serious, perfect, rule-loving Hermione Granger, had just lied to a professor. For him. Well. More than likely it was for Harry, but still. He didn't doubt that she could have found a way to save Harry and leave him hanging. He wouldn't have been able to blame her, after the way he had treated her today. She had just saved him, and he knew he didn't deserve it.

He felt lower than slug slime.

Dragging himself back to the tower, he kept hoping that she would say something, hold it over his head, threaten to tell the truth if he made her mad. Instead, she gave a shy, hesitant smile, as if she wasn't completely sure that he wasn't going to say something horrid to her.

There was a part of him that wanted to. It was the part that was mad at her, not only for being so perfect all the time, but for the way she had completely ruined the careful image he had built of her. She was still smart, and more than a little scary, but comparing her to Percy was no longer going to fly. His brother would have ratted hard enough to sprout a tail and set of whiskers. But Hermione...as important as school was to her, she had risked it all for them, with no hesitation, and no expectation of thanks. He added another healthy serving of guilt to his mental plate. Okay, he had misjudged her. But maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe, if he made the effort to get to know her, she would show more of the person he caught a glimpse of in the loo.

He returned her smile, and nearly tripped when hers grew into a large grin, nothing like the tight, pleased smile she gave teachers that praised her. Had he ever really seen her smile before? Looking back, he had to come to the conclusion that he hadn't. The more he thought about it, though, the more he wondered if she had had anything to smile about. Which raised another question. Had he ever heard her laugh? No. But, he thought as he entered the Common Room, maybe he could do something about that.

Hermione sniffled, brushing the tears out of her eyes. She had always wondered why his eyes would light up victoriously whenever she would cave in and laugh at his clowning, as if he had pulled off some great feat. She thought she couldn't love him any more than she already did, but learning that he had made it his personal mission to get her to laugh more only proved her wrong. It was strange, but she was falling in love with him all over again. His efforts hadn't always worked out, and had been rather crude at times, but he had tried. He still tried, and his eyes still glinted with pleasure each time he got her to laugh.

She stepped through the portrait hole and into the Common Room, finding that it was no longer Halloween, but several months into the future, sometime after the Christmas holidays. In fact, she recalled it was around early spring.

Ron sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire, blinking at the flames and rubbing his temples with one hand. The room was blessedly quiet now that everyone was at dinner, and the pounding in his head had dulled to a bearable level. He had felt shitty all day, but because of a mysterious and highly contaigous rash going around the fourth year Hufflepuffs, only students with serious injuries were allowed to go to the hospital wing. The air was a bit stuffy in the dorm, so he had shuffled down to the Common Room, flinching in pain every time someone spoke loudly. Harry and Hermione had gone down to eat, both shooting him worried looks when he had decided not to join them. He was regretting that, his stomach rumbling in protest, but knew that the noise would make his head explode.

He shifted around into a more comfortable position, almost missing the sound of someone entering the room. To his surprise, it was Hermione, levitating a tray piled high with food in front of her.

"Hermione? What's all that?"

She made her way over to him, sending the tray to rest on the table in front of him, then sitting down on a large cushion on the floor.

"Your dinner, of course. I thought that by now you would be regretting your decision not to come down." She answered, handing him a fork and a plate loaded with string-beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, and-sweet Merlin! fried chicken!

"Honestly Ron, the way you look at that chicken is positively indecent!"

He tore his rapturous gaze away from his food to look at her, smiling sheepishly when he saw that she was teasing.

"Can't help it. Chicken is my favorite, after all." He said, sinking his teeth into a drumstick.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, I gathered that by the way you act like you're seconds away from proposing to it every time we have some."

Shrugging, he barely managed to swallow before saying, "Well, as long as I'm going to make an honest bird out of it, then I should be able to look at it how ever I want."

Hermione snorted, taking a sip from the glass of pumpkin juice she had brought up for herself. Ron smirked as he continued to chew. The fact that she had thought to bring him food, and had remembered his favorites, was oddly flattering. It was moments like these that reinforced what a good idea it had been to get to know her better. He had learned a lot about her already, like the fact that although she nagged and grumbled, she was just as likely to go out of her way to do something nice. Still, he had to wonder why she was up here with him instead of with Harry. It was true that they got along a lot better than they had in the beginning, but they still sniped at each other a fair bit, while she and Harry didn't seem to argue at all.

"So why did you do this, anyway?" He asked bluntly, mentally slapping himself. Great. Now he sounded like a ungrateful tit, and she was probably going to storm off in a huff, leaving him alone.

Her cheeks pinkened a few shades, and her eyes didn't quite meet his. "Because I knew you were hungry, of course! That's what friends do!" She seemed to think of something, and her eyes shot to his, her expression strangely vulnerable. "I mean...we are friends, right?"

Ron felt his ears warm up, and it wasn't from the fire. How could she ask an unfair question like that? You didn't go around asking if you were friends with people! You either were, or you weren't. Or was this some soppy girl thing that he didn't understand? Dimly, he was aware of his mouth opening and closing, his throat emitting a gurgling noise.

Hermione shifted her feet under her as if she was going to stand up, her words coming out rapid and high pitched.

"That is to say, I didn't mean to assume or anything, I completely understand-"

"Of course we are! Why do you even have to ask?" He finally blurted.

She sank back down on the cushion, looking faintly relieved. "Well, we've never actually said, so I wasn't totally sure..."

He rolled his eyes, taking a bite of potatoes. "Don't know how they do it in the Muggle world, but you don't need to have a verbal contract or anything to be friends here. You act like you've never-" he broke off, a sick suspicion creeping into his mind, which only strengthened when she began to chew on her lip nervously.

Carefully, he set his fork down, hardly daring to believe it. "Hermione," he spoke slowly, "you have had friends before, right? Before you came to Hogwarts?"

She gave him a small, half smile, that he somehow found sadder than if she had started crying. "Most people don't want to be friends with a nightmare, Ron." She said quietly.

He jerked back, her words Stirring up the guilt he thought he had managed to bury. He had hoped she had forgotten that.

Apparently, she hadn't.

"Look, when I said that...I didn't really mean it, alright?" He muttered uneasily, running the hand that wasn't holding his fork through his hair. "I was just hacked off, and...well, Mum always says that it's my mouth that's going to get me into trouble."

Hermione shrugged. "I understand. I know I'm not the easiest person to put up with. I'm bossy and demanding, and my temper can get the best of me. I suppose it's surprising that I didn't get sorted into Slytherin."

The guilt he was feeling vanished, replaced by anger. How could she even think that? Bossy and demanding yes, but she was also smart and loyal and kind, things the dungeon dwellers could only dream of being.

The sound of his hand hitting the table made her jump, and she was taken aback as she saw his eyes flashing in anger.

"You're nothing like those slimy, smarmy snakes Hermione!" He growled fiercely. "Don't ever think you are!"

He sat back, embarrassed at how emotional he was. "Now, if you told me you thought you should be a Ravenclaw, then I'd agree with you. Honestly, that's where I thought you were going to end up in the beginning." He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

She smiled. "I guess that would have made sense. I don't know how I ended up in Gryffindor; I've never thought of myself as particularly brave."

Ron took a large gulp of his drink. "Know what you mean. I think I only got in because the rest of my family did. I mean, I'm no prize, but I'm not bad enough for Slytherin. Definitely not hard working enough for Hufflepuff. And Ravenclaw...well. you've seen my essays. They speak for themselves, don't they?"

"You fought the troll. I'd say that was pretty brave."

He shrugged, cheeks flaming, uncomfortable by the praise. That didn't really count. He had just been helping Harry, and he had been frightened out of his mind. Still, the fact that she thought he belonged in Gryffindor lifted his spirits. Hermione was hardly ever wrong, so maybe he did belong, after all. He just wished he had a chance to do something to prove it to himself.

Before he could ask her if she had any ideas of how he might go about that, someone stumbled into the room. It was Neville, clutching his toad Trevor.

"Hey Neville. Back already?" Ron called.

Neville waved his toad at him, clumps of sludgy brown gunk falling to the floor. "Had to come back early. Trevor hopped into the gravy boat, and I need to wash him off." Neville sighed, stumping up the stairs.

Ron arched his eyebrow at Hermione. "On the other hand, maybe it's just a poor crop of Gryffindors all around, this year."

"Ron! That's not very nice!" She admonished.

He grinned, pleased that she was acting more like herself. Hermione was at her best when she was all worked up, and it was his job to see that she stayed that way.

If he was honest, he would admit that he hated seeing her look so down and hard on herself. But he still lacked the emotional maturity to embrace things like compassion, and instead passed it off as a side effect from his sore head.

Hermione smiled as she watched them. Ron was barely at half a teaspoon at this point. Overt displays of kindness were rare and executed clumsily, and he was years away from physical displays of affection. But the impulse was there, buried beneath his inexperience and insecurity. He had good intentions, but had no idea how to emplement them, so, instead of risking failure, he put on a cocky front. He was a work in progress, a sculpture that the chisel had only barely begun to shape. The material was raw, but honest, and she could feel the attachment he felt for her as it began to form. True, right now it was strictly platonic, but it was a good, solid foundation to build on.

The fire flared brightly, dazzling her eyes. Once the spots cleared, she had to adjust to the darkness. The Common Room was gone, and the terror that clutched her heart made it hard to think. Dimly, she was aware of his resolve, his conviction of what had to be done. The dank air triggered her own memories.

There it was. The chessboard.

Ron knew what he had to do, even as he tried to talk himself out of it. Harry had only been playing chess for a few months, and Hermione was far to impatient to plan moves ahead of time. That left him to get him through this mess, a prospect that had his palms sweating if only he was more like his brothers! But he wasn't. He wasn't clever and resourceful like Bill, or brave like Charlie, or even bright and logical like Percy. He was just a twelve year old boy who happened to be a somewhat decent chess player, and it was just his luck that not only his life, but those of his friends as well, hung in the balance. He had hoped that Hermione would argue and offer some sort of alternative, but the blasted girl chose now of all times to let him have his way.

He hoped she wasn't going to come to regret that.

Soon, his panic gave way to intense concentration, his eyes constantly scanning the layout of the board, studying each piece. His heart leaped into his throat every time he almost let Harry or Hermione walk into a trap, but somehow he managed to keep it together. He was growing desperate to end the game, but the harder he thought, the more he saw that there could be only one possible outcome. He was going to have to sacrifice himself. The thought made him dizzy. He had seen what happened to the losing pieces, and what it would mean for him. Either he would be going home in a box, or he would spend the rest of his life in the 'special' ward of St. Mungo's. He could keep playing and hope to find a way out, but the longer this kept on, the more likely that it was Harry or Hermione that would end up being taken.

And when he thought of it like that, there really was no choice.

They protested, of course, and Hermione looked as if she was about to burst into tears, but they knew he was right. Bracing himself, he took a final look at his friends as he called out the last move. The queen slid forward, raising her great stone arm high above her head, then bringing it down swiftly. For one second he felt intense pain.

And then nothing. Nothing at all.

Hermione screamed as her world went black, frantic at the loss of her connection to him, before realizing it was because he was unconscious. There was barely any time for her to think about it before his eyes fluttered open, the time passing faster than what she knew had actually occurred.

His mum was shrieking at him to wake up again. Ron groaned, wanting nothing more than to bury his head under the pillow and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, she had hit that certain pitch that meant business, promising swift punishment to whoever was foolish enough to ignore her.

The world was a lot darker than he remembered it. Fuzzier, too. Oh, wait. That was Hermione's hair. What was she doing at the Burrow? He let her pull him up, her chattering words hardly making any sense to him. Everything swayed and spun around him, and he leaned into her for balance. Hmmm, soft, like the blanket her had when he was little. Maybe if he took a little nap...but then the words 'Harry' and 'Snape' registered with him, and the haze around his brain started to clear. He jerked away from her unsteadily, embarrassed by the way he had nuzzled into her hair. Sweet Merlin, he hoped she wouldn't bring that up! Obviously that blow to the head he had taken was more serious than he thought, if he was going to go treating Hermione as if she were his mum.

Luckily for him, she was more focused on getting out of there and finding help for Harry, and he ran along in front of her, deeply concerned for his friend as well. They needed Dumbledore, and they needed him fast. Hermione's words broke through his thoughts, but he didn't think he heard her right. What did she mean, never do that again? Of course he would, if he had to. What kind of friend would he be if he couldn't even do that much? She didn't understand. He didn't have a lot to give. Not just in the sense that he was poor and couldn't treat his friends to much, but also that he didn't really have any outstanding qualities that would be of any use to anyone. All he had to give was himself. It wasn't much, but if it was needed then he wouldn't hesitate to do so. Not to say that he wasn't pleased to find that he hadn't snuffed it. His mum would've killed him if he had died. After all, none of his brothers had gotten themselves killed at school.

The ride on the broom would have been fun except for the small matter of getting past Fluffy, who came uncomfortably close to them before falling over asleep from the flute that Hermione was playing. Taking no chances, he landed as close to the door as he could, and they wasted no time in bolting from the room.

"Ron, let's go to Dumbledore's office. That's the most likely-"

"Ah, Miss Granger and Mister Weasley. I trust you've been to visit Fluffy?"

They spun around to find Dumbledore himself at the other end of the hall, walking towards them briskly.

"Professor, Harry is-"

"Yes Miss Granger, I suspect I know exactly where Mister Potter is. Might I borrow that charming flute you're holding?"

Hermione handed it to him wordlessly, and they both watched as he opened the door. He looked back over his shoulder.

"Mr. Weasley, you might have Miss Granger take you to the hospital wing. Head injuries can be tricky things."

Ron watched the door shut, bringing a hand to his head. He winced away at the pain, then looked down at his sticky palm. It was covered in half congealed blood, and he could feel more of it still trickling down his neck. Now that adrenaline was no longer pumping through him, he began to feel whoozy. Hermione must have seen this, because immediately she was at his side, pulling an arm around her shoulders.

"Oi, you'll get blood all over you!" He exclaimed, trying to pull away.

She gave him a look of disbelief. "Ron, you nearly got killed! Do you really think I'm going to make a fuss over some blood?"

"So if I hadn't almost died, then you'd have a problem?"

"How can you joke like that? You have no idea how worried I was. I was so afraid you weren't going to wake up!"

They were nearly to the hospital wing, Ron noticed thankfully. He didn't think he could handle it if she started to cry.

"Well, I did, and Dumbledore's with Harry, so everything's fine, yeah?" He asked, hoping she would perk up.

"I guess so. Still, I want Madam Pomfrey to look at your head. You may need to go to the hospital."

"No worries. It was only my head; I don't think you can really damage it more than it already is. Or if you can, I don't think you'd be able to tell." He chuckled.

Hermione paused outside the door, surprising him with a fierce glare. "Don't be ridiculous! You were brilliant tonight, and we wouldn't have been able to do it without you! Stop being so down on yourself. The rest of us know you're smart, even if you can't see it yourself."

Ron sucked in his breath, his eyes going wide as he looked down at her while she opened the door. He couldn't possibly be awake; he was still passed out and dreaming, and any moment he would wake up to find her berating him for his recklessness. Still, it felt real, and on the off chance that it was, he was determined to memorize every word that she had just said, so he could replay it in the future.

Madam Pomfrey was fit to be tied at the sight of them, ordering them into beds while she treated their injuries. She found that Ron did have a crack on his skull, but it wasn't anything major and with the medicine she gave him and a good night's sleep, he would be right again in the morning.

After she had finished up and left, Hermione slipped from her bed to sit in the chair next to him, quietly filling him in on everything that had happened after he had been knocked out. He was impressed by the potion puzzle, knowing it would have stumped both him and Harry. And then she had come all the way back by herself, even though the troll could have woken up. She really was quite brave.

"Hey, Hermione?" He asked sleepily, eyes struggling to stay open.

"What?"

"Can see why you got put in Gryffindor."

It was silent, and he thought she might have left, when, "Ron?"

"Hmm?"

"You too."

Smiling, he slept.

This time Hermione was prepared for it, though she took the time to savor the warm feeling her words had given him. She could tell that he had never forgotten them, and they had meant more than he had been able to show at the time.

When the light returned to her, so did sound, the shrieks and whistles signalling that she was on the Hogwarts Express. They had just finished talking about owling one another, and Ron was feeling a bit stupid.

What had he been thinking? Of course her family didn't have an owl. Harry only had one because Hagrid had bought it for him. It was just that Hermione had taken so well to the Wizarding world, that he always forgot she was Muggleborn. He wished he had an owl to send her besides Errol. He wasn't exactly the best introduction to owls that her parents could have, what with him nearly dying every time he delivered a letter, flopping over lifelessly like a moth-eaten feather duster. Hermione didn't seem to mind, though, so he supposed it was alright. He just hoped that she wouldn't get too naggy in her letters. If she thought he was spending his summers memorizing next year's books, she could just think again. Deciding he would claim that he had (oh so conveniently) lost any letter that hinted about schoolwork, he set about enjoying the last conversation he would be having with his friends for several months.

Months. Strange, but that seemed longer than it had when he was looking forward to it this morning. But now it was hitting him that he wouldn't be seeing them every day, and it made him feel rather lonely. He shook his head. As if he could be lonely in a house with eight other people. He must be mental!

The ride passed quickly, and the train squeaked and groaned as they pulled into the station. There was mass confusion as everyone went about saying there goodbyes and gathering up their belongings, and the three of them shared an exasperated look at the mournful wail of, "Trevor!" That wafted through the crowd. They finally made it off the train, the bright red hair of his family making it easy to spot them. Harry was hanging back, and Ron could tell he was squeezing in every last second he could before his uncle showed up.

Hermione must have seen her parents, for she bolted off with a loud cry, nearly tipping over her cart in the rush. Ron watched as she was met by a smiling couple, both rushing to hug her at once. He didn't know much about clothes, but the ones her parents were wearing looked expensive. They weren't flash, but they were nice, and Ron realized that her family was probably well off. The realization made him squirm for a moment. She was used to nice things, so why on earth was she hanging about with the likes of him? Harry was...well, Harry was Harry Potter. Everyone wanted to be around him. Defeated Voldemort as a baby, became a Qudditch star his very first year. He brushed those thoughts aside. Things like that didn't matter to Hermione. For whatever reason, she had decided to be friends with them, and even if she did like Harry more, she would never make a big deal out of it.

"Harry, Ron, come here a minute!" Hermione said, taking him and Harry by surprise as she grabbed them by the wrists, yanking them along behind her.

He traded a baffled look with Harry behind her back. He allowed himself to be pulled in front of her parents, while she stood there beaming.

"Mum, Dad, these are my best friends, Harry and Ron."

Ron looked over at Harry, and they both smiled at her enthusiasm. He noticed that she was still holding on to them. Both of them.

Best friends. Yeah. Yeah, that sounded just about right to him.


	6. Chapter 6

Here we are, ready to start year two. I had originally planned to fit each year into a chapter set, one from Hermione's perspective, and one from Ron's, at least until chapter four. Ha. Haha. Hahahah-choke, wheeze-. As you can see, I was unable to restrain myself. So in this chapter, it will be year 2 part 1 for Hermione, with chapter 7 being year 2 part 1 for Ron, returning to Hermione in chapter 8.

Thank you to everyone that has reviewed and added this story to their alerts! I have tried to respond to each review, but ran into issues with my reply function. If I didn't get to you, I am truly sorry; each review is special to me, and I will try harder in the future. To the guest that asked me not to stop writing: Never fear! I hate unfinished fics, and have never failed to complete one. I have no intention of starting now.

Special thanks to HalfASlug, who made sure British terms were used correctly in this chapter. Any mistakes in chapter 7 are my own, and will be corrected once she has left her slug trail of correction. If you haven't read her work, please do so. Each one is utterly delightful!

Special thanks also to FromtheDepthsofMadness for the romione song recommendations. I have plans to use most of them for inspiration.

And now, on with the story! Read and enjoy(review)!

The owl that crashed into the window was unmistakably Errol. Hermione quickly scooped the limp bird up, placing him gently on the small pillow she had set on her dresser for just this purpose. He lay there gasping for air, while she fixed him a cup of water and set out a few owl treats. The poor thing always looked so looked so pathetic upon arrival that even her mother, who was not normally fond of owls, felt sorry for him. She would insist that the worn out creature spend the night before Hermione sent him home, and Hermione had even caught her stroking his bedraggled feathers several times.

Ron shook his head. He had been so embarrassed sending that sad excuse for an owl, but he couldn't help but look at him fondly. This was heightened by the surge of excitement Hermione was feeling, knowing she had finally gotten another letter.

She had been afraid that the boys had forgotten her as nearly two weeks went by without any word, when Errol arrived with his first message. It had been written in Ron's large, looping letters, a style she suspected (correctly, Ron was forced to admit) he had adopted to take up as much parchment as possible. The letter had been a bit stilted, but she had decided to pass that off, thinking that Ron was unlikely to have written to many people before. She was surprised to hear that Harry hadn't been answering any of his letters, and had wondered if she had heard from him. She had instantly written an answer, plus another letter to send along to Harry.

Ron's second letter came faster, and with it, some of the stiffness had worn off. They talked about summer plans, and Hermione learned more about his younger sister Ginny, who would be starting Hogwarts in the autumn. She could tell by the way he wrote about her that they were close, although she knew he would probably never admit it. The thought of meeting Ginny excited her, and she hoped they could be friends. Percy was easy enough to get along with, since he was set on following the rules and loved to revise, and was more than willing to pass on useful revision information. And Fred and George, while it was true that they were a bit loud and wild, they were also generally good-natured and could always be counted on to cheer you up when you were down. All in all, she had yet to meet a Weasley she didn't like, and couldn't imagine Ginny being any different. Of course, Ron was her favorite Weasley, but she brushed that off. Why wouldn't he be? He was one of her best friends, after all, and the one she knew best. Who knows, maybe she would get on even better with Ginny.

Her eyes scanned rapidly over the page, her brow furrowing in concern. There had still been no word from Harry, and both she and Ron were very worried. She was keenly aware, from things Harry had let drop, that while his family didn't actually physically abuse him, the emotional abuse and neglect were just as bad. From the way Ron would shift around uncomfortably, he knew it, too. She had been terribly proud of him at Christmas, in fact. Even though he had had the chance to visit one of his brothers and see dragons (something she knew he would have dearly loved to have done), he had stayed behind, knowing Harry would be alone. He had even been thoughtful enough to mention to Mrs. Weasely that Harry wouldn't be getting gifts, in time for her to do something about it. She had wanted to tell him how wonderful she thought that was, but even as inexperienced as she was in having friends, she knew he would be disgusted at being called 'sweet.' She had wanted to stay too, but that wouldn't have been fair to her parents, who had worried so much about her. Hopefully, this Christmas would be better.

Ron grimaced. No, there was no way his twelve year old self would have reacted well to being called sweet. And if the twins had heard, his life wouldn't have been worth living. Still, knowing that she had noticed and admired him for what he had done warmed his heart, as did the memory of Harry's face Christmas morning. At the time, he hadn't thought of it as anything special, but he now realized just how important moments like that were for a kid, especially ones like Harry, who had very few of them.

Hermione gave a little hop of pleasure as she read the last few lines; not only was there a plan to get Harry, but Ron had mentioned that his family was going to be in Diagon Alley in two days to buy school supplies, and had asked Hermione if she wanted to meet them there. She flew from the room, nothing like her usual sedate pace when indoors, to ask permission. This year was looking up; the list of textbooks sounded interesting, and she already had been invited to do something with friends, which was a first for her. Yes, this year would be even better than the last. They could settle down to a nice routine, and not have to worry about things like monsters and evil. Everything would go smoothly, she was sure of it.

"Trelawney was right." Ron chuckled. You really are piss poor at divination."

He nearly stumbled over himself as he stepped through the door of the Granger's library and into Flourish and Blotts, Hermione's curly hair bobbing up and down beside him as she tried to see through the crowd. She was breathless with anticipation, books clutched to her chest, only half paying attention to the boy next to her.

With amusement, Ron saw the first flickers of what would later grow to be jealousy flash across his face. At the time he had put it down to annoyance at how witches were so easily taken in by the smooth git, unwilling to think too deeply on why Hermione's reaction bothered him more than others. He grinned, rubbing his hands together gleefully. Finally, he was going to have the truth about her little crush on Lockhart, ammunition he planned to use later to tease her mercilessly, blithely forgetting that Hermione was probably stockpiling ammo of her own.

The line was moving far too slowly for Hermione; she couldn't wait to get her books signed! She had read them all several times this summer, thrilled at the daring exploits that the blond man described. He had gone to so many interesting places, discovered so many wonderful things! But what really, really impressed Hermione the most was the fact that he had written books. She was about to meet an actual author, and the thought caused a giddy giggle to escape her throat. She noticed Ron's sour look, and rolled her eyes. Didn't he understand? He would be the same way if it was a Quidditch star in front of him. She only hoped she was there when he finally met one, so she could give him an equally hard time.

She almost did a cartwheel when Lockhart announced that he would be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Her joy was short-lived, however, when she saw that Harry and Ron were moving away. Leaving her parents to pay, she followed them, her nose wrinkling in disgust when Malfoy showed up and began to taunt Harry. Any hope that his father would put a stop to it died as he caustically insulted the Weasley family, and anger bubbled up in her at the hard looks that fixed themselves on the faces of Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. However, the expression Ron wore upset her the most. It was because of people like this that he felt as if he was somehow lacking, that nurtured the insecurity she knew he tried to hide under his sharp words and sarcastic humor. She despised the unfairness that let someone like the Malfoys stand there as if they were to be admired and envied, while Ron was made to feel ashamed for being part of one of the most amazing families Hermione had ever met. She laid a supportive had on Ginny's shoulder as attention was turned to her. Hermione wasn't the type of person who hated people easily, but when she did, the flames were hot and strong, and it was only a matter of time before someone got burned. So when the fight broke out between Lucius Malfoy and Mr. Weasley, Hermione inwardly cheered.

Ron was more than just a bit amazed. Not at the intensity of her dislike for the Malfoys. That was old news, and he knew how vicious she could be when riled. No, what struck him now was the warm, protective feeling she had for his family. And it wasn't just the members she already knew. She had paid careful attention to the things he had said and written about them, and Hermione had developed a strong admiration for them. He wished he had known, back then, that for once, someone was looking at his family as a reflection of him. Hermione had traced back anything praiseworthy he had ever mentioned about them, and compared it to what she knew of him. With her, he was no longer in the shadow of his siblings. He was thought of first, and the rest had to live up to him. He had wanted so badly to be thought of as their equal, that he had completely missed the fact that to others, he was worthwhile in himself. Hermione didn't think of him as the Weasley's youngest son, or Bill's less clever little brother. To her, his family had to be special, because it was his, and that was what automatically drew her to them in the first place. The feelings intensified as she got to know them better, but the foundation had been built on her feelings and opinions of him. He could tell that she wasn't even really aware of that fact, as she made herself a mental promise to make sure that Ron's sister didn't have to deal with anything like this on the trip to school.

He couldn't help smiling as she planned to see that Ginny settled in smoothly, although he felt guilty at her thought that she didn't want Ginny to feel as lost and alone as she did the first few months. Hermione stepped out the door, and he followed, finding himself on Platform 9 3/4.

Hermione was impatient. She had already said goodbye to her parents and loaded her trunk. Now she was pacing back and forth, stealing glances at her watch as she waited for her friends to arrive. Surely nothing could have happened. She huffed in frustration. Everyone from their year in Gryffindor had already gotten seats on the train. She had saved a compartment, but she didn't know how long that would last if she didn't get back. There were only a few late stragglers left, and if they didn't hurry, then-a flash of red in the thinning crowd got her attention, and she looked up to find a herd of Weasleys barreling towards her. The twins swooped by, cackling loudly at their flustered mother, while Percy scurried along behind them, trying to retain his dignity. Ginny was red-faced and struggling with her trunk, and Hermione rushed to help her. In the flurry of goodbyes and promises to write, she didn't realize they were two short until the train began to move.

"Wait, where's Harry and Ron?" She asked, whirling to face Ginny.

The younger girl regarded her with widening eyes. "Weren't they behind us?"

Hermione darted to the nearest window, straining to get a look at the station before it was out of sight. She could make out Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, but there was no sign of a lanky ginger and his short, shaggier companion.

"Do you see them?" Ginny asked hopefully, much more assertive without the presence of Harry.

"No. I don't understand! They aren't back there, and it would have been impossible for them to get on without us seeing them!"

Before Ginny could reply, the door of the compartment flew open, and the twins staggered in under the weight of their trunks.

"Sorry, but since everywhere else is all full up-" panted George.

"Would you mind if we stow our stuff in here with you?" Finished Fred, already moving their belongings to the luggage rack.

Ron gazed at his lost brother hungrily, soaking up every second. He had caught bits and flashes from Hermione's earlier memories, but this was the first time he had ever gotten to focus on Fred. He and George looked so young and carefree, unaware that their time as an inseparable duo was ticking down, the smile on Fred's face eerily similar to the one he would wear last.

"Have you two seen Ron and Harry? We don't think they got on the train." Ginny asked her brothers.

Fred and George exchanged looks of surprise.

"Weren't they right behind us at the station?"

"I'm sure they were. I heard Hedwig squawking right before Breathe in.

we made it onto the platform."

"Well, they aren't here now! What if something happened to them?" Hermione asked, clearly frustrated.

Fred waved a hand dismissively. "What could happen to them here? Besides, Mum and Dad are back there. They'll be able to sort it out."

"Not that I envy them having to deal with Mum if they did miss the train." George added, both of them shuddering.

"I suppose so...it's just that the two of them can be so reckless, especially since-"

"Especially since their common sense is on the train without them?" A grinning George interrupted.

Hermione couldn't help smiling at the accuracy of his statement. "Well, yes. Who knows what they could get up to, without me there to nag them into submission?"

The four of them laughed, each plopping into a seat.

"Why are you two in here, anyway? I thought you would be off with Lee." Ginny asked curiously.

They smirked, and Fred answered, "Our dear friend is, at this very moment, chatting up a bird. We thought we would give him a little privacy, since-"

"Our charms might completely ensnare the girl and overshadow Lee."

Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes at each other, shaking their heads. To keep herself from worrying any more than she already was, Hermione asked a question she had been wondering about.

"Ron told me that there was a plan to get Harry, but he never had time to tell me what happened. Did everything go alright?"

The twins launched into a lively retelling of their exploits, with Ginny tossing in a comment here and there. Ron watched as her face took on the expression he had come to call Standard Look of Disapproval, level two. Her eyes had gone all bright and beady, and her mouth was a straight, thin line, her nostrils flaring slightly. That look had exasperated him when he was younger, but it was just so...Hermione. Nowadays, he rarely did anything to warrant that particular look, although he still earned it's several variations.

"I can't believe-well, yes I can- but do you have any idea how much trouble you could have gotten into?" She huffed.

"Precisely why we did it, dear girl! At first we thought Ron was exaggerating the situation, but I must say, the car came in handy when we had to remove the bars from Harry's window." Said Fred.

Hermione's mouth snapped shut, her face going pale.

"Bars." She said flatly.

"Yeah, bars. They matched the nice little cat flap in his door that they used to shove his food through. When they bothered feeding him." George added, his tone grim and no longer joking.

Hermione did her best to contain her rage. For the first time, she was glad she hadn't been able to go along. Because she knew that whatever she would have done when she saw what was going on wouldn't have been pretty, indeed it wouldn't. And what if the twins hadn't believed Ron, and had decided not to help? Well, Ron would have gone alone of course, there was no question about that. If there was one thing she knew about him, it was that he didn't stand about and do nothing when a friend was in trouble. It would have been much harder, though.

"Forget what I said. I'm glad you did it, and I wouldn't blame you if you do it next year as well." She said harshly.

"Would you mind explaining that to Mum?" Quipped George.

"Maybe he should just stay at the Burrow for the summer." Suggested Ginny, blushing.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "He's not a dog, Gin. You can't ask Mum if we can keep him just because he followed us home."

"I don't see why not! We kept the pair of you, didn't we?" She snapped, eyes flashing.

The twins gasped in falsely affronted dignity, causing Hermione to laugh. Oh yes, she was going to like Ginny. Maybe because she reminded her so much of Ron...

She gazed out the window, hoping they were alright. And praying that this wasn't how the rest of the year would go, with the two of them going off and leaving her behind.

Ron blinked at how much that thought bothered her. She was still a bit uneasy in their friendship, nervous that they would become bored with her, or grow tired of putting up with her. He wished he could tell her that they had never even thought of that. Even during the times when they had all been mad at each other and not speaking, Ron had still been unable to think of her as anything less than a friend. Of course, that made him even madder, but still. Chucking Hermione had never been an option.

Time skipped along, and he was brought to the next memory, where he and Hermione were walking across the grounds in the direction of the Quidditch pitch to watch Harry practice.

"I still say we should have finished our homework first. We were almost done." Hermione sighed.

Ron walked backwards in front of her, throwing his hands out, wildly gesturing around them. "Look, Hermione. Y'know what that is? Sunlight! Fresh air! I know it doesn't have the same allure as the smell of moldy books, but look on the bright side, it's healthy!"

Hermione shook her head, reaching out to grab him by the arm and steer him around a dip in the ground.

"Not very healthy if you trip and break something, and we end up in the hospital wing."

Ron fell back in step beside her, the scarf he had carelessly tossed across his shoulders flapping in the wind. "Wouldn't happen. My keen coordination and lightning fast reflexes would've kicked in." He said loftily.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then why did I have to move you out of the way?"

He grinned at her. "That was delegating."

They both snickered, bumping their shoulders into each other.

"'Sides, it would just be me that had to go back. You could still go watch Harry."

This made her snort. "Honestly, Ron. Do you really think I would leave you to watch a practice if you were hurt?"

Ron pretended to ponder that. "Nah, I don't reckon you would...it would be a lot quieter to read in there with me, wouldn't it?" He said slyly.

Hermione laughed. These were her favorite moments, when they could playfully bicker, with nothing serious to weigh them down. When it was just the three of them, or just her and Ron, he seemed more at ease, less worried about what people were thinking about him.

The Gryffindor team still hadn't arrived at the pitch. They found some seats and got comfortable, Ron sharing the bread and marmalade he had smuggled out. They seemed to have arrived before Harry, and she was just wondering if it would be rude to pull a book out of her bag, when Harry showed up. She repressed a sigh at being told they hadn't even started yet; it was a good thing she was at least three assignments ahead on all her work, because it looked like they would be out here for hours. Ron, who had been commenting on the flying, cut off in mid-sentence. She turned her head to see what he was looking at, and groaned. Of all times, the Slytherins would choose now to show up for practice! And it looked as if there was going to be a confrontation. She and Ron didn't bother saying anything, only sharing a look of agreement before rushing down to the large group.

As they hurried along, Hermione pondered when they had begun to understand each other so well. For all the little arguments they got into, they had an uncanny knack for being able to connect. It made her...happy. she liked having that closeness with Ron. She found comfort in it, as if as long as they were able to do that, they would always be able to get things right between them, no matter how mad they got.

She had been right, a fight was brewing. And, surprise surprise, Harry was in the thick of it. And he couldn't seem to just stay quiet and-oh. Oh really? Had Malfoy just said-well, she had something to say on the subject herself!

She could tell her remark had hit home, stinging all the more because it was true. The next words out of his mouth were foul, and left her a bit stunned. The word was unfamiliar to her, and she jerked back at the venom behind it. She hadn't encountered quite this level of hostility since coming to Hogwarts, and it shocked her. Though she didn't know exactly what it meant, she suspected it had something to do with the fact that she didn't come from a family of wizards and witches. It was a sharp reminder that she didn't truly belong here, and for a brief moment, she was transported back to her old life before she was a witch.

But then the other Gryffindors roared to life around her, and for once, she wasn't going to have to face this alone. Angelina and Katie were hissing like cats, and Fred and George looked as if they were about to tear Draco in half. Harry was angry, but he looked confused, too, and Hermione knew he didn't fully understand the level of the insult. All of this was overshadowed by Ron, who was almost maroon with rage. She had never seen him this angry before. What he did next happened so fast, she didn't have time to protest. In the blink of an eye he had raised his wand, snarling a hex at Malfoy. She heard herself cry out as it rebounded and knocked him flat, her legs moving her in his direction before he had even hit the ground.

Ron shook his head, still able to taste the horrid things after all these years. Attacking with a broken wand had been one of his less brilliant moves. And why, oh why, couldn't he have picked something that tasted better? Or at least wasn't quite so slimy?

She tried to keep herself from crying as she hovered over him, anxious to figure out what was wrong with him. She was so relieved that it wasn't anything life-threatening that she didn't even pull away in disgust as the first of the slugs flew from his mouth. She was dimly aware of what was going on around her, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Ron.

Well, he thought, shifting at the uncomfortable feeling of adoration towards...himself, who could take their eyes off of someone puking up slugs?

Hermione felt peculiar. Her mind was all fuzzy, yet sharp at the same time. Ron Weasely, the same boy that teased her and tried to wheedle her into doing his homework for him, had just defended her with a broken wand and was now suffering the embarrassment for it. She knew he hated using the wand, how sick it made him when others laughed at him when it messed up. He had been so stoic about it, knowing his family couldn't afford to get him a new one, and she had felt horrid about it. She had even tried to find a spell that would fix wands, but had had no luck. But as much as he hated it, he hadn't hesitated to use it on Malfoy. For her. Oh, he hadn't been playing at being a knight in shining armor; they both knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself. But he had stood up for her anyway, not because he had to, but because he wanted to, and Hermione knew in that moment that she would always be able to count on Ron, no matter how many times they annoyed each other, or how often they fought. As soon as she got the chance, she promised herself, she would find a way to tell him that he didn't have to worry about living up to his family. As far as she was concerned, he had just set a standard that anyone else would have to work very hard to reach.

Ron felt the world spin, but it had nothing to do with the shifting between memories. She had tried to tell him. He had felt so bleeding stupid for messing up in front of so many people, he just wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. She had thanked him, and was starting to stammer something else out, but he wouldn't let her talk, brushing her aside and trying to change the subject. When she made another attempt, he had snapped at her, and she had gone quiet, and had left it alone. At the time that had relieved him, but now he wished he had just let her talk. He suspected, with a sinking feeling, that he was going to find a lot more instances when he should have listened to what she had to say.

The next instant, he was following himself and Hermione down a hallway, both of them scuttling along in a furtive manner that screamed of illicit activities, their faces a dead giveaway to the nature of their mission.

"You might even say that we were...up to...something." he said, in a dead accurate imitation of their former potions master. He followed them on the familiar path to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, noting that even though Hermione was sixth months older, he was already outstripping her in the height department. He had actually been the tallest in their year, but it was more obvious to him from his new vantage point.

Hermione paused outside the door, darting her eyes in both directions before ducking in. Ron lingered, and she reached back, yanking him in with a yelp.

"I've told you already, Ron! No one else ever comes in here."

"Well excuse me all over for not being entirely comfortable with prancing into the girl's loo." He grumbled, slouching along to the stall that held the cauldron.

"I don't think I've ever seen you prance." She mused, removing the 'borrowed' ingredients from her robes, setting them up neatly.

"And you're not going to any time soon, if these are the type of places you're going to keep dragging me."

She shrugged as she opened the book to read over the instructions once more. "Sorry. You don't have to stay. It's just easier with two people." Her shoulders tensed; she hoped he wouldn't leave, because despite what she said, she hated being in the dank, cold room alone.

Ron sighed, setting up the mortar and pestle, making sure that the knife they had brought would be sharp enough. "I'm not going to leave you to do it all by yourself, though Merlin knows you could."

Relaxing, she bent over to check the temperature of the flames. "You're perfectly capable, as long as you pay attention. If you would relax and take your time, you would do much better in lessons."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because it's so easy to relax with a great greasy buzzard flapping around the room, just waiting to peck my eyes out."

"It's not that bad. Besides, it isn't you he has it in for, it's Harry."

Blue eyes regarded her warily. "Hermione, I grew up with Fred and George, remember? I know all about guilt by association."

She frowned. "I suppose you have a point. Here, follow the instructions and cut these up, will you?"

Busying herself with measuring out some of the other ingredients, it took her a few minutes to become aware of Ron staring at her. What was wrong with him? Had she come across as too bossy?

"What is it?"

He finally looked away, motioning to the complicated page of instructions. "How do you bloody do it? There's so many fiddley little things to keep straight!"

A flush heated her cheeks at his awed tone. "Well, I don't look at it all at once. I focus on one step at a time."

Ron shook his head in admiration. "This isn't a standard second year potion though. Lot's of people older than you couldn't pull it off. I can't figure out how you didn't get Sorted into Ravenclaw."

"The Hat actually thought about putting me in there, at first." She admitted, looking up to find him goggling at her.

"Then how did you end up in Gryffindor? Not that I'm not glad, or anything, but..." he trailed off, obviously not knowing what else to say.

"It...gave me a choice. It said I would fit in fine in Ravenclaw, but I would find myself in Gryffindor. I assumed it had a good reason to tell me that, so I made my choice."

"So, did you ever figure out what it meant? He asked curiously, the sound of his knife thudding steadily against the stone floor as he chopped.

"Um, no, I'm still not quite sure." She lied. She was almost positive that it had been Harry and Ron, finding people who would accept her as she was, but that sounded a bit pathetic, didn't it? She didn't think he would understand the aching feeling of never belonging, the constant need that drove her to prove herself.

Which, of course, was entirely wrong, as Ron could have told her. The feelings he was sharing with her now were nothing new to him. Though his reasons had been different, the results were the same, and he could now better appreciate the way she had thrown herself into her work, that she had seen it as the one quality she possessed that really mattered.

"Besides," she said to distract him, "what would you and Harry have done if I had been put in Gryffindor? Who would have helped you with your essays then?"

Ron looked taken aback for a moment, as if he sensed an underlying current to that remark. "Hey, that's not...we don't...you know that that isn't why me and Harry hang out with you, right?" He asked earnestly.

"Of course not." She answered, but he didn't seem to believe her, for he plowed on.

"Because it's not, alright? We wouldn't be around you so much if we didn't, you know, like you, okay?" He babbled, his ears turning a deep pink.

Hermione beamed at him, but took pity on his obvious discomfort. She knew Ron, like most boys his age, had a strict limit of how openly emotional they could get, and he had passed his daily allotment.

"Let's hurry, alright? Then we can get back to the Common Room, and I'll let you beat me at a game of chess."

A smirk formed on his lips, his eyes twinkling. "Let me beat you? Please. We both know the only way that will happen is when I'm too old and dotty to remember how to play."

Hermione stuck her tongue out. But inside, she thought that sounded quite nice, the fact that he expected her to still be around when they were old. It sounded...right, the two of them still being together. She gave a guilty start. Three. Of course she meant the three of them. How could she have possibly forgotten Harry?

"How indeed?" Ron muttered from his corner of the cubicle, sifting through her emotions. It wasn't love, at least not the romantic kind, but there was a great deal of strong affection, and it was already on the cusp of changing from the way she regarded Harry, even if she was unaware of it. What would be the tipping point? He had no idea, but he was eager to find out.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was barely beginning to peek over the horizon as the tall boy crept out onto the porch, stealthily making his way to the small enclosure where the owls nested. The only sound was the sleepy clucking of the chickens as they exited the coop, and Ron breathed a small sigh of relief, knowing he was nearly home free. It was a pain to have to sneak around like this, but ever since the twins found out he had been owling Hermione, they had taken the mickey out of him something fierce. What was the bloody big deal that one of his best friends was a girl? It's not like the twins didn't have girls for friends, like Angelina and Katie. And they had talked to Hermione enough times, too, and they had liked her well enough then. Besides, she wasn't just any girl. She was...Hermione. sort of in a category all her own, really.

He poked Errol awake, the owl gazing at him blearily. Ron felt a bit bad for sending him out, but Percy refused to let him use Hermes. "Alright, Errol. I need you to take this to Hermione. Try not to pass out before you get there." He ordered, tying the letter to the outstretched leg.

Errol hopped out, and Ron held his breath as he took off, wincing when the owl failed to gain enough height to clear one of the trees it the yard, the branch knocking him off course. With a few flaps of the wings he straightened out, beginning the now familiar route to Hermione's. Ron smiled. Success! He had manged to send off a message without the twins around for once, and he turned to go back inside, feeling quite pleased with himself.

Hermione groaned as Ron choked back a yelp at the sight of Fred and George leaning in the doorway, wicked smirks on their faces. She had never given any consideration to what his family might have thought when he started writing her, but knowing the twins, she shouldn't have been surprised.

"Gooood morning, Ronniekins! Fancied a stroll before breakfast?" George drawled.

Fred snickered. "Or was it something else? Another love letter to Granger, perhaps?"

Ron felt his face heat up, but managed to contain his temper. This was mild by their standards, and at least they weren't making kissy faces yet.

"Piss off!" He growled, shoving past them into the house, where he heard his mum in the kitchen starting breakfast. He went in to sit at the table, knowing they would have to tone it down in front of her. That didn't stop them from trooping in after him, biding their time. He shrugged. At least they would be easier to deal with once he had a full stomach.

The rest of his family began to trickle in as the house filled with the smell of frying eggs and sizzling sausage. First his father, who kissed his mother on the cheek before reaching for the Prophet, already immersed in an article before he had even sat down. Then Percy, already dressed and with his hair neatly combed, looking disgustingly chipper for this early in the morning. Ginny was the last one down, stumbling into the room still in her nightgown, scowling at everyone seated at the table. Being used to this, no one made any comment. No one said anything to her at all; Ginny was not a morning person, and her temper was rather volatile before she had her first piece of toast and a glass of juice.

Breakfast in the Weasley household was a rushed affair, everyone in a hurry to get their day started as quickly as possible. His mum finished first, and went out back to tend to the chickens and check one of the goats that had been looking sickly. His dad was next, glancing at his watch with a guilty start before fleeing in the direction of the fireplace, nearly five minutes late. Percy sighed at this, but for once said nothing, instead muttering something about needing to look in on his owl before leaving the room. The twins pushed their empty plates away, grinning. This was the moment they had been waiting for.

"So, Fred. Do you think Hermione is swooning over Ron's letter about now, girlish heart all aflutter?" George asked, as if Ron wasn't sitting directly across from him.

Fred pretended to ponder his question. "Well, actually, no. He did use Errol, after all. He might not get their until the birth of their first child."

Hermione laughed. George had always insisted that he and Fred had known Hermione would be the girl for Ron right from the start. She supposed this was proof, although she was surprised that Ron hadn't ended up avoiding her out of self defense.

"Besides," Fred continued. "I'm not sure that Hermione is the swooning type. Can't really picture her saving Ron's letters in her knicker drawer, can you?"

Hermione blushed. Actually, she had saved all of the letters he had ever written. She had kept them in a small box in her wardrobe.

"Oh, I don't know. She seems rather fond of the written word. It would probably depend on how good they were. Did you write anything nice and steamy?" He addressed the last bit to Ron, whose ears lit up.

"You would know. It was the same as the last two you sneaked a look at." Ron bit out shortly. It was hard to hold his tongue, but he needed their help with Harry, and he wasn't willing to risk ticking them off. Yet.

They had the good grace to look abashed. "Sorry Ron, that was out of line. No more tampering with the post." Fred promised.

"To make up for it, we'll teach you a few romantic poems that you might like to send-" George added, but was cut off by a sharp kick on the shin from Ginny.

"Knock it off, you two. You're just jealous because neither one of you has ever got a girl to write to you." She sneered, taking her plate and stacking it in the sink.

Ron repressed a grin. Her remark had left the twins sputtering and speechless, another reason why she was his favorite sister. Deciding that this was the best moment to retreat, he slipped out of the room and began climbing the staircase, Ginny trotting along behind him, all the way up to his room. She shut the door behind her, plopping down at the foot of his bed. The room was warm and stuffy, so he crossed to the window, opening it with a firm yank, grunting as it stuck before finally rising all the way. He joined her on the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard, long legs drawn up with his arms resting on his knees.

"You know, I wasn't going to say anything in front of Fred and George, but I was pretty surprised to hear you were friends with a girl, much less a swotty one."

"She's not really swotty...well, alright, she is." Ron amended at her skeptical look. "But she's not like Percy, you know? She doesn't think she's better than everyone because she's smart." He explained thoughtfully.

Ginny rolled onto her side to look up at him. "So she never makes you feel stupid?"

Ron had to think a moment. "Sure, all the time. But she doesn't mean to, and I don't think she even knows she's doing it."

Hermione blinked back tears. She had never meant to make anyone feel bad about themselves, especially Ron. She had just never believed in false modesty. Yes, she was smart. It was a fact, the way Ron was tall, or Harry wore glasses. Learning that she had played a part (however unwittingly) in Ron's insecurities was disheartening.

So far, his description of Hermione hadn't really impressed Ginny. "So, how did you end up with her, anyway? I know a troll was involved somehow, but was that before or after you were friends?"

The tips of Ron's ears gave him away, his eyes not meeting hers as he traced a large black 'C' on his quilt. Remembering his treatment of pre-troll Hermione always brought a faint sense of shame.

"Um, well, the troll came right after I said something that may have been a bit...rude." he admitted.

Ginny, knowing him as well as she did, saw right through him. "How rude is 'a bit'?"

"I don't remember, exactly." He stalled, then continued when she narrowed her eyes, "alright, I called her a nightmare and said she didn't have any friends. In front of a lot of people. Ouch!" He yelped when Ginny punched his shin.

"You prat! I'm surprised she even spoke to you after that!"

Ron shrugged. "The whole troll thing happened a few hours later, and after that...I guess it didn't matter any more."

Ginny looked like she was thinking about punching him again, and he hastily shifted his legs out of the way.

"Let me guess; you never bothered to tell her you were sorry. Honestly, you need to learn when to suck it up and apologize! Someday you're going to regret it if you don't."

"Yeah, yeah. I hear you, Mum."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Then I'll reserve judgment on her until I meet her for myself, although I almost have to believe that on top of being a genius, she must be a saint as well."

Ron cocked his head. What was she on about? "A saint? What for?"

"For putting up with you, of course!" She grinned cheekily, smacking his foot away when he attempted to kick her in the shoulder.

A muffled explosion from the direction of the twins' room drew their attention, but then they both relaxed when it was followed by silence. Ron was just thankful that whatever they were up to, at least this time they wouldn't have to evacuate.

"Hey, Ron?" Ginny asked quietly, her gaze trained on the ceiling.

"Hm?" He answered, already suspecting by her blush what subject she was preparing to bring up. Try as he might, he just couldn't understand his sister's fixation with Harry.

"What's Harry Potter like? I mean, really." She finally asked, her face redder than his ears had been moments ago.

He groaned. "Ginny, he's just Harry. His shit stinks just like everyone else's."

She scrunched her nose, her scattering of freckles getting lost in the wrinkles. "Lovely, Ron. I won't ask how you know that."

It was strange, he thought, how everyone always made a big deal over Harry for something that had happened to him as a baby. Of course, Ron supposed he had been just as bad before he met him. But Harry really was just like anyone else, for the most part. And then Hermione, who was probably the most brilliant witch at Hogwarts, was pretty much ignored. Again, he had been the same way before he got to know her. Which was a shame, because once you got her nose out of a book, she was actually quite fun to be around, even when you riled her up. Sometimes especially when you riled her up.

"So, would you say Hermione's shit stinks too?" Ginny asked, bringing him out of his musings.

Ron snorted, then said in a bossy tone, "How crude! You would say, her fecal matter gives off a foul odor."

Ginny stared at him a moment before bursting into a fit of giggles. "Ooooh, I can't wait to tell her that!" She chortled.

His stomach lurched. Bloody hell, Hermione would kill him!

"You wouldn't." He pleaded.

"I would." She affirmed, standing up.

He scrambled to the edge of the bed, reaching out for her arm, just missing it as she twisted away.

"Come on, you wouldn't want your favorite brother to get his bits hexed off, would you?"

She laughed at his whining, dancing away as he lunged for her. "Of course not, but why would Hermione want to hex Bill?"

That, he felt, was certainly uncalled for! He chased her as she ran out of his room and down the stairs, their feet thumping on the risers.

Hermione followed them as they burst out of the front door, but instead of the front lawn of the Burrow, she found herself to be on the grounds of Hogwarts, the back of the castle visible in the distance. Most people were outside, taking advantage of the rare warm weather before the cold months set in. The three of them were in a fairly out of the way location, with only a handful of other students nearby. Most of them were being taken in by one of the twins' favorite tricks; they were standing behind a small section of stone wall left over from some bygone era, taking turns popping out on either side. Younger kids were laying bets as to which twin it was, with Lee taking their money and doling it out to the winners, the rare times one of them got it right.

Ron shook his head. Mum would have a fit if she knew half of the things they got up to, but a keen sense of self preservation made it a sure thing that she wouldn't be finding out from him. Although if she did find out, she would probably find a way to blame him for not stopping them. He snorted. As if anyone could stop the Twin Terrors, much less him.

He glanced to his left, where Harry had fallen asleep, his messy hair covered in blades of grass. Hermione was to his right, nose buried in a book. She had said this one was for 'pleasure.' How a book could be considered 'pleasurable' when it was thicker than one of Hagrid's poundcakes Ron would never know. Her head was bent low, her hair obscuring her face, but Ron knew the expression she was probably wearing anyway. There was a look of complete and utter concentration she got only when she was reading, more intent even than the one she usually had for the professors. Actually, it was because of her he had suggested they come out this far, though he hadn't told her or Harry that. Harry would most likely go along, but he figured Hermione would say he was being ridiculous.

But he wasn't. At least, no more than usual. At this vantage point, they could see whoever was coming near them from any direction, which suited Ron just fine, he thought, his eyes scanning about for any sign of the slithery snake. He had never liked Malfoy, and thought that his dislike couldn't possibly get stronger. He had been proven wrong the moment the foul little git had said what he had about Hermione. Ron had a temper, a bad one, he knew, but the urge to cause someone physical harm had never been as strong as it had that day. The thought scared him a little, but he brushed it off. Besides, it wasn't as if his curse had even worked. The humiliation had been even worse than the slugs. Now everyone probably thought a Squib could throw a better curse. Bloody wand! And then Hermione had tried to thank him, which, in a way, had only made it worse. He had just wanted to forget the whole thing, but she wouldn't let it go, until he had finally snapped at her. A hurt look had crossed her eyes before she had changed the subject, and he had felt more wretched than one of the slugs he had been spewing from his mouth. The one time she had praised him for something, and he had bitten her head off! Then again, she had probably only said it because she felt sorry for him.

"Honestly!" Hermione growled from where she had seated herself across from him. She was beginning to think that his abysmal self esteem was accountable for nearly half of their fights.

Ron was pulled from his thoughts when the twins and Lee wandered over to sit with them, counting out their take so they could divide it up. He watched the small pile of coins click together enviously. If there was one thing he wished he could share in common with his brothers, it would be their uncanny way of turning a profit. Hearing a delicate snort, he turned to find Hermione regerding the three boys with narrow eyes. He braced himself, waiting for the inevitable lecture. Not that it would do any good. Years of dealing with their mum had made them immune to anyone else who tried to reign them in. So he was baffled when he heard her say,

"Don't you think George should get the larger share? After all, he did most of the work."

The twins stopped counting, instead trading a look before goggling at Hermione.

"What are you talking about?" George asked in a strange voice. "Lee handled the money, and Fred and I pranced around the wall so they could guess who was who. Three way split, all fair."

"No, Fred sat on the other side the whole time. It was only you who ever showed himself." Hermione said calmly.

Lee threw his head back in a laugh. "I don't believe it! How on earth did you figure it out? I couldn't even tell them apart until last year, and sometimes I still get it wrong, they look so much alike."

Hermione shrugged. "Not really, if you look closely."

"You must be looking in strange places, Hermione, because they take great pleasure in showing us exactly how identical they are in the dorms." Yawned Harry, having been awakened by the noise.

Ron was interested to know the answer himself. Hardly anyone outside of their family could tell them apart on a good day, and it was near impossible when they made an effort to fool you.

Closing her book, Hermione looked from one twin to the other. "It's easy. Just look in the eyes. The person looking out of George's eyes will always be George, and the person looking out of Fred's eyes will always be Fred."

He could tell that his brothers were stunned. As much fun as they had tricking people, he knew that there was always a slight amount of hurt when people confused the two of them. Judging by the way they were now looking at Hermione, she had definitely gained a new level of respect.

Before anyone could speak, Hermione stood abruptly. "Drat. I finished my book, and forgot to bring another one. I'll be right back after I change it at the library."

Harry stood also, brushing the grass out of his shaggy locks. "I'll walk with you. I needed to get something to drink anyway."

The pair of them started off, and Ron moved to follow, but was pulled back by Fred's grip on his arm.

"You know, Ron, we may have given you too much of a hard time about her. She's actually wicked." Fred said pensively, George nodding along with him.

"Right. She's definitely got our stamp of approval." George added, slapping him on the back. "So, when it comes time for you to declare your undying love, we'll be there to help make sure that you don't bollock it-"

"Sod off!" He mumbled, shoving his brothers' arms from around him and trotting to catch up to his friends. Couldn't they go five minutes without being ridiculous? Still, the fact that they had taken to Hermione like that said a lot. It took someone really special to get the twins to acknowledge them. He grinned, as he fell into place next to Hermione. His brothers may have figured out how amazing she was.

But he had figured it out first. And, for reasons that he couldn't quite explain, it made him feel really good.

Hermione followed along, mulling over what she had just watched. It was true; around this time the twins had started being quite brotherly towards her. That didn't stop them from teasing her, or even always listening to her, but there was a new fondness to it, and they always became protective whenever she was in trouble. Not to the extent Ron did, but it was still appreciated. And Ron...he definitely wasn't in love with her right now, but the feelings he had for her were strong, just waiting to be pushed in the right direction. What that push may be she still didn't know, but the path to finding out was quite enlightening.

Following them inside, she found herself once more in the common room, and from the darkened sky outside the window, she could tell it was fairly late at night.

Ron was sitting in the common room with Hermione, the only sound the crackle of the fire in front of them. There was a somber air that neither one was showing signs of breaking. He supposed there was a time when the situation would make him uncomfortable, but now, it was just the opposite. With all of the strange things going on, Hermione's sensible nature had a calming effect. The recent attack on Colin had scared them both, and, silently communicating over Harry's head, they had hung back when their friend had gone up to bed.

"This is going to get really bad, isn't it." Hermione stated quietly, startling Ron with the suddeness of the sound.

He wanted to tell her that, no, things would be taken care of quickly and that they had nothing to worry about, but he couldn't quite bring his mouth to form the words. Maybe it was his natural cynicism, but he had never been one to sugarcoat things, at least not when he couldn't even fool himself into believing them.

"Yeah. Yeah, I reckon it is." He said steadily, belying the fear that tightened his chest.

They were sitting on one of the sofas their backs to each arm, facing each other with their knees drawn up. Hermione's light blue pajama set looked a size or two too big, while his ankles were left bare by the maroon and white striped trousers he wore. This position made it easy to talk in low voices, though the size of his feet made it impossible to keep from touching. Her worried eyes stared back at him, unsurprised by his words.

"Ron," she began slowly, "I don't know if it's the same here, but in the Muggle world, people who start off with animals, and then move up to smaller, weaker victims are usually considered-"

"Really sick. I know." He said thickly.

Oh, he knew, alright. The year before he had come to Hogwarts, one of the boys from the village had set a cat on fire. The twins had sprung into action, managing to put it out fairly quickly, earning both of them deep scratches on their arms from the pain crazed animal. Ron had tried to keep Ginny from seeing what was happening, but she managed to get a look, and he had had to hold onto her while she sobbed. She had insisted they take the poor thing home, and George had wrapped it in his shirt, the pitiful yowls that it let out the whole walk home the only sign that it was still alive.

Mum had been able to save it, though it lost half of an ear, and patches of it's fur never grew back. Surprisingly, it had been the twins that fought to keep it; Ron had asked them why. Fred had told him, surprisingly seriously, that the cat was a reminder. He and George loved to pull pranks, but there was a line between joking around and deliberately setting out to hurt something, and this was the result of crossing that line. George had darkly added that it was the first step down a nasty path, and Ron hadn't fully understood what they meant. He also hadn't understood why they had been forced to play close to the Burrow, with strict orders to watch Ginny, since she was the youngest.

He understood three weeks later. Three small girls in the village had gone missing, and their state when they were found, hadn't been...pleasant. the boy that had attacked the cat had been hauled off to some sort of facility, though no one had ever told Ron the full details. They hadn't really had to. He had a vivid imagination...and had quickly got over the resentment he had felt about being forced to stick with his sister.

"Exactly. Either the person who's doing this isn't entirely sane, or they're evil."

"Or both." He added, shuddering at the possibilities. The fact that he, as a Pureblood, was technically safe brought him no comfort at all.

"That, too. But what I really wanted to talk to you about was...Ron, what do you think of the voices Harry says he's been hearing? You said yourself that wasn't a good sign, even in this world."

Ron chewed on the ragged corner of his thumbnail. He had given this a lot of thought, and wasn't sure if he was ready for Hermione to point out any holes in it. Still, he could tell it was really bothering her, and if she didn't feel better soon, she would end up smothering Harry with her concern.

"It's not. In fact, it may even be worse than it is for Muggles. Magic can be dangerous enough as it is, but when a person is, um, unbalanced," he didn't think she'd appreciate it if he said barmy, "then really, really bad things end up happening until they're taken away."

Hermione looked indignant at this idea. "But it's not their fault! Surely, they could receive some sort of help that would-"

He shook his head impatiently. "Hermione, I'm not talking about people who get depressed, or who're a little off. I mean the ones that are dangerous to themselves and others, and either don't realize it of just plain don't care."

She backed down, seeing the logic in his statement. "Do you think Harry...no, I just can't believe that."

"I don't either. Look, think about it; weird stuff is happening that no one, not even Dumbledore can figure out. At the same time, Harry starts hearing things, something that's never happened before. Sounds too big to be a coincidence, doesn't it?"

Hermione stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment, then beamed. "That makes a lot of sense! That was some very good reasoning."

"You know, in spite of what you think, I can sometimes figure things out all by myself." He said sharply. Why did she have to sound so surprised? Did she really think he was that thick?

Her feet jerked away from where they had been resting between his, as if to put as much distance between them as possible. "I know that! I didn't mean-"

"Forget it. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?" He waved her explanations away. He didn't need her trying to make him feel better out of pity.

"Not really. Just that we need to keep an eye on Harry. You know how he is; he's likely to start doubting himself, and that's the last thing he needs to do right now. If you could...I don't know, make sure he doesn't get too depressed? Keep him cheered up?"

"Comic relief, you mean?" He asked dryly. Did she think he was one of the bleeding twins?

She swung her legs to the floor, pushing herself up. "No, I'm just saying that you're good at making people happy. Harry needs that right now. It's getting late, so I'll see you in the morning."

"G'night." He called after her faintly. He...was good at making people happy? What did that even mean? She had sounded like she thought it was a good thing, but he wasn't so sure. There wasn't anything really special about it. He couldn't even recall doing anything on purpose that would make her say something like that. Did he he make people happy? Did he make her happy? He had the strangest urge to follow her upstairs and ask her.

He shook his head to clear it. He must be even more tired than he thought. Jaw cracking from his yawn, he stretched, sliding off the couch and dragging himself up to his room, where he burrowed under his covers, careful not to roll over onto Scabbers.

Hermione repressed a shudder at the sight of the rodent, but her mind wandered to the previous conversation. Had Ron always taken her words that way? Surely, he had learned to see past her awkwardness along the way, and understand what she was trying to tell him? She was beginning to think he hadn't.

As he drifted off to sleep, the familiar blackness of his unconsciousness swept over her, before being replaced with the light of a new memory. The location was the same as before, only this time Harry was with them as well, all three of them at a small table in the corner of the Common Room. It was late, and both boys slumped over their essays dejectedly, trading silent glances every once and a while when they thought Hermione wasn't looking, each one pleading with the other to think of some way to get them out of working any more.

"You know, if you put as much effort into working as you do getting out of it, you'd be done by now." Came Hermione's voice from behind the book that was propped in front of her.

"How do you know we're not?" Ron shot back, more for the distraction than any real feeling of denial.

"Simple. Your quills haven't been moving for ages. And before you get smart, I can tell the difference between your scribbling and actual work."

"Oh yeah? What does 'actual work' sound like?" He asked, hoping he could duplicate whatever it was to throw her off.

Hermione peered over the edge of the book, grinning darkly. "Like blood, sweat, and tears."

Ron and Harry looked at each other. 'Scary.' They mouthed.

"I heard that."

"So, Hermione, how is the you-know-what-doing? Is it almost ready?" Harry interjected.

Dipping his quill into the ink, Ron shook his head. Hermione wouldn't let herself be distracted by something as transparent as that.

"As a matter of fact, it is. It's the right color now to add some of the last ingredients, so I'll do that tomorrow."

Too busy filing the way the information that she could be distracted by more advanced levels of schoolwork, it was a few moments before he made sense of what she was saying.

"How do you know? It's been days since we last checked on it." He pointed out.

She shrugged. "Since we all last checked. But I had to add a few things to it last night, so I went down after everyone had gone to bed."

He had no idea why, but a burning anger lodged in his chest. "Oh, you did, did you? Just trotted downstairs and back up again, all on your own?" He snarled.

Hermione bristled at his tone. "Yes, exactly. I wasn't aware that I needed permission. It's not like I can't take care of myself; I was perfectly safe."

Ron addressed Harry. "You hear that? She was perfectly safe. So you lent her the cloak, then?"

Looking like he would like nothing more than to slip away and let the two of them continue, Harry shook his head.

Ron swung back around to face her. "Let's see if I have this right; there's a nutter running around threatening to kill Muggle-borns, they've already Petrified Colin, and so you decide to take a midnight stroll without telling anyone, or at least using the cloak so you can hide? Why don't you just dangle yourself from Mrs. Norris' torch bracket and have done with it!"

He had got progressively louder, until he had ended the last sentence with a roar, causing her to take a step back. Most people would have been cowed, but not Hermione. Instead, she leaned forward on the table, arguing forcefully with short, clipped words. His head sank into his hands as he drowned her out, trying to marshal his thoughts.

She didn't understand how serious this was! She had only been in this world for two years, so there was no way she could fully grasp how dangerous it was for her. His dad had told him stories of some of the things blood purists did to Muggle-borns. The thought of anything like that happening to Hermione made his stomach lurch. He wished he was smart enough, clever enough to find the right words to convince her, but his anger and panic was making it hard for him to think.

"Hermione, he's right. You're a target right now, and it's probably a bad idea to wonder around the castle alone at night. If you need help, just ask one of us. Please?" Harry finally spoke, cutting her off in mid flow.

Hermione visibly softened. "Alright, if it makes you feel better. You can come with me tomorrow, since I have to go back early in the morning."

Ron snapped his gaping mouth shut. How was it that when he was worried about her, it just made her mad, but when it was Harry, she went along like a lamb? He sighed. Sometimes it was hard being the stupid friend.

Hermione let out a shriek of frustration, knowing she couldn't be heard. When Ron had pointed it out, she had realized she probably should have told them, but she couldn't let him get away with saying it like that. Harry had been polite, so she was able to back down without losing face.

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, but you two will have to go without me. Wood's called another early practice." He said glumly, obviously not looking forward to it.

"Why didn't you say so? You need to get to bed! No, leave it," she brushed him away as he began to clear away his things, "I'll take care of it. Just go get some sleep."

Knowing better than to argue, Harry ambled up the stairs, leaving Ron to help Hermione clean up. The silence made him uncomfortable, so he decided to break it.

"I know you had to do it, I just don't think you should take any risks that you don't have to, okay?" He offered, not in the mood to fight.

She paused, hand hovering over the book she had been about to pick up, and looked him in the eye intensley. "Sometimes you have to make sacrifices."

Ron was left speechless for a moment at the shock of having his own words thrown back at him. "Those were completely different circumstances!" He managed at last. "I don't want anything to happen to you-"

"And you think I felt any differently last year? Not so fun being on this end of it, is it?" She snapped, jamming the book into her bag.

He blinked. Was she serious? Had she actually been that worried about him?

"Hermione, can you just...promise to be careful?" He asked quietly, capping his ink bottle.

She shouldered her bag, moving around the table to stand beside him. "Only if you promise too."

He regarded her thoughtfully. Hermione kept her promises. He stuck out his hand. "Shake on it."

Taking his hand, they shook twice, breaking out into grins. The tension melted from the air, and, saying goodnight, they made their ways to their separate dorms. Ron wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but he was filled with an odd sense of...hope?

Whatever.

The important thing was, he had got her to promise, so she should be safer now. Of course, living with the twins had taught him a few tricks about lying, such as crossed fingers behind your back. Because if either Harry or her was ever in trouble, there was no way that he wasn't going to do what he could to stop it, no matter what happened.

Hermione smiled wryly as he opened the door and slipped inside. Trust Ron to be so brave and protective that he had totally overlooked the fact that she had been lying, as well.


	8. Chapter 8

Here we are at the second half of book 2! Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. It seems that every time something has gone wrong, I get a notification, and they have really helped.

STORY NOTE: A guest left a review saying that it would be nice to see more of the thoughts of adult Ron and Hermione. I completely understand. The reason there hasn't been more is because too much will impede the flow of the story, and a major emotional revelation every chapter could get...tedious. Rest assured, there will be more instances from their points of view as time goes on. Thank you for keeping your criticism constructive and politely worded; while this chapter was finished and the next nearly so when I received this review, it will be taken into account for future chapters.

And now, please enjoy while I scurry off to write year three, where we will most DEFINITELY see some reaction from adult Ron...

She wanted to die. No. Too melodramatic. What she actually wanted was to move to a far off country, change her name, and pretend that, through her own stupidity, she had never looked like a creature from a fifties sci-fi film. How could she have made such a foolish mistake? It was that that bothered her more than anything else. Now she had to lay here in the hospital wing, missing out on all the action. To make things worse, she couldn't even go home for the the Christmas break.

Her parents had not asked for a cat for Christmas.

Tail lashing angrily, she threw herself back on her pillows. She had been reading all day, and had just finished the dinner tray that Madam Pomfrey had brought her. The room was empty except for herself, and the quiet was beginning to get on her nerves. It was probably too much to ask for Harry and Ron to visit. The room wasn't exactly conducive for a good time, and she knew they were most likely taking advantage of her absence to skive off homework. So she was quite surprised when the door creaked open, and Ron strolled in, sprawling into the puffy armchair that was next to her bed. What was he doing here? He had already been in with Harry to drop off her homework. And if they had figured something out, Harry would be here too. She craned her neck, but Harry didn't come through the door.

"It's just me. No need to look so disappointed." Ron said, shifting a dozing Scabbers from his shoulder to his pocket.

She knew him well enough by now to hear the slight edge to his voice that told her he wasn't entirely teasing. "I'm not disappointed, just surprised. The two of you are almost always together, like Fred and George." She explained.

"Well, I can manage to tear myself away from him every once and a while. Nearly broke his heart when I left, though."

Hermione laughed with him, shaking her head. "But really, where is he? He's not...hearing anything is he?"

He gave her a small scowl. "As if I would've left him alone if he were! Nah, he's just playing Gobstones with Neville. I got bored and decided to come down here. 'S'not really my game."

Tactfully, she refrained from mentioning that he didn't have a set of his own. "Chess is a better game, anyway."

Smirking, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Ah, I knew I would convert you eventually. Nearly brought my set down, but then I thought it would be cruel to beat you while you were recovering. You can consider that my get well gift."

"Very funny. You know, everyone else has stuck to sending conventional gifts, like flowers and sweets."

The smirk widened into a grin. "I know. The Chocolate Frogs were delicious."

She rolled her slitted eyes. "Yes, that's why I set them out for you."

"Thanks. Makes me sound like one of the creatures from the Forbidden Forest that Hagrid leaves meat out for."

"Not everything that lives in the Forest is that bad, you know. Harry saw a unicorn last year."

"Yeah, a dead one." Ron said flatly. "Not sad that I missed out on that outing. There's nothing anyone could say to make me set one foot in there."

"Not even if it meant the Cannons would win the Cup this year?" She teased, only half aware that she was flicking her tail.

"Nope. They've gone this long without winning, one more loss won't kill 'em."

As they continued to banter back and forth, a warm, pleasant sensation stole over Hermione. She smiled contentedly, feeling drowsy. Her eyes kept fluttering closed, and it was a struggle to make them stay open, but she didn't want Ron to leave yet. For once, it was nice not to talk about all the scary things that were going on.

"Um...Hermione?" Ron's voice squeaked.

"Hmm?"

"You're...well...I don't know how to say this."

"'S'rong?" She asked lazily.

"Ithinkyoumaybepurring."

"Oh. Of course I am. You're stroking my tail." Her own words seemed to shock her, making her suddenly aware of long, bony fingers running through thick fur, and her body flew into a fully upright position, jerking the tail Ron was guiltily holding out of his hands.

He was staring at her in horrified fascination, and she was quite sure they were sporting his and hers matching red blushes. "What were you doing with my tail?" She hissed. Really. Hissed. How she managed to do that with words that had no esses, she had no idea, unless it was another side affect of being part cat. She found that it conveyed her feelings quite nicely.

"Nothing! I didn't even notice! It was soft and furry, and my hands were just messing about with it like I sometimes do with Scabbers!" Ron blurted, trying to forestall disaster, blue eyes wide in fear.

"Are you insinuating that my tail is like a rat?" Her voice had gone up several octaves with rage.

"No! Of course not! It's a nice-I mean it's really- bugger it. Could you just hex me and get it over with?" He asked, his voice muffled from having his hands covering his face.

This calmed her somewhat. At least he was just as miserable as she was.

"It's alright. You just...startled me."

They were saved any more awkwardness by the sound of a bell, signalling that it was fifteen minutes to curfew.

Ron leaped from the chair, looking relieved. "I guess I'll go then. See you tomorrow."

She nodded, knowing she didn't even need to mention that he had better keep this to himself. It was obviously going under the file of 'This Never Happened.'

"Goodnight, Ron. Go ahead and bring your chess set tomorrow night." She said, her voice approaching normal.

He nodded, seeming to understand that this was her way of letting him know it was alright to come back, and there would be no more talk about the tail.

She watched as he started to walk away, then turn back, an expression of curiosity on his face.

"Hey, Hermione? Is-"

"Is what?" She asked, when he cut himself off.

"Nothing, it's not important. G'night."

He waved over his shoulder, while she continued to puzzle out what he could have been about to say, before giving up.

Ron watched himself scurry away. He remembered. He had been about to ask if her fur felt like her hair, but had stopped himself before he wound up sounding like a huge tit. Her tail had been nice and fluffy, and he had been curious, before he remembered that people weren't animals and you certainly didn't go around stroking them. Especially ones that could use rather inventive hexes on you.

Hermione flopped backwards, pulling her pillow over her face and moaning in mortification. When her mother had given her 'the talk' this summer about the birds and the bees and all the steps leading up to it, this wasn't how Hermione had pictured her first encounter to go. Like most girls, she had envisioned nothing more serious than hand holding and a few kisses, with tongue if she was feeling especially daring. But no, Hermione Jean Granger seemed doomed to leap ahead in more than just academics. For all intents and purposes, she had just been felt up by a boy for the very first time. Which, she recalled, was several steps beyond the first step in the relationship flowchart she had set for herself.

He doubled over laughing at her thought. He had never thought of it that way, but there had been something intimate about the way he had stroked her tail. Poor Hermione. That wasn't exactly the sort of experience you gossiped about with the other girls. He would feel guilty, if he wasn't aware that she herself would eventually chuck aside her own rules for their first kiss. On the other hand, didn't this technically mean that he had got tail when he was twelve years old? Before he could contemplate this any further, he was jerked away from thought rather rudely, being pulled along by memories once more.

Racing down the hall, Hermione was filled with a sense of elation. She was right, she just knew she had to be! It was the only way all the pieces fit. She was sure she had read something similar in the library, she just needed to find the book. The answer had been niggling at the back of her mind for a while now, but Harry had just clinched it for her. What was the one thing that Harry was known to be able to hear that others couldn't? The very symbol of the House of Slytherin; snakes! It made perfect sense. Only someone who could communicate with it would be able to avoid looking at it and being killed.

Reaching the door to the library, she took a moment to calm herself. It wouldn't do anyone any good if Madam Pince threw her out of there before she found what she needed. Quietly, she tiptoed in, going immediately to the shelves that she thought would hold the information she was looking for. Penelope Clearwater sat at a nearby table, looking up to smile as Hermione passed. The older Ravenclaw prefect had been kind to her last year, helping her find her way around and recommending some books for her to read in her spare time. They weren't close, but they had shared several nice conversations, and Hermione admired her, hoping to be like her when she reached sixth year.

Picking up a book, she began to flip through the pages, her eyes rapidly scanning the text. If she was right, she would be one step closer to proving that Harry had nothing to do with this mess. She sniffed contemptuously, thinking of all the people that fawned over 'The Boy Who Lived' one moment and then blamed him and talked behind his back the next. As if he didn't have enough to deal with, living with his awful family, and having some Dark Lord wanting to kill him.

There was also a smaller, less altruistic reason for wanting to be right. If she was, Ron would have to admit that her bookish habits weren't anything to look down on. Ron's earlier comment had hurt. What was wrong with being a prefect or Head Boy? Her goal was to be made Head Girl. It was the one thing her parents could really understand. With the ban on under-age magic, she was unable to show them anything she had learned, and magic was something that you had to see to appreciate properly. If she became prefect, and eventually Head Girl, at least this way they would have something they would be able to tell people who asked about her. But Ron spoke about it as if it were some kind of disease, as if the person afflicted was somehow disgusting, almost implying that he would have nothing to do with such a person. He knew she was likely to try for it. Was that how he felt about her? Would they drift apart in the next few years, or would they only be loosely tied together because of their mutual friendship with Harry? That would be sad. She had grown to like Ron quite a lot, and hoped he had felt the same, in spite of the way they sometimes got on one another's nerves.

She gave her head a sharp shake. This wasn't the time to think about that. She shelved the book in her hand, frustrated at her lack of results. Picking up the next likely looking one, the process was repeated. This happened three more times, and each successive reshelving became louder and more violent than the last.

"Hermione? Are you having trouble?" Came a voice behind her, causing her to jump.

"Oh! Penelope! Yes, I'm looking for something, but I can't quite seem to find it. Would you happen to know which book would have anything on basilisks?" She asked hopefully.

"Basilisks? Hmm. Now, let me see...I seem to recall...yes! Here it is." She exclaimed, bending to the bottom shelf and removing a tattered book wedged in the corner.

Hermione thanked her, sitting down at the table. The cover kept slipping off, and loose pages fluttered everywhere. Carefully, she turned the brittle parchment, the word she was looking for leaping out at her. Avidly, she read the description, muttering to herself, only half aware of Penelope's amused look. The pieces of the puzzle were slotting themselves together in her mind. Only one thing was missing. If this was the monster they were looking for, how was it getting around?

"Well, I'm glad to see you found what you were looking for. If you wouldn't mind, would you watch my bag? I need to pop back to the dorms, since the pipes in the loo on this floor are backed up."

Her head snapped up. That was it! In her excitement, she had accidentally torn the page from the book, which would have normally caused her distress, but since it was already shedding pages like a molting parrot, she let it go. Besides, it would be faster than checking the book out. Grabbing a quill that was lying on the table, she quickly wrote the word 'pipes' in the margin, so she wouldn't forget. Realizing that Penelope was leaving, she leaped from the table, grabbing the other girl by the wrist.

"Wait! You can't go out there yet! I think I've figured out what has been going around petrifying people, and if I'm right, you need to be careful."

Penelope, being a Ravenclaw, was curious. "Oh? Can you tell me what it is?"

Hermione thrust the page at her. "Read this and see what you think."

The girl skimmed the page, her brow furrowing in confusion. "I'm not sure what you're getting at. It says right here that looking at a basilisk will kill you. It doesn't mention anything about being petrified."

"But what if you don't look directly at it?" Hermione asked excitedly. "Mrs. Norris was standing next to a pool of water. She could have seen a reflection. Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick were found together, so Justin could have seen it through Nick. Who knows what effects a basilisk would have on a ghost? And Colin-"

"Was found holding his camera up to his eye! That's brilliant, Hermione! We should go and tell one of the professors right away."

Hermione was pleased that Penelope had followed her logic to its obvious conclusion, and agreed with her. Part of her wanted to go and tell Harry and Ron straight away, but it was more important that they got word to Dumbledore, so the whole school would be alerted quickly, hopefully preventing any more casualties. That only left the problem of how they should get to the staff room. The answer came to her almost instantly.

"Do you have anything like a mirror with you? That way, we could check around corners so we don't run into it."

Penelope rooted in her bag, pulling out a small mirror in triumph. "This should work. Let's hurry, since the bell will be ringing soon, and it will be harder to find anyone."

Both girls left the library, carefull to hold the mirror so it was angled around the door. Seeing nothing, they made it to the end of the first hall, when they heard something shuffle around the corner. Before the noise could register, she looked in the mirror. She barely had time to be afraid; her last thought, before her senses left her, was to clutch the paper tightly, hoping whoever found it would notice.

Panic invaded Ron's mind at the loss of the connection. Logically, he knew that she was alright and everything had turned out fine, but not being able to sense her thoughts and emotions after so long threw him for a loop. It didn't last long, however, and he found himself once again in the hospital wing, a place he was coming to realize that they had found themselves in with far too much frequency.

Hermione opened her eyes, squinting against the light. At first, she was disoriented, puzzled over why she was lying in what felt like a bed when she knew she had been standing in a hallway moments before.

"I see you are awake, Miss Granger. How are you feeling? Headache? Nausea? Any lingering stiffness of the limbs?" Asked Madam Pomfrey briskly, from her position at the foot of the bed.

Flexing first her arms, and then her legs, Hermione shook her head, shifting to sit up.

"Good! Then it looks as if the mandrakes did the job. Rest there for about ten minutes, and then you should be able to return to your dorm."

"Wait! Madam Pomfrey, what's happened? I mean, obviously I was petrified, but has anyone figured it out?" Hermione cried out, raising one hand.

The nurse turned back, adjusting the screen around Hermione's bed. "Yes, it's all been taken care of. It seems Mister Potter and Mister Weasley had a hand in it, but I suspect you had already guessed that. You can ask them any questions you may have as soon as you're able to leave."

She sank back onto her bed as the older woman bustled out, the voices of Justin, Colin, and Penelope echoing around the room. Looking down at her hand, she saw that the page she had been carrying was gone. Well, that explained how they were probably able to figure it out. Still, she wouldn't be content until she heard everything from them. She took it as a positive sign that she couldn't hear them out there; it meant there was a good chance that they hadn't been hurt. Unable to keep still, she slid out of the bed, and was able to leave the room undetected. She had forgotten to ask the details of her attack, and wondered how long she had lain there.

There was a festive air about the castle, and she had to push her way through groups of students several times. As she came to the Fat Lady, she realized she had a problem. She had no idea what the password was, and there was no one there to help. As she was just turning back to find someone, the portrait swung open, and several fourth years came out, passing her without a glance. Ducking around them, she heard them mention that dinner was going to be a feast tonight, with permission given to come wearing your pajamas, giving it the feel of a sleepover. She peered about for Harry and Ron, but couldn't spot them. Deciding she would change into fresh clothes while she waited, she took the stairs up to the girl's dorms.

Luckily, Lavender and Parvati were out, so she was saved having to be fussed over by them. Deciding she felt like wearing something comfortable, she grabbed a pair of joggers and a Gryffindor striped jumper from her wardrobe.

Ron spun around hastily, waiting until he heard the sounds of her walking back to the door before facing her again.

Hermione was still wondering were the boys were. Surely if they had been hurt, she would have seen them in the hospital wing? Unless they were so bad they had to be sent to St. Mungo's. This thought froze her at the top of the stairs. No. Madam Pomfrey would have mentioned that. Her worry eased as she came into the room, spotting three gingers sitting in chairs in the far corner of the room. Recognizing Ron and the twins, she hurried over, her steps faltering at the sight of their pale, drawn faces. Her heart began to hammer when she saw that Harry was not with them. Hesitantly, she walked up behind Ron, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He jerked at the contact, but brightened when he looked up to see who it was. "Hermione! I looked for you in the hospital wing, but you were already gone."

"What? Why were you in there? Are you alright?" She asked as she began looking him over for injuries, much to the amusement of the twins.

"Ronniekins is all in one piece, although it's touching of you to be so concerned." Snickered Fred.

"Harry's fine too, so no need to start in on him. It was Ginny that had to be taken in." Added George.

Hermione was confused. "Ginny? But...she's a pure-blood. Why would she be attacked?"

"She wasn't." Answered George, his mood darkening. "Would've been better if that's all it had been."

Growing frustrated, she looked from face to face for some sort of explanation. As one, the twins stood up, pushing one of the chairs in her direction.

"You fill her in, Ron. We're going to go down and see what's up. Percy's down there, but you know he probably won't tell us anything." Fred spoke to his younger brother before crossing the room, George right behind him.

Hermione sat down next to Ron, who had been unusually quiet. "Ron? Please tell me what's going on."

He blinked up at her, almost as if he had forgotten she was there. "I...well, I'm still trying to process it myself, really. It was all a bit much to take in."

Seeing how difficult it was, she suggested, "Why don't you start from when I was petrified and work your way from there."

Seeming relieved to have a direction, he began to tell her of all that she had missed, stopping only to answer the questions she would interrupt him with.

As he described the trip into the Forbidden Forrest, Hermione felt something akin to awe, along with something else she couldn't quite place.

"But you've always said you would never go in there! I can't imagine Harry being able to talk you into it, especially once you found out it involved spiders."

Ron shrugged, sharp angles of his shoulders rising and falling. "What else could I do? You were petrified, and who knows what could've happened to you if someone decided to attack the hospital. And I couldn't let Harry do it alone."

"Still, that was really brave, more so when you consider that you didn't even have a working wand." She insisted, wondering why he was being so stubborn about taking the compliment. Maybe she was doing it wrong? She always struggled when it came to praising people; stating it plainly as a fact wasn't quite special enough, but gushing made her feel insincere. She wished she could find the words to express herself, to somehow find the proper balance, because the words were true and they were something that Ron needed to hear.

Ron nodded to himself from his spot in the other abandoned chair. It made sense. Hermione always sounded so uncomfortable when she was saying something nice (although she had gotten better in recent years), that he had always taken it personally, as if she was trying to humor him. But the more he shared her thoughts, the more he saw that, while Hermione was good at explaining the feelings of others, she wasn't so great at expressing her own, especially the ones that left her feeling vulnerable. He returned his attention to the conversation.

Ron looked away, gazing gloomily into the fire. "Not that I would've been much help, even with a proper wand." He muttered.

Hermione glared at him, barely resisting the impulse to stomp her foot. "Don't be ridiculous, of course you would have! But that's not the point. The point is you went because we needed you to, even though it was something you were scared of. Now stop sulking, and tell me the rest!"

She watched as he shook his head as if he had been boxed about the ears. Which she might consider doing, if he kept being so down on himself. Hadn't they already had a talk about that? Leaving that for now, she listened as he recounted what they had learned from Aragog, scowling at the unfairness that Hagrid had been forced to suffer. But the story got worse. With each new revelation, she grew more ill, her face whitening to match his. No wonder he and the twins had looked so awful when she came down! So much for her promise to herself to keep an eye on Ginny. She had spent time with the younger girl, but not nearly as much as she should have. It had completely escaped her attention that anything was wrong with her; she was fairly popular amongst the students of her own year, and she was doing well in all her lessons. She often had strange fits of blushing and stammering that were at odds with her usual outgoing personality, but Hermione had her own suspicions as to the cause of that.

"It was Ginny? That...that's horrible!" She gasped, still trying to process what she had been told.

"It wasn't her fault!" He snapped, as if daring her to argue, his eyes flashing from anger.

She reared back. The last time he had looked like that, he had ended up belching slugs. "Of course not! She was possessed, Ron. I know Ginny would never do a thing like that."

He sat back, appearing mollified at her words. "Sorry. I just know what some people would say if this gets out, and I got a little..." he trailed off with a shrug.

"No one else needs to know, and they won't be hearing it from me." She stated simply.

Ron threw her a grateful look, but still seemed uneasy, as if something was weighing him down.

She wasn't sure if she should press him, but the thought that she might be able to help decided her. "Ron, What's wrong? I can tell there's something still bothering you."

A conflicted expression crossed his face, before he brought his hands up to scrub at his eyes and down his cheeks, the skin reddening with the force of the motion.

"I should have been able to help her!" The words popped out like a jack-in-the-box, as if he had been suppressing them up until now.

"You did the best you could! Besides, from what you say, Harry was lucky enough-"

"No, that's not it. I mean, I should've figured out there was something wrong with her before. What kind of brother am I? I promised to take care of her when she came, and she winds up getting possessed by the worst Dark wizard in history under my watch!" He finished with a huff, slumping dejectedly.

But Hermione disagreed. "Rubbish. She had three other brothers here too, didn't she? And none of them noticed. Besides, I have the impression that Ginny is capable of taking care of her self in most circumstances."

"Look, Hermione, you're an only child, so you probably don't understand," she flinched, but he didn't notice. "but I'm closer to Ginny than the other three, so it should've been me to look out for her. Don't get me wrong, she can be a bloody pain in my arse sometimes, but still..."

Hermione laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Stop blaming yourself. Even if you had been with her every day, you still might not have seen it. It was powerful dark magic, and I doubt that many wizards would be able to pick up on it. And you can still help Ginny if you want to, since she's going to need it."

He looked at her skeptically. "Why would she need help now? It's all over."

"Not for Ginny." She said softly, "She went through a lot, Ron. She's probably feeling scared and upset and, even though she shouldn't be, ashamed. I wouldn't be surprised if she had nightmares from it. She'll need someone to talk to, and she may not feel comfortable doing that with your parents. I'm sure it would be easier on her if she knew you were there for her."

Ron squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. "I dunno. I'm not really good when it comes to things like that. She'd be better off talking to someone like you."

"She can, if she wants to. But we'll be going home soon, and that's really not the kind of thing you can talk about by owl. And anyway, she might not even need to actually talk, but you should let her know that she can count on you if she needs you."

He nodded slowly. "Guess I can do that."

Her lips curved in an encouraging smile. She knew he was most likely as good about discussing things like feelings as he was with dealing with spiders, but she also knew that he would try.

His hesitant smile morphed into something more sly. "You know, I'm actually pretty surprised to see you down here. I expected you to be locked up in your room, revising for the tests we have in three days."

Horrified, she sprang to her feet, panic coursing through her system. "What? Three days? That's not nearly enough time! I'm sure I've lost so much ground while I was petrified. How will I know what to expect?"

Chortling, he replied, "Oh, you know you'll pull perfect marks. And just think, you don't even have to worry about doing anything for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

She rounded on him, almost daring him to comment further, taking satisfaction from the way he shrank back into his seat, arms up in surrender. Lockhart. She had pushed thoughts of him to the back of her mind, but now she was reminded to be thoroughly disgusted with him. When she thought about how much she had admired him...it made her sick. He had been an author, for Merlin's sake! And now, to find out that he had-had profaned the written word! Fiction was one thing, but deliberately writing something so blatantly false and then passing it off as fact was quite another. And all just to stroke his own ego! She had turned a blind eye, not wanting to believe that someone in the profession she held in such esteem could do such a thing. Well, she had had a rude wake-up call. She was, to her own surprise, thankful for it in a way, but she would never tell Ron. The smugness oozing from him was bad enough as it was. No, she would just keep that little piece of information to herself. But the next time she became attracted to a man, it would be to someone who was honest, someone who could back up his words. Better yet, someone whose actions spoke for him, one that didn't feel the need to brag about every good thing that he had done. And, when she thought about it, he wasn't even all that good looking, was he. She didn't find blonds all that attractive, and as for his supposedly prize-winning smile, she had seen much better smiles on-

"Hurry up, Seamus! The feast is about to start!" Dean yelled, breaking Ron and Hermione out of their respective thoughts.

"Ron, you go ahead and save me a seat. I'm going to run back to my room and get my dressing gown, since it's chilly in the Great Hall."

"Sure. Maybe Harry's there already." Ron agreed, getting to his feet.

Hermione made her way back to her room, grabbing her dark blue dressing gown from where it hung from a peg by her bedside. She hoped she had said the right things to Ron. She knew he had some strange sort of inferiority complex, which she couldn't understand. Even if his brothers were as great as he said, she knew he had the potential to be just as good, if not better. If only she could figure out a way to boost his confidence...she would ponder that further, when she had more time.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she stopped to examine herself. Strange. She didn't look like someone that had been petrified. Which, she supposed, was a good thing. It meant that she could leave the minor detail of her...indisposition out of her explanation of what had gone on this year to her parents. She hated the fact that she had to hide things from them, but she didn't want them to worry, and she definitely didn't want them to pull her out of Hogwarts. She would tell them as much as she could, but she would gloss over the more dangerous parts.

Realizing that she had been standing there far longer than she meant to, she hurried downstairs, following the sounds of loud voices and laughter. Scanning the Gryffindor table, she spotted Ron and Harry, who looked like he could use a nice, long shower. Her face split into a wide grin, and with a yell, she was running across the room, relieved at the sight of her friend, healthy and whole.

She slid onto the bench next to him, listening quietly as he filled them in on what happened after Ron left Dumbledore's office. It was still hard to believe everything that happened, and she hadn't even been there for the end. On the other side of Harry, she could tell by Ron's face that he was thinking too much to change the subject.

Hermione clapped her hands briskly. "Right. As soon as we're done eating, we'll go and bring our books back down to the Common Room. We need to hurry; three days isn't very long to prepare."

Ron and Harry gave her incredulous looks. "We? What do you mean by 'we'?" Harry asked. "You don't mean us, do you?"

She eyed them beadily. "I certainly do. Unless you managed to stay on top of your work without me, and you feel like you'll be able to pass?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

The boys looked at each other, both coming to the same conclusion. "We," they groaned together.

Hermione smiled brightly, already forming study guides in her mind and making a note to have a talk with Ginny. She was happier than she had been since she had woken up in hospital, and she planned on enjoying the little time they had remaining at school. She glanced at Ron, who seemed to have perked up and was acting more like his normal self. She would also keep an eye on him, to make sure he stopped blaming himself about Ginny. Although, she had to admit his concern for those he cared about was one of his more attractive qualities...she blinked, then shook off the strange sensation. Something unfamiliar had stirred within her, but she brushed it off. Obviously, she was experiencing side effects from her ordeal. Now, what was Dumbledore saying about exams?  
Ron smiled as he felt, oh so subtly, the beginning of the shift in the way she felt towards him, as opposed to Harry. It was just a small flutter, easily overlooked, and something that could have faded in time, never to be realized. Somehow, he had been lucky enough that it had taken root, and would grow steadily stronger with time. She didn't know what it meant yet, and had barely even felt it was there, but it was, as sure as the freckles on his face.

The Great Hall slowly gave way to the Granger's living room, where Hermione was lounging on the sofa, going through a list of things to pack and what she needed to do before her family left on holiday. She wrote steadily, occasionally tapping her pen against her lips in thought. The young woman in the chair next to her was instantly recognizable to Ron as Hermione's childhood babysitter Jackie, though nowadays she only visited Hermione, who had long since outgrown the need for adult supervision when her parents went out. Hermione had been filling her in on her life at school while they were sitting there, (as best as she could; Jackie was under the impression that Hermione went to a school for gifted children.) and Hermione wanted to ask her opinion on something that she had been mulling over since the end of term.

"Jackie, can I ask you a question?" Hermione asked, abandoning her list.

The young woman lowered the metalworking magazine she had been flipping through. "Sure, go ahead."

"Boys don't like to admit when they're afraid of something, right?" She asked in the tone she always used when she was trying to understand something.

Her friend looked startled, not having expected this type of question. "In general? No. Boys your age? Most emphatically not." She answered, voice filled with amusement.

"And don't they generally brag when they've done something important?"

Jackie grinned wryly. "Oh yes. And if you thought whatever he did the first time around was amazing, wait until the fifth or sixth telling. You'll be surprised at how even more impressive it is by then."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. Alright, that corroborated her own findings. That just left her with the puzzle she had been trying to solve these past few months, and the odd fluttering sensation that came along with it.

"Then what about a boy who not only admits that he's extremely afraid of something, and not only does he not seem ashamed of it, but then, even though he doesn't have to, he faces it to help someone else? And then never makes a big deal of it, like what he did wasn't special at all?" Hermione waited for an answer, knowing that if anyone would have one, it would be Jackie.

The woman regarded her over the tops of her rectangular glasses for several long moments. "Then I would say that you had found an unusually spectacular boy." She finally said softly.

Squirming under the look of her former sitter, Hermione rushed, "Well, I suppose. But he's not perfect, you know. He slacks off on his homework, he has a bit of a temper, and his self confidence wouldn't fill a thimble-"

"Oh, well, that's just me all over, innit?" Ron spluttered. "The emotional range of a teaspoon, and a thimbleful of confidence. Cheers."

"And sometimes...well, sometimes he can be...a bit of a prat." Hermione finished, irritated at herself for feeling guilty for saying it. There was no reason to; she had told him to his face often enough.

Jackie laughed. "Hermione, let me tell you something; all boys that age are prats."

Hermione smiled weakly, not finding much humor in it. "Yes, but I'm sure it will get better over the next couple of years."

This was met with peals of laughter, which Ron added to himself, while Hermione only felt bewildered.

"My dear girl, just you wait! You thought the last two years were bad? It only gets worse from here. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but you have a minimum of five years before they become sensible beings."

Groaning, Hermione buried her face in her hands. What exactly had she been signing up for when she made friends with not one, but two boys? It already took a great deal of energy to hold her own so they didn't steamroll over her already. If things got much worse, she was going to come across as a total cow.

Ron pondered this. He had never given much thought to what it must have been like for her. She had been the mature, level-headed one of the group, constantly keeping them out of scrapes and making them put some effort into their studies. He and Harry had been...well. Yes. They hadn't made it easy, and, he recalled guiltily, had sometimes been complete arses when she was just doing her best to look out for them. Without meaning to, they had sort of ganged up on her, and then had resented it when she pushed back extra hard.

"So, does your boyfriend have a name?"

Hermione choked, cheeks blushing madly. "What? No! Ron is just my friend!" She protested. How could she think that? The very idea was-was ridiculous!

Jackie's eyes sparkled with mischief. "What made you think of him? I could have meant the other one."

Oh dear Merlin, this was not happening. She was not sitting here in her very own living room being interrogated about her non-existant love life. And Ron, of all people! No, that would never work out. Ron was perfectly nice, but she had it all planned out; when she was about sixteen, she would look for someone with compatible temperaments, goals, and interests. He would be quiet, studious, and a person of high moral character. She wasn't foolish enough to believe she would marry the first person she was with, but if she was careful, it shouldn't have to exceed more than five.

Ron gawked, slack-jawed. Was she mental? A bloke like that might look good on paper, but he couldn't hope to keep up with Hermione. She was spirited and headstrong, and needed someone who wouldn't always back down to her, someone who could push her boundaries while still being supportive. Someone she wouldn't get bored with in three months. A person that could get her to relax and laugh. Someone, he thought rather smugly, like himself.

Hermione snatched up her notepad and pen, hastily jotting down more items on her list. She was going to pretend this conversation never happened. Thankfully, it semed like Jackie was going to let it go-

"Hermione? One more thing."

She tensed up, gripping the pen tightly between her fingers. "Yes?"

"If you find a boy that, even at his prattiest, is still a good person, someone you can trust and enjoy being around? Then hold onto him, because he's a keeper."

"I'm not attracted to prats, but I'll keep that in mind." Hermione answered stiffly, not bothering to look up, completely missing Jackie's small, knowing smile.

Ron barked out a laugh. "Not attracted to prats, are you? Love, you're attracted to the king of them all!"


	9. Chapter 9

Ron dragged his feet as he followed Harry and Hermione down the corridor, his head hanging low and shoulders curled in a slump. Today had not been his day. Neither had yesterday. Nor, come to think about it, had the day before. You could almost go as far as to say that it hadn't been his year; he was hard pressed how to imagine it being any worse, and he had a very vivid imagination. The day had started by finding that he had had another growth spurt recently, and the cuffs of his trousers and shirts weren't hitting where they should, exposing an extra strip of pale flesh. Sadly, this was nothing new, but if it kept happening at this pace, he was going to have a good long look at the family tree. He was beginning to suspect giant blood at work.

Still, he had experience with this sort of thing. With his robes on, it did a good job of keeping him covered. When he took them off, he was careful to push his sleeves part way up his arms. There wasn't much he could do about his trousers except to make sure he kept his socks pulled up, which meant wearing the same pairs more than once, as he had a limited supply of colors that weren't hideous. Of course, today he had only been able to find a puce, orange and purple checked pair. Thanks, Mum. Add that to the list of reasons why I won't be making Witch Weekly's '100 Sexiest Wizards' list.

Just as he had decided that his clothes looked about as presentable as they were going to, he had heard a loud shriek, followed by a yip from Neville, who had jumped from where he had sat on Ron's bed, clutching his arse. Apparently he had nearly squashed Scabbers to death, and the poor animal was left with no choice but to bite the boy to get him to move. Ron had held his limp rat to his chest, watching his tiny body heave as he gasped for air. It was impossible to be mad at Neville. The bloke had practically been in tears, apologizing and tripping over his own two feet.

He had hoped for sympathy at breakfast, but Harry had been distracted by his own thoughts, and Hermione was still frosty from last night. He had been under pressure to finish an essay, and had snapped when she tried to rush him so they could go check on the Polyjuice. The fight had got quite heated, and words poured from his mouth without passing through his brain. Harry had stood behind Hermione at one point, frantically shaking his head and waving his hands. When asked later, he had told Ron that he 'had seen a cloud of stupid roll across his face and knew that nothing good could come of it.' And he had been right. Once again he had let his temper get the best of him, and Hermione had gone up to her room in a snit.

Lessons, if it were possible, were worse. In Potions, his concoction had turned a foul shade of yellow, and had oozed out of his cauldron to nearly strangle him before Harry and Hermione could get it off. The only good thing to come of that was Hermione thawed towards him a bit. During Transfiguration, instead of changing his cockroach into a playing card, his wand had malfunctioned and he had ended up giving it a little purple top hat and spats. McGonogall had been less than amused, informing him that his brothers had never had any such problem, and she saw no reason why he shouldn't be able to do it if he applied himself. He had barely bitten back the retort that 'they had actually had working wands, hadn't they? Would she like to send off for a replacement for his?'

But then he had got to thinking. Maybe it wasn't the wand. Maybe he was just a washout as a wizard. It's not like he had been much better last year. What was wrong with him? He wasn't a Squib, but he wasn't quite a wizard, either. They would have to come up for a new name, just for him. He would finally be famous for something, even if it was just for his own failure.

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry. On one hand, it truly was awful how he was feeling, and his face had such a pitiful expression. On the other hand, his over dramatic thoughts made him seem like a one man soap. She had forgotten how much angst was involved with being a teenager.

Ron flopped heavily into a chair by the fire, across from Hermione. Harry dropped his books off with them, before going off to find Neville to practice the Charms homework they had been paired together for. He didn't look pleased by this arrangement, and Ron could hardly blame him. The only one doing worse than him in lessons right now was Neville, and hardly anyone who had to work with him came away unscathed.

Hermione placed her books neatly on the table, and picked up her wand. "Shall we practice, or would you prefer to start with something else?"

He pulled out his own wand, holding it up derisively. "Are you sure you don't want to trade partners? Or at least put on some type of protective clothing?"

She smiled, and joked, "I could do without the top hat, but a pair of purple spats might be rather fetching."

The corners of his lips lifted briefly at her attempt at humor, before fading completely. "Seriously, Hermione. What's the point? We both know I'm going to fuck it up, so why even bother?"

Standing, she placed her wandless hand on her hip. "Nonsense. Even if your wand is broken, you can still practice the incantations and movements for when you get a new one."

Glancing at the badly taped length of wood, he tossed it on the table, fighting the urge to chuck it across the room. "Yeah," he said flatly. "Broken."

A look of understanding crossed her face. "Ron, it is the wand, you know. There isn't anything wrong with you."

"Oh yeah? Then how do you explain last year? I wasn't exactly great then, either."

She let out a frustrated puff of air, blowing up her fringe. "You're main problem is you freeze up when you do a new spell for the first few times in front of people. Once you've had a bit of practice, you're always fine. If you would just do it during the times I ask you when we revise, it wouldn't be as hard. I swear though, getting you to work outside of lessons is like pulling hen's teeth."

He scowled up at her. "Then why waste your time? Why don't you focus on that twitchy first year, what's-her-name? She could use it."

They both gave a shudder. The student in question was woefully inept. They were still scraping frog guts from all over the Transfiguration classroom. Which was quite a feat, given that the accident occurred in Potions...Ron only hoped that Neville never got together with the younger girl.

"Did you ever think there might be a reason, besides being your friend, that I help you and Harry, and not people like Rachel?"

Ron began to open his mouth, but she narrowed her eyes and snapped, "Think carefully before you answer that."

He sat back, saying nothing.

"Well? Not going to answer?"

He shook his head. "Was, but I thought better of it. I think it would be safer if you just told me."

Both Hermiones rolled their eyes. "Fine. The difference is, Rachel is doing her best. She tries so hard, and is even losing sleep with how late she stays up Working. Sadly, she's just never going to be very good at Potions, no matter how much effort she puts in. It would just make things harder on her if someone pushed her to do more. You two, on the other hand, have the potential to improve. But the only time you put any real effort into it is when I browbeat the both of you into submission. Which gets results, even though you won't admit it."

Admit it? Of course he wouldn't admit it! She would never let him live it down! Besides, it was irritating enough that he couldn't seem to grasp things on his own without a shove in the right direction.

He kicked at the leg of the table. "Well, you can save yourself the trouble with me. It's not like it'll make much difference in the end, anyway."

"What is that supposed to mean? Of course it will! If you don't apply yourself now, how do you expect to do well on your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s later on?"

His pent up frustration came bubbling out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "It doesn't matter! I'm the youngest of six brothers, Hermione. Each one of them has done something amazing, and I'm never going to live up to that. Some people expect me to, but most know that I'm...just...just plain Ron. There's nothing special or remarkable about me, so why bother trying, when I know I won't ever be able to compete on that level?"

He could feel himself turning red, and immediately regretted his outburst. Hermione was one of the people whose, for whatever strange reason, opinion mattered most, and the thought of her pitying him made him ill.

She let out a low growl, a fearsome snarl curling her lips as she loomed over him. Ron wondered, distantly, if this was what a tree felt like when confronted with an angry beaver.

At his thought, Hermione slapped him on the side of the head, even if he couldn't feel it. She added it to the list of things she would be...discussing with him later.

"I don't think I've heard anything more ridiculous coming from your mouth in all the time I've known you, and that is saying a lot, Ron Weasley! How can you even think that? There isn't anything that they have done that you couldn't do if you wanted, and I refuse to let you go on acting like you're some sort of-of failure, or something!"

"Why not? I might as well accept it now," he muttered. Hm. Maybe pity wouldn't have been so bad.

Two seconds later he had to leap back with a yelp, his eyes popping as he burrowed into the back of the chair. Hermione had slammed her hands down on the arm rests, and her face was barely two inches away from his. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were sparking like some of the twins' favorite fireworks.

"Now you listen to me, and you listen good. I. Will. Not. Let you do this to yourself! You are not giving up. I'm going to drag you kicking and screaming through your education, and someday you are going to do something so amazing that you leave your brothers in the dust. And when you do, I'll be there with a big, fat I-told-you-so!"

He blinked rapidly. "Lemme see if I got this straight. You're going to be on my arse until we leave, and then, when I make something of myself, you're...going to rub my own success in my face?"

She stepped back, leaning against the table, giving her head an emphatic nod. "Yes. Exactly."

"You're barking."

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Some people would say I'm mental for believing in magic. Why would it be more mental to believe in you?"

Words failed him. Had she really just said that? Actually, had anyone ever come right out and said they believed in him before? Not that he could remember. And she was willing to back her words up. They had nearly five and a half more years of school left; that was an awfully long time to put up with him. He knew she was stubborn, but could anyone last that long? Sooner or later, wouldn't she just get sick of it? It wouldn't be easy. They butted heads frequently, and he was always managing to get under her skin. Still, to have her invest that much time in him was oddly flattering. Part of him wanted to bask in it, while the rest of him braced himself for the inevitable moment when she came to the conclusion that he was a lost cause. Hermione was smart. She wouldn't stick around when she saw he was more trouble than he was worth. He wouldn't get her hopes up.

Hermione gasped, as things clicked together. There had been so many times that he had been unusually difficult to deal with, fighting her at every turn when it came to their schoolwork, but now they made sense. Because each time she stuck it out, to him, it was like she was saying, 'I still believe in you. I'm not giving up.' It gave him the affirmation and attention he craved, while at the same time, if she had given up, kept him protected from disappointment. It wouldn't hurt nearly as much if she gave up on him for being annoying than it would for thinking he was stupid.

Hermione blushed, obviously embarrassed at her bald proclamation of faith. "Ahem. Well. Let's get to work, shall we? Unless you prefer to sit there while I read Hogwarts: A History out loud to you."

The moment, which had been charged with something Ron didn't recognize, was broken, and he sighed in relief.

"As much as I could use a nap, we should probably get started. If I make you end up spewing snails, just pretend you're in France, having an authentic dining experience."

Hermione watched the two of them laugh. It hadn't always been easy. Sometimes, she had wanted to throw her hands in the air and leave him to it. But, not counting the times they were fighting, she hadn't, and she was now very glad. She had always had faith in Ron. She hoped she was better at showing it now. Though his confidence was much more steady, the approval of those he cared about still mattered to him, even if he didn't let it define him. And while she believed that her actions spoke clearly, she decided that she would work on saying it straight out. Because he did work hard, and accomplished a lot purely on his own efforts, and he deserved recognition for it.

Suddenly, she doubled over, her stomach cramping painfully. She hissed through her teeth. Whatever was wrong with him now, it was worse than the slugs. She unclenched her eyes, spying him across from her at the head of his bed, the curtains pulled closed around them.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Any minute, he expected to wake up and find it had only been a nightmare, or for the twins to pop out at him, laughing at him for falling for this prank. But it wasn't, and they didn't. It was horribly, horribly real, and there was no escaping the cold, hard fact; Hermione was gone. Oh, maybe not dead, but close enough. It was strange. Even though he had been fully aware that Muggle-borns were being targeted, and had warned her numerous times to be careful, he had never actually believed that anything could happen to her. Anyone else, yes, but not her. The three of them were supposed to pull out of it, just like they had last year. The only thing that finally made him believe it was true was seeing her body lying in the hospital bed.

It had been the worst feeling of his life.

She didn't...she didn't look like his friend at all. Had she always been that small? He didn't think so. There had always been such a sense of life and movement from her, even when she was sitting still. Her fingers would be twirling a small lock of hair as she read, the pace determined by the intensity of the story. Her teeth would bite down on her lower lip, her foot would tap to some beat that only she could hear. This wasn't Hermione, this cold, unmoving shell on the bed. This wasn't the girl who nagged him about his homework, or laughed at one of his sarcastic jokes. He had bitten back the sob that had clawed it's way up his throat, not wanting to lose it in front of Harry, and eventually he had got himself under control, assuming the worst was over.

It wasn't.

Lessons had been hell, and not in the sense that he usually meant. Others seemed to feel it to a lesser extent; every time a question was asked, the class collectively held it's breath, waiting for the hand that would never be raised. Ron's attention suffered. He couldn't keep his gaze from drifting to her empty seat, wondering, with a sickening sensation, if she would ever be there to fill it again. Because there were no guarantees that the mandrakes would actually work, since no one still had any idea what was causing this.

And ironically, the one person Ron believed to have any chance of solving this had been struck down already. He wished she was here. She would know what to do. And if not, she might at least be able to talk Harry out of his wild idea. Because they had a lead. It was completely mental and he wanted no part of it, but try as he might, he couldn't come up with any other option.

Spiders. Why did it always have to come down to spiders?

Spiders AND the Forbidden Forest. Merlin, he should have just let the Whomping Willow beat his brains out when he had the chance! A large part of himself wanted to let Harry do it himself. Nobody seemed to understand; he wasn't just a little afraid of spiders. He was genuinely, utterly terrified of spiders. What good would he be passed out in a puddle of his own piss? Hell, with his wand in the shape it was in, what good would he be even if he managed to stay upright?

But as good as his arguments were, he couldn't convince himself. Remembering Malfoy's words, he gave a small whimper. He wanted Hermione dead. And in reality, there was nothing stopping him from sneaking in and killing her. If not Malfoy, there was still whoever was behind all this. Right now, there was at least some hope that the victims would be alright, but if it was decided that they should be finished off...no. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't face years of going from day to day, always looking next to him at the spot where she was supposed to be. He punched his pillow. She had promised him, damn it! She had promised she was going to be there when he finally made something of himself! How could he do it without her? He didn't want to. He wanted her to look at him with that smug look, wanted her to tell him she told him so, wanted...wanted...he didn't know what, but whatever it was, she had to be there.

He took that anger, and held it tightly, letting it engulf his fear. He was going with Harry. He might be completely useless, but he was going. They would figure this thing out, and they would get her back. Not because he was brave, or some kind of hero, but because it was Hermione. Hadn't he once said that there was absolutely nothing that could get him to go into the Forest? He gave a hollow laugh. Even Petrified, she still found ways to prove him wrong. Would she realize what he went through for her? Would she even care? Maybe not. But if he was ever going to prove her right that he could do something amazing, then he had to start somewhere.

Hermione wiped away the tears streaming down her face. "Ron, you stupid boy...you were already amazing. You just couldn't see it."

This was the thing about Ron that neither she nor Harry could ever understand. He could list every failure from the time he could walk, but if you asked him to name at least three good qualities, he was totally stumped.

And it was strange to see him so upset. He had never mentioned to her how much this had bothered him, not even years later. She had always just assumed that the boys had been mildly worried, and that was it. At the time, it would have shocked her to know that he went into the Forest for her, and not just Harry. Now, of course, it made perfect sense. As much as Ron grumbled and complained, when someone he cared for was in trouble, he was always first in line to help. From mountain trolls to holding her while she cried at funerals, Ron was always there.

Beneath her, she felt the softness of the bed harden, and while it remained dark, she was no longer in the confines of his bed, but in some sort of wardrobe. Why was she suddenly so sick and dizzy? The shifts hadn't bothered her before. What could-oh.

For a few moments, the rest of the world faded away for Ron. He was no longer aware of the group of teachers outside, or even of Harry, who stood close enough that he could hear his shallow breathing. One word filled his head; Ginny. Over and over, her name on constant rubbed his eyes, trying to remove the grinning, gap-toothed face of her six year old self from where it seemed to be burned on his retinas. It was a stark contrast from the pale, nervous eleven year old girl that had tried to tell him and Harry something over breakfast. He had known something was wrong. Why hadn't he taken two bloody minutes to listen? Now, he might never get the chance to talk to her again.

He leaned back against the wardrobe. When had he sat down? He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. No, that wasn't true, was it? He knew his baby sister was probably dead. A moan caught in his throat. This was going to kill Mum. Merlin, why Ginny? She was a pure-blood! She should've been perfectly safe! Replaying the year over and over again in his head, he tried to figure out what he could have done differently to prevent this from happening. He came up empty, but that didn't lessen the sense of guilt that was threatening to swallow him whole. First Hermione, now Ginny. Why did bad things keep happening to the people he cared about?

He and Ginny had always been close. With only a year between them, and being the only siblings at the Burrow for two years when the twins went off to school, it was pretty much inevitable. More alike than either one would ever be willing to admit, their relationship was a constant ebb and flow; one minute divided by gender and age, the next brought together by a common foe (usually Mum) or interest (Quidditch).

His mind was suddenly full of memories of his sister. Ginny, being fussed and fawned over by all their relatives. Ginny, peeing in his bed and telling everyone he did it. Ginny, spilling ink all over his brand new Chudley Cannons shirt. In other words, being a right painful boil on his arse.

But...Ginny, sneaking up to his room with some apple tart when he was sick. Ginny, taking the blame for the broken window. Ginny, helping him steal the twins' clothes so they had to walk home naked from the pond.

Tears burned at the back of his eyes as he remembered every time he had wished that he hadn't had to deal with a younger sister, or that he didn't have so many siblings to compete with. He had never meant it like this! Never! There had been times when he was furious with her, but he had never, ever, wanted something bad to happen to her. But it had, and here he was, and he didn't know how much more of this he could take. He didn't care what horrible things were happening to her right now; he would give anything to take her place. The year, which had gotten off to a less than promising start, had spun completely out of control.

He took a deep, shaky breath, standing to follow Harry. He had made up his mind.

Maybe he was a shit wizard.

Maybe he was a shit friend.

And maybe he was a shit brother.

None of that mattered anymore. He was going to bring his sister back, or die trying.

Hermione sobbed at the expression of determination on his face; everything he was going through...it was all too much for a thirteen year old to bear. So many people would have broken under the weight, but Ron pushed through it. She knew that Ron's overprotectiveness towards his sister was a sore point for the younger girl, but it stemmed from a very deep love for her coupled with an almost crippling desire to never feel this way again. For so many years, his ability to express his affection for others was poor. The only way he could show he cared was to stand up for them when they neded him. His words, which could sometimes be sharp and cruel, were so seemingly straight forward that many had a hard time looking past them. But his actions...his actions came from his heart and not just his temper. They spoke of a person that would someday, with time, grow and mature into a man with a strong sense of justice for others.

His capacity for caring was also his weakness, for it also left him open to hurt, which, in his youth, left him oftentimes sullen and confused. And ever at the core of this was his family; underneath the shifting layers of youthful selfishness and insecurity was a stone foundation of love, lessons he had learned from his parents at an early age and had woven into the very fiber of his own being. It was this love and loyalty, Hermione knew, that first drew her to him in the first place. This desire to take on the suffering of others was nothing new. It had happened last year in the chess game, and would happen more over the next few years, most notably in the form of a voice calling out to her from a basement, terror lacing his voice...she shook it off. Time for all that later. For now, she needed to pay attention to her new surroundings.

Moonlight shown into his room at the Burrow, the shadows from the trees forming odd shapes on his blanket. He lay with his arms behind his head, waiting for his door to open. Twenty minutes ago, he had heard someone creeping up the stairs to his floor, and now they were standing just outside, the floorboards creaking as they shifted their weight. Slowly, the knob turned, and Ginny shuffled in, closing the door behind her. She stood there as if she was unsure what to do next. His earlier conversation with Hermione came back to him. Apparently she had been right, and Ginny was still upset. She had been silent on the train ride home today, and had gone to her room as soon as she had finished dinner. Therefore, he wasn't entirely surprised to see her here now, though it had been ages since she had needed to come to him at night.

Wordlessly, he shifted closer to the wall and flipped the covers back, and two seconds later she was across the room and diving in next to him. They had never been much for cuddling, but there was a certain comfort in the way their arms brushed together in the small space.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Nah, had too much to think about to fall asleep."

"About everything that happened this year?"

"Hmn."

"Me too...I knew if I fell asleep, I was just going to have more nightmares, so I came up here. Was that okay?"

"'Course it was. Have you...have you been having a lot of nightmares?" Oh, brilliant Ron. She's only been possessed by You-Know-Who. What do you think? That she came up here to have a fucking tea party?

"Yeah, but don't tell Mum. She's worried enough, and I don't need her smothering me any more than she is now. So what were you thinking about? Was it about when Hermione was Petrified?"

He took a deep breath. Just thinking about it made him uneasy, but Hermione had said it was important to let Ginny talk about it.

"Well, that too. And how worried I was when you were, y'know..." he answered gruffly.

Ginny was silent a moment. "I won't apologize again for what happened, because she told me not to, but I am sorry that you were worried about me."

He frowned up at the ceiling. "Who are you talking about?" He had an idea, but wanted to be sure.

"Hermione. I tried to apologize to her after...after everything that had happened. Didn't exactly go how I had planned."

"How so?"

She got mad at me! Can you imagine? She actually got mad at me! Said that I was just as much a victim as she was, probably more so, and that victims should never apologize for something that was the fault of the attacker. Was quite heated about it, really."

Ron snorted. "I doubt you've ever dealt with Hermione when she was 'heated.'"

Ginny giggled. "Maybe not, but the older girls who were saying things about me in the Common Room definitely. got an earful."

He sat up, squinting down at her in the poor lighting. "What? What things? When was all this?"

She shrugged. "Oh, a few days after...I came back. Some of them were whispering things like how unsafe they felt with me around, making sure I heard them. Hermione was livid! You know, I think that was the first time I ever heard her swear?"

Ron chortled. Hermione Granger, using indelicate language? Oh, this was a juicy bit of gossip! He wondered how best to make use of it...

Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly, it had only been one word! And 'heck' wasn't even really that bad!

"It's strange. I went to Hogwarts thoroughly intending to dislike her."

"You-why?"

"It was stupid. I suppose I was a little jealous of her. For one thing, I thought if she wasn't around, I would be the one spending time with the two of you. And, of course, she's so good at everything that she does, it can get frustrating."

"You never said anything! You could have hung out with us loads of times, but you always were off with people from your own year. I thought you were making friends!" Perfect. Had his sister felt as shut out and lonely as Hermione had been during first year?

She waved a hand to cut him off. "I was! I told you it was stupid, didn't I? Anyway, it didn't last very long. She was always nice enough, and she didn't laugh at me about the...card incident."

He smirked a bit. "Oh, you mean 'eyes as green as-"

"Shut. Up."

"Sorry." Not.

"No you're not. Anyway, she told me I was brave to send it, that not many people would have the guts."

And for good reason. That poem was a bloody embarrassment.

"She told me I was brave about the whole diary thing, too. And...she said...she said she wasn't surprised, since it was only to be expected because I was your sister. Any idea what that meant?"

Bells and whistles and firecrackers went off in his head. Not effing much, just the bloody world! Brave! Because she was his sister! Not Bill's, or Charlie's, or any of the others. His! The praise had him soaring.

"Of course, she also said that at least I was different enough from you that I don't eat like a starving pig in high slops. Now that I could understand."

Oh. Well. That caused his altitude to drop a bit. Still, praise was praise, wasn't it?

"I like her, Ron. I really like her a lot, don't you?"

He dropped back down on his pillow.

"Yeah. She's pretty top shelf."

They were silent for a few moments. "Is it alright if I stay the rest of the night?"

There was the barest hint of a quiver in her voice. "Sure. As long as you promise not to wet the bed."

She kicked him. "Prat! Watch yourself, or I'll Owl Hermione about that pair of knickers you stole from her."

He bolted upright, panicking at her wicked smirk. "What the bloody-I NEVER TOUCHED ANY OF HER KNICKERS!"

"Maybe not, but it'll be fun trying to watch you try to convince her."

He almost lost his temper, then reconsidered. "Fine," he said calmly as he lay back down. "You do that. I'll mention to Harry how you used his toothbrush while he was here to get an indirect kiss."

She gave a little shriek. "You had better not, you dirty liar!"

"Prat."

"Wanker."

"Well, not with you in here. That would just be-"

"You are filthy and disgusting, and I've just been mentally scarred for life. I fully intend to sue for damages."

He chuckled, a yawn breaking it in the middle. "G'night, Gin."

"Night, Ron."

He turned his back to her, getting a tight grip on the covers so they would be harder for her to steal. Ginny was a strong kid. She was going to be fine. She was brave, he grinned. Like him. For some reason, summer suddenly seemed like a long time.

He would Owl Hermione in the morning.


	10. Chapter 10

Welcome to the first half of year three! Thanks to everyone who have reviewed so far; your support is greatly appreciated. A special shout-out Happy Birthday to Wazlibb88! (yes I know I'm late. Sorry the birthday cake is a bit stale.)

Please remember as you read that this is only the first part of book three, so if these chapters feel like they end abruptly, the plot will be continued in chapters 12 and 13.

IMPORTANT STORY NOTES: As requested, I tried to put adult Ron and Hermione in italics for easier reading, but sometimes this site won't format them for me. If it hasn't, let me know, and I will do something else. ( Please note that this does not work on AO3)

Second: One reader pointed out that Hermione is crying frequently. There are a few reasons for this. The first being that not only are they watching these memories, but they are experiencing the other's emotions themselves, so they are having to deal with the feelings of two people at once, which can be intense, especially in situations where they realize they are the cause of the pain. Also, while Hermione has tears, she isn't full on weeping and wailing. Her eyes are moist, the same as yours would get after listening to an emotionally charged speech. Things will get harder for them at later moments in the story. I tried to keep it in character, and there are many points in the book where Hermione cries. She is a strong character, but not afraid to show her emotions.

Third: A few people have PMed me asking me to have a companion fic of moments that I either didn't cover, or shortened for the sake of time, in which each new moment would have it's own chapter. I would be more than willing to do this if any of you are interested, so please let me know!

Now, on with the story, and be careful. You never know if a Grimm is lurking around the corner...

Ron watched in amusement as various articles of clothing whizzed past his head in a flurry of materials and colors. Hermione was standing at her wardrobe, holding up each shirt, skirt, or pair of trousers before slinging it behind her. If he didn't know better, he would think she was getting ready for a hot date.*

Hermione glared at the remaining clothes that were still hanging. How could one person own so much, and still have nothing to wear? She needed to hurry; they would be leaving in about an hour for Diagon Alley where she would meet the Weasleys, and she wanted to look her be-

Wait. What on earth was she thinking? It was just Ron and his family, after all. None of them would care what she wore. Shaking her head at her strange behavior, she settled on a pair of jeans and a blue and white striped boat-necked t-shirt. There, that wasn't so hard, was it?

*Ron turned away as she began to change, bouncing on his heels as her excitement affected him. He could tell how much she was looking forward to today, and grinned, remembering. This must be the day before they started third year, the year he privately referred to as 'The Year of the Rat.' He and his parents had stopped by nearly three weeks earlier before their trip to Egypt to invite Hermione to stay with them at the Leaky Cauldron and shop for their school supplies. It had been the first time he had ever asked to do something with her without Harry, and he had been nervous and excited at the same time.

Feelings that seemed to be mirrored in Hermione. Aside from her family trip, she had spent the majority of her break keeping up to speed on subjects she would have learned in a Muggle school. While losing herself in this would have once been enjoyable, she now found it was not wholly satisfying. She found herself missing Harry and Ron; she even missed them rolling their eyes at her lectures. She wondered if Ginny was doing as well as she said in her letters, and if Percy had been made Head Boy. When she caught herself missing the twins' pranks, she knew she had a problem.

Then, several weeks ago, Ron and his parents had come over to ask about today, and had ended up staying the entire day at her house. Which was why she was wondering, as she laced up her trainers, how it was possible that she still missed Ron as much as if she hadn't seen him since the train ride home. She put it down to curiosity about his trip. Yes. She was interested to hear his take on Egypt. Perfectly natural.

Ron snorted as he followed her downstairs. It was becoming obvious that she was smack dab in Egypt herself; in a little river called 'De Nile,' as the old joke went.

The living room door opened, unsurprisingly enough, into the Leaky, the smell of Tom's famous cottage pie filling the air. Ron stepped neatly out of the way of the mass of gingers that came barreling at Hermione.

Hermione found herself caught up in a whirlwind of Weasleys; Ron, Ginny, Fred and George were all talking to her at once, while Mrs. Weasley clucked around them, trying to settle them down. Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with her parents, and Percy was standing off to the side, looking suspiciously as if he was trying to pretend he didn't belong with the rest of them. Poor Percy. She always got the feeling that he was the odd one out, a feeling she could relate with all too well. Though not right now; it was a dizzying experience having so many people demanding her attention at once, and she barely managed to squeeze out a proper goodbye to her parents, sending a quick nod of thanks at Fred and George, who, at their mother's orders, were carrying her trunk upstairs.

Mrs. Weasley pulled her into a tight hug. "So good to see you, Hermione dear! You're sharing a room with Ginny. I'll just pop up and make sure the boys haven't got up to anything they shouldn't have. I swear, those two..." she trailed off as she bustled away, leaving Hermione to draw some much needed air into her lungs.

She smiled at Ron, who looked a bit sheepish at his mother's affections. His eyes scanned her up and down, and she had a brief flash of wishing she had worn something a bit dressier, but it came and went so quickly that she didn't have time to notice.

"Wow, Hermione. You're quite dark. Guess your family made it to the beach alright, then?"

Hermione got her first real look at him since she arrived. He was wearing a brown and green striped shirt, and his jeans were just on the verge of being too short; she had no doubt that in a month or so, they would no longer cover his ankles. His hair was a shade lighter from the sun, and his face...

"Yes, we did. I always seem to manage to get a tan within about two days. Mum says I get it from her side of the family. How was your trip? You look...tanned?"

Ron snorted. "Hardly. Gingers don't tan, Hermione. Our freckles just blend together for awhile. Not the same thing, but at least I won't be as blindingly white for a week or so."

"Speak for yourself, Ron. You can blame it on being a ginger all you want, but the rest of us managed just fine," teased Ginny, giving Hermione a quick one armed hug.

She peered into the younger girl's eyes, satisfied by what she saw. Ginny must have been telling the truth when she had said she was doing better, and the nightmares had lessened.

"Yeah, yeah, you got the 'glowing Prewett complexion' blabbbity blabbity blab. Why don't you join Mum? You know she's just gonna yell for you in a minute anyway," he said, ignoring her when she stuck out her tongue.

His eyes brightened excitedly as he held out something for Hermione to see. "Have you been getting the Prophet? We actually made the front page!"

"Merlin's sake, Ron, are you at it again? Why don't we just attach the thing to your shirt with a Sticking Charm?" Fred drawled, coming up behind Ron.

Hermione was puzzled to see that the twins' normal good humor seemed a little strained, but she was distracted by the flush of embarrassment from Ron. Couldn't they just let him have his moment? It's not like things like this happened to him very often, so if he wanted to show off the picture, what was the harm?

"It's a very nice picture. I like the traditional dress. Which one is Bill? I don't think I've ever seen a picture of him. Or Charlie, for that matter."

Ron watched as his younger self lit up at her interest. Had he really been that pathetically needy for attention? No wonder the twins had given him such a hard time! And to be fair, he had already shown it to about six other people before Hermione arrived, if memory served him correctly. Also, Mum had been all worked up, and they had got the brunt of it.

"GINEVRA! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO GET YOUR TRUNK ORGANIZED!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed from upstairs.

Ginny winced at the use of her full name, and rolled her eyes at Hermione. "She's been in a snit ever since we got here earlier. I better go see if I can calm her down."

"Good luck with that. She took one look at us, and nearly bit our heads off. And this time, we hadn't even done anything!" George said bitterly as Ginny trotted up the steps.

"You two might want to disappear before she starts in on you. Maybe you'll run into Harry while you're out." Fred added.

"BOYS!" came another yell from above.

"Go on, it's too late for us! Save yourselves!" exclaimed Fred dramatically, as he and George pushed her and Ron towards the door.

Hermione resisted at first, not wanting to be rude to their mother, but Ron tugged her along, obviously having no reservations of his own. Ron slowed down once they were a little ways down the street, dropping her wrist. Something Fred said held her attention.

"What did he mean about Harry? Is he here?" she had been under the impression that they wouldn't see him until tomorrow.

"I forgot you hadn't heard. Seems like he got in a bit of trouble and has been staying here for a while. We haven't seen him, though. Tom said he'd already gone out for the day."

Hermione was instantly alert. "Trouble? What sort of trouble? Is he alright?"

She kept coming up with different scenarios, each involving the wretched people that he lived with. Ron's explanation was short on details, and her worry lessened to be replaced by frustration. Didn't he know he could be expelled? What had he been thinking? Apparently she had been talking aloud, because Ron had his hands raised in surrender.

"Easy, Hermione! I didn't have anything to do with it, so save it for Harry, yeah?"

She sighed. He was right; she would let Harry have it later, but right now, she just wanted to enjoy her day. "Sorry. Why don't we get started shopping? I have a long list of books-"

"Of course you do."

"-and I want to get there before any of them are sold out. What about you? Have you already been out yet?"

"Nah. We only got here about half an hour before you. I need to get my books too, and...a wand."

They headed in the direction of Ollivander's, but Hermione pulled up short outside of Madam Malkin's. "Oh, I had forgotten about my robes! Can we run in really quick?"

"Hermioneeeee," Ron whined. "Do we really have to? I hate shopping for clothes."

She could have kicked herself. Of course he would be wearing his brothers' old robes, and going in would probably make him feel uncomfortable. Luckily, she had been in for a fitting last week, and only needed to pick them up. He relaxed considerably once she told him, and stood outside the door as she dashed in, picked up her parcel, and dashed back out. They agreed to save their books for last, since they would be too heavy to carry around for very long. Ollivander's was quiet, most students having already purchased their wands. Ron went up front, and Hermione trailed after him. She was relieved that he was getting a new wand. He had been miserable all last year, and she didn't think his confidence could take another one like it. As he tried out the wands, she moved off to the side, out of the line of fire. She herself had blown up two tables before she had found the right one, and didn't relish the idea of being caught in a similar blast. Once Ron had found one that worked for him, she focused her attention on the wand cleaning supplies while he paid, pretending she didn't notice the expression on his face as he painfully counted out his money.

Flourish and Blotts was next, and Hermione inhaled deeply as she went through the door. The smell of the pages always put her in a good mood, as did the prospect of walking back out with a thick stack of books. She pulled her list out of her pocket, leading the way, Ron following reluctantly. He peered over her shoulder.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! How many lessons are you taking? Are you trying to finish school by the end of the year, or something?" he asked in a stunned voice.

"Don't be silly. I'm not taking that many more. I just want to take advantage of everything that's available."

"Better you than me. I don't see how you're going to have time to breathe, let alone do anything else. Try not to overdo it, okay? Remember, I've seen what you get like when it's time for exams, and with this load, you'll be even worse."

While she was confident in her abilities, Hermione was touched that he would be concerned. To be honest, he was one of the reasons she wasn't really worried. She knew she had a tendency to push herself too hard, but Ron always found a way to pull her out of herself, and as much as she grumbled about it, she appreciated it.

Ron remembered quite well. It was always a challenge to get Hermione to relax, and he was the only one who ever seemed to bother. Harry would help him, but on his own, he would usually let her have her own way, which wasn't always best for her. Sadly, he wasn't going to be much good on that front this year...

After wrestling the frightening books with teeth into submission, they stepped back out, blinking at the bright sunlight. Ron's stomach gave a loud growl, and Hermione looked at her watch.

"Sounds like it's lunch time. Where do you want to go?"

"Mum gave me some money, so it's on me. I say we go to Fortescue's. A double sundae sounds like it would hit the spot."

Hermione frowned. "The ice cream shop? Don't you think we should get some real food? And I can pay for my own; you really don't have to."

Ron rolled his eyes. "C'mon Hermione. Live a little, why don't you? It won't kill you to eat dessert first every once and awhile. And I know I don't have much, but I think I can manage to afford lunch."

Her first reaction was to protest, claiming that her parents preferred that she follow a healthy diet. Additionally, it was only polite to turn down his offer. But for some reason, she paused. There was a certain tense quality about him that made her realize that this was bigger than ice cream. How often did he get the chance to do something like this for someone? This might even be the first time. She knew his family's financial situation was a touchy subject, and if she kept making a big deal about it, she ran the risk of offending him. And they had been having such a nice time; they had managed to go the whole day without arguing even once.

"I swear, we haven't even started our first term yet, and you're already corrupting me. Fine, but if I get a cavity from this, I'm blaming you. And this means that I'm buying the first round of butterbeers when we get to go to Hogsmeade, alright?"

The slightly lopsided grin and the sparkle his eyes always got when he thought he was getting away with something made it worth it, and for a moment, it was like she had taken a step and the ground hadn't been there to meet her.

"Sorted! Let's go. I think I heard someone say that there are some new flavors out."

She had been right. It was the first time in his life he had got to treat a friend to anything, and he had felt remarkably grown up. The fact that he had gotten her to do something her parents might not approve of had made it even sweeter.

They had picked out their flavors, Ron paying proudly as they took their heavy bowls to sit outside under an umbrella. The taste of the illicit hot fudge made her groan, and he smirked knowingly, but said nothing.

As they ate, he told her about his holiday, his eyes gleaming as he recounted all of the things he had seen. Hermione was only mildly surprised at all of the facts he seemed to retain. It just proved he was perfectly capable of learning, if he was interested enough. Now if only she could find a way to harness that when it came to school...

They were nearly done when they spotted a familiar mop of black hair in the crowd. They called Harry over, and Hermione was pleased to see he was alright, despite the trouble he was in. Still, there was a tiny, quiet part of her that wished that he had gone straight to the pub. She had found she quite liked being alone with Ron without any outside pressures, and she couldn't help but feel that the dynamic changed when they were around other people. They both became more...defensive. Maybe they were too aware of themselves, too worried about proving their own point, less willing to back down in front of others. Not to say that they didn't bicker in private, but without the embarrassment of witnesses, it was usually less heated.

Ron had felt the same way. This was the second time they had ever been alone outside of school, and he had been pleasantly surprised that they had got along so well. It wasn't that he wasn't happy to see Harry, because he was. He had just wanted to see how long they could keep it up.

The three of them moved along to the petshop, Hermione looking forward to getting an owl of her own. Errol was sweet, but she felt guilty every time he flopped through her window, not only for the strain it put on him, but for tying up the Weasley's only owl.

The shop had a musty, furry/feathery odor about it, that while strong was not wholly unpleasant. Wings fluttered, cats meowed, and things in murky aquariums made various gurgling noises. Hermione walked around, wondering how she was going to decide. Ron and Harry were at the counter with Scabbers, which she couldn't understand. Yes, it was sad that he was obviously on his last leg, but Ron didn't even like him, so why was he putting so much effort into it? It made more sense to just make him as comfortable as possible until the end, which, judging by his appearance, wasn't too far off.

Suddenly, a howling orange beast was on top of Ron, causing absolute pandemonium. The air was thick with fur and (courtesy of Ron) curses, which ended with both boys racing from the store in search of the frightened rat.

"Oh Crookshanks, you bad boy, what are we going to do with you? You'll never find a home at this rate," the flustered witch behind the counter lamented.

Hermione took a closer look. There was a massive ginger cat, with what she considered to be grumpy yet regal features. He was one of the most lovely shades of ginger she had ever seen, and his fur was thick and soft looking. Tentatively, she reached out to stroke him, and he instantly began to purr under her hand.

The saleswitch clucked. "Now, why can't you be like that with all the customers? He must like you, dear. Normally he's right stand-offish. Nobody seems to want the poor thing. Not willing to look past the surface, I suppose."

With a pang, Hermione felt an instant solidarity with the cat. She knew how lonely it was to be wanted, waiting for someone to accept you for what you were; knowing that that might not ever happen.

"I'll take him," the words were out before she even knew what she was saying, but she didn't regret it. An owl would have been nice, but Crookshanks had a highly intelligent look in his eyes, and she couldn't bear the thought of leaving him behind. Besides, she thought with an inner giggle, it appeared as if she had a soft spot for grumpy gingers.

"Oi! Ginger I'll give you, but grumpy...well. I suppose I'll have to give that to you too."

Paying for her new cat, she grabbed the medicine that Ron had left behind, eager to show off her pet. She knew he and Ron had got off to a rough start, but then, they had as well, hadn't they? She was sure, that given time, the two of them would get on as well as she and Ron did. Smiling, she left the shop, Crookshanks swaying loosely in her arms.

Well, she was partially right. He would be on the same terms with both of them, except it would be because his relationship with her deteriorated, and not because he began skipping through fields with the little monster. Third year had been brutal in that regard.

The rest of the day and part of the next was skipped, leaving off at a moment he had long been curious over. McGonagall had dismissed Harry and him, while she took Hermione into her office.

"Well, Miss Granger. Are you ready to try what we discussed over the summer? If you feel it would be too much, you have only to say so. I caution you now that you will be under a great deal of strain, and it might be best if you only took the regular course load."

Hermione met Professor McGonagall's gaze steadily. She had already weighed the pros and cons of her decision, and was sure that she could handle it. She had to. Over the summer, she had come to the painful conclusion that she was...drifting apart from her family. They still loved her greatly, and she them, but things were no longer the same between them. There was so much about her new world that they didn't understand, and the only common ground she had been able to find was her schooling. They might not get the subjects, but they understood things like dedication and work ethics. And, practically speaking, she needed to know as much about this world as she could. She could see now that she could never go back to a strictly Muggle lifestyle, and if something were to happen to her parents, she would be alone here. She needed all the information she could get so when the time came, she could take care of herself. Lack of control was probably the thing that frightened her the most, and the thought of having to face the future without a well thought out plan kept her up some nights, worried she was going to make choices that would limit her later in life. No, it was best she take as many subjects as she could. She refused to limit herself.

"I'm sure I'll be able to do this. I've already made a revision guide, and if I stick to it, there should be no problems," she stated confidently.

McGonagall gave a faint smile. "I'm afraid that you'll learn, in time, that life is no respecter of plans and schedules. Be that as it may, I'm sure you will do admirably," she reached into a drawer of her desk, taking out a small wooden box. Inside, on a long, thin chain, was a Time-Turner. She handed it to Hermione, who put it carefully around her neck, tucking it into her shirt.

"Now, I trust you have read the instructions for it's use, and understand it thoroughly?"

"Yes Professor. I memorized everything you sent, and didn't bring them with me, just as you asked."

"Good. There is only one thing left to warn you about. I know I have already mentioned it before, but I cannot stress enough the importance of secrecy. No one must know you possess this, including Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. Are you sure you will be able to keep this from them? I am aware that the three of you are close, and they might notice anything out of the ordinary."

Highly doubtful, she thought with a wry smile. As close as the three of them were, she was just always a little bit to the outside. She knew they didn't mean to exclude her (at least not most of the time), but she was aware that they didn't pay that close attention, brushing most things off as 'Hermione being mental.' It was extremely unlikely they would notice anything short of her waltzing into the Great Hall wearing a full set of Quidditch gear. This thought caused a small amount of bitterness, for which Ron seemed to take most of the blame.

"I'm sure they won't. In the unlikely event that they do, I'll just mutter something about 'girl problems', and they'll be more than happy to drop the subject."

McGonagall gave a small chuckle. "I can see that you will take care of things in your usual capable manner. Just remember, if it ever becomes too much, just return the Time-Turner to me. It won't affect your marks in the slightest, nor will it reflect badly on you personally."

"Thank you, Professor. I'll be sure to keep it in mind."

"Excellent. Now, you should be getting back to the others. I'm sure they're curious as to what has become of you."

Hermione thanked her once more before leaving. She would not be returning the Time-Turner. She had never given up on anything academically in her life, and she wasn't about to start now. As long as Harry was careful, which she was sure (possibly over optimistically) that he would be, she should be able to put most of her focus into her schooling. And really, as long as Harry was safe, what could possibly be important enough to distract her?

Oh, not much. Ron thought guiltily. Just a pet war, a freeze out from your two best friends, a hippogriff trial, and a psychopathic murderer on the loose. Just your average schoolgirl problems.

This memory had been short, but it said a lot about Hermione. He had always thought he had the market cornered on insecurity, but she had loads of her own. She just happened to be better at hiding it. He had never given much thought to how isolated she must feel. Though she spent about the same amount of time away from her family as he did his, they were at least in the same world. There was no going back and forth, no guilt for having to choose one over the other. Hermione was loyal, and she somehow felt as if she was betraying her family. Rubbish, of course, especially in the light of knowing that the three of them had a good relationship in the future. But that knowledge didn't do this young Hermione any good; right now, she was dealing with the fear of one day going home to find that they had become strangers. Truthfully, that might have happened to some Muggle-borns at some point in time, but Ron hoped she would learn soon that even if that happened to her, she wouldn't be alone. Just as she had with Harry, his mum would have taken her in.

With a shock, a pink jumper flew through him, followed by a pair of striped tights. He stepped to the side, experiencing a heavy dose of deja vu. Same situation, different location. Hermione was at it again, only this time she wasn't alone, as Lavender and Parvati were sitting on a bed, watching her avidly.

Hermione was a mass of conflicted emotions, all centering around the fact that today was the day of the first visit to Hogsmeade. There were so many things she wanted to see, so many interesting things she had heard about! But hot on the heels of that thought was guilt; she felt horrid about going without Harry, and she and Ron had actually discussed whether or not they should go. Reluctantly, she had decided they should. Harry would hate feeling like they stayed out of pity, and she knew Ron at least wouldn't be able to hide his disappointment. Harry would be able to tell, and it would just upset him even more. Although in the big scheme of things, a missed trip was small in comparison to the danger he was facing. What he didn't seem to understand was that the stakes were far greater than they had been in the previous years; he wasn't just doing dangerous things, but someone was actively out to kill him. Hermione was tired of being the only one of the three of them to take it seriously. Ron couldn't seem to make up his mind. One minute he was worried for Harry, and the next he was on Harry's side, acting as if it was no big deal. She wondered if he really didn't get it, or if he was trying to fool himself into believing things weren't as bad as they were. Either way, she was a bit annoyed at the lack of support.

"Hermione, who are you going with?" Parvati asked from the bed behind her.

"Hm? Oh. I'm going with Ron. Harry can't leave the castle, so he can't come with us."

"That's disappointing. The way you were acting, we thought you had a date." Lavender said from her spot next to her friend.

Hermione froze, her jaw clenching as she mentally counted to ten. Drat! She was doing it again! What was wrong with her? Briskly, She grabbed a dark purple jumper and a pair of jeans.

"Of course not! Why would you think that?" she replied, unbuttoning the top to her pajamas.

Ron turned around again. Girls changed too damn much! He knew it was probably foolish, but it felt wrong to watch her in these moments, even though they were in a relationship and he had permission to view these memories. It didn't change the fact that they hadn't been together at this point, and she was currently underage. He just wished she could keep her clothes on until they proceeded to more...interesting times.

"Well, you seem awfully excited, and I've never known you to worry this much over what you're going to wear. Although I'm relieved to hear it's not a date, now that I know you're going with Ron Weasley. He is SO not date-worthy."

Hermione finished tugging her jumper over her head and frowned, her hair frizzing from the combination of being rubbed against wool and her roommate's comment.

"What does that mean?" she asked, trying to keep the note of hostility out of her voice. While not on close terms with the other girls, she found it best to keep things as civil as possible. Rooming with someone you were at war with was not an experience she would like to have.

Ron winced at that last thought. That had been something he had never really considered, and was uncomfortably aware that things were going to get unpleasant in a few years. Best not to think of that now. "Yes, Lavender. Do tell."

"Come on, Hermione, I know he's your friend, but really! He's not very attractive, and his fashion sense...well, it's best not to speak of it. I just don't think he's very appealing."

She had to get a firm grip on her temper, before she reacted badly. Of all the shallow, petty reasons! And they weren't even valid! How was Ron unattractive? He was a nice height, and his hair was a marvellous shade of red, which happened to be her personal favorite hair color. She knew he thought his nose was too long, but she didn't think it was that noticeable. Besides, it was thin and straight, which was really all you could hope for in a nose. And when he smiled, you didn't even notice it anyway. That was actually his best feature; when Ron smiled, really smiled, he did it with his whole face, and his happiness was contagious.

"And just what is it that you find appealing?" she asked in a falsely even voice, happily distracting herself from wondering why Ron's smile affected her so much.

"Oh, you know! Someone handsome and charming, rugged and strong; a real man. Like a Quidditch player or something. I think Quidditch players are just dreamy, don't you?" Lavender swooned.

Wow, Lav. Irony is gonna come back and bite you in the arse, you know that? Ron thought with a short laugh.

"I suppose so. But you're not being fair to Ron. There's nothing wrong with his looks, and as for his clothes, well, it's not as if he gets to pick out his own."

Lavender shrugged. "Fine. But you can't argue the fact that he can be a git."

Hermione opened her mouth. Closed it. Because, in fact, she had been on the receiving end of Ron's barbs too often to protest.

"He's not that bad." she said weakly, still wanting to defend him, even if there was some truth to it.

"Whatever. Come on, Parvati. It's almost time to go, and I don't want to be late."

Hermione watched the other two girls walk out as she slid on a pair of black boots, before pulling on her gray peacoat and following at a slower pace. She hoped today went well; things between her and Ron had been strained lately, and she hoped that getting away from the castle would help. Guiltily, she thought of Harry, then shook her head. There was nothing that could be done, so she would just have to get him something nice to make up for it.

Ron followed her out of the room, which led them out of the castle as well, where she was walking alongside him, chiding him for not dressing warmer.

"Ron, are you sure you're dressed warm enough? We won't be getting back till after sunset, and the walk from the village will be cold," she fussed, worried that he was only wearing jeans and a thick, striped jumper.

"I'll be fine, don't worry so much. Besides, have you seen the scarf Mum sent with me? Hideous. I've begged her to make a solid colored one for one's so bad, I'll even take maroon."

Hermione smiled sympathetically. The scarf in question was a riot of stripes in different thicknesses and colors, reminding her of the one worn by her father's favorite television character.

"But more importantly, did you lock that beast of yours up? I left Scabbers behind, since it's too cold for him to be out."

She released a heavy breath, which hung in the air in front of her face. There it was, the hostility she had been dreading.

"I left him sleeping on my bed. Ron, Can we please not fight about this today? It's bad enough Harry couldn't come; I'd like to at least be able to enjoy the day with you."

He seemed taken aback, as if he was surprised by her lack of desire to fight. The hard look that had been on his face softened into a sheepish smile. "Sounds good. Truce until we get back, then?"

Her spine sagged with relief. For a moment, she had been afraid that he wouldn't let it go. "Perfect. Thanks, Ron."

His smile turned impish. "No problem. Besides, if I remember right, you owe me a butterbeer. How could I collect if we were in the middle of a row?"

She smacked his arm, laughing. "Should've known you would have an ulterior motive."

"What can I say? I'm the product of thirteen years living with Fred and George."

"Oh dear. Speaking of your brothers, I hope they don't plan on buying anything too-Ron! Look! I can see the village, just up ahead. Come on!" she grabbed his hand, pulling him along behind her.

He had been fully prepared to spend the day arguing, if only to avoid listening to her fret about Harry. Not that he wasn't worried about him too, because he was. A lot. And he wished Harry had been able to come, but chewing over it like a cow with it's cud wouldn't do anyone any good, and he had been saving his pocket money for months for this day. When she didn't start in about Harry, and said that she wanted to enjoy the day together, even in light of how things had been between them, his anger had thawed. It had reminded him of the day he had spent at her house, and the few hours before Harry had shown up at Diagon Alley. Being with Hermione was fun. Loads different than Harry of course, but still, he was finding these times alone to be special in their own way.

When she had grabbed his hand, he had almost tripped. It wasn't anything she hadn't done before, except this time, she wasn't dragging Harry along at her other side. There was some kind of subtle difference, only he hadn't had a clue what it was at the time. Now, he could see, it was because of a new intimacy of the contact. Before, it had either been the three of them, or in some emotionally charged, frightened moment. But that day they were just Ron and Hermione, just the two of them out to have a good time. It sparked something in his subconscious, something he wasn't ready to understand yet, but which was filed away for later. When he was older, he would think back on it, and the absolute rightness of her smaller hand in his.

Snow obscured his vision, and he knew the memories were changing. Still, that day was clear in his mind; Zonko's and Honeyduke's had been the jewels of his day, but almost as much had been the fun of watching Hermione's reactions. She had zipped from place to place, her eyes wide in wonder at things she had never seen before, things she had only read about. He had been strikingly reminded of his father, and the comparison made him feel considerably warmer towards her. She had an odd way of looking at things he took for granted that had him thinking in new directions, which was interesting. Sometimes, though, especially later on, it made him uncomfortable and guilty, house-elves being a main sticking point...but that was next year.

The lead weight in the pit of his stomach, and the sense of hopelessness that hung over him like a cloud signalled that he had moved on to the unpleasant part of third year; all over a damn rat that had turned out not to be worth his own weight in hippogriff shit. He released a pained hiss off air, the backs of his eyes stinging with threatening tears. Hermione was sitting on her bed with the curtains drawn, her body wracked with sobs a she cried into her pillow. It was obvious that she was miserable, and with a sinking feeling, he was sure he was the cause of it. She looked so pathetic, he found himself reaching out to stroke her hair, cursing his inability to comfort her.

The noise from the party in the Common Room could be clearly heard, but Hermione was feeling far from celebratory. Everything seemed to be piling up on her. The Time-Turner was beginning to be far more stressful than she would have imagined, and between that and scouring the library for anything that could help Buckbeak, she was coming closer and closer to a complete mental collapse.

The tension between her and Ron had been running high since she bought Crookshanks, but things had got so much worse now, and she didn't see any hope of it getting better. There had been one shining moment when he had stood up to Snape in her defense, that she had thought...what had she thought, exactly? That he would suddenly decide that their friendship mattered more than whatever they were fighting about? Not likely. Ron probably would have done that for anyone (well, non-Slytherin), and she had been foolish to think it was anything personal.

Ron winced. That wasn't exactly true. He would've been sympathetic, and think they had got a raw deal, but confronting Snape was something he would only really do for Harry or Hermione. Even though they had been on the brink of the horrible fight at the time, he still didn't like seeing anyone else hurt Hermione. In a strange, twisted way, it had seemed much worse when someone else did it, because even when he hurt her, he cared about her. It was lousy reasoning, he knew, but it was how he felt.

And then came that stupid broom. Why couldn't Harry and Ron see how suspicious that was? His broom had already been tampered with once before, and that was before someone was out to kill him! If he had used the broom, there was a very good possibility that, at the very least, he could have been gravely injured. What if he had been killed? Or, what if he had let someone else ride it first? That most likely would have been Ron, and if something had happened to him, she knew Harry would never forgive himself. To make matters worse, she suspected Ron had been more stubborn over it than usual because of the fight going on between them. She might have been able to talk him around if he hadn't been in the mood to turn everything she said into a chance to contradict her.

And even that was starting to fade, but then he found those bloodstains...and to be honest, she didn't understand why he was taking it so hard. Yes, it was sad, but Scabbers had seemed to be dying anyway, and Ron had always acted as if he couldn't stand the animal and would be better off without him. But no, it was just one more thing to blame her for. She had tried to keep Crookshanks in her room, she honestly had! But half the time he snuck out with one of her roommates, or slid between her legs without her noticing. She had never had a pet before, and hadn't realized cats could be so sneaky.

She hated this. She missed Ron, but had no idea how to go about fixing things. Unsurprisingly, Harry had, if not fully siding with Ron, then at least stayed with him most of the time. It was understandable, but it still hurt. Having never had friends before, she had no experience to draw on, and was afraid to make the first move. Especially now that he never spoke directly to her, only throwing cutting remarks in her direction. In fact, he looked at her as if he absolutely hated her, and she was too afraid to have that confirmed to talk to him. It hurt to even be in the same room, so she usually found herself drifting from the library to empty classrooms, or any other deserted location around the castle to work alone. Being alone had never really bothered her much when she was younger, but now that she knew what it was like to have friends, her days seemed so...empty. Seeing him at meals and lessons was like being constantly hungry, but not allowed to eat the food.

Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last, Ron found himself hating the boy he had been. He had been so sure that Hermione hadn't cared at all, and was just going on as if nothing was the matter. Spitefully, he had taken every chance to get a dig at her, hurt because she would never come out and admit she had been wrong. In his mind, it had been simple; all she had to do was apologize, and, after a bit of grumbling on his part, he would have forgiven her. But she hadn't even acknowledged that it was important to him, and he had felt belittled by that. It had never crossed his mind that she didn't know what she needed to do, or that his reactions had scared her off even trying. The more he saw of their past, the more he was surprised that she had ever come to love him.

She couldn't go on like this. She felt lost and afraid, with no one to turn to to advise or comfort her. It was making her sick with grief, and she didn't think the end of the year could come fast enough, when she could go home and get away from everything.

Home. Of course.

Releasing a final, shuddery sob, she reached in her bedside table for her stationary, and did what she should have done from the start.

'Dear Mum, I need your help. I think I may have made a very big mistake, and I don't know how to fix it...'


	11. Chapter 11

Ron stood next to his fireplace, nervously waiting for his parents. The three of them were going to the Grangers', and he wasn't sure what to expect. He hadn't been out in the Muggle world very much, and was afraid he was going to make a fool of himself. Or that his parents would save him the trouble. It could be worse, though. At least the twins weren't coming. They had been given orders to look after Ginny, which was a laugh. Everyone knew it would actually be Ginny looking after Fred and George.

Initially, the plan had been to invite Hermione over to spend part of the summer at the Burrow, but then they had won the trip to Egypt, so that hadn't worked out. Now they were going to see if she could come to Diagon Alley the day before they had to leave for school, and meet them at the Leaky. Her parents were inclined to say yes, but they still wanted to visit with his family and get to know them better before sending their daughter off into a world that they couldn't access by themselves with near strangers. His dad had leapt at the chance, and Ron was just hoping his mum could keep him under control.

"Ready to be off then, little brother?" Fred asked from behind him, causing Ron to spin around and stare suspiciously. It would be just like the twins to pull some sort of prank that would turn his skin purple or something.

"Give dear Hermione our love for us, won't you? That is, if you're not too busy giving her yours, you sly dog!" said George, slapping him on the back.

Did he mention he could cheerfully strangle his brothers?

"Ron! Where are-oh, good, you're already ready. Fred, George, I expect you to behave while we're gone, understand? Keep an eye on Ginny, and please; none of your experiments on Percy." Mrs. Weasley directed as she crossed the room to the fireplace, her husband behind her.

Ron caught the eager gleam in his father's eye, and groaned inwardly. This was going to be embarrassing, he could tell.

Poor Ron, always expecting the worst. The visit had gone quite smoothly, and their parents had ended up getting along very well. Her parents had been able to tell that Arthur and Molly were trustworthy, warm-hearted people that would take good care of their daughter, and they were comfortable with the idea of sending her off with them. In fact, after this visit, the four of them traded letters regularly.

The Floo, which had been connected to the Grangers' for the day, spat them out into a bright, clean living room in shades of blue, with pale wooden furniture. Ron took one look, saw how nice it was, and was instantly glad Hermione wasn't going to be able to come to the Burrow. It was horribly shabby in comparison, and even though he knew she didn't care about things like that, he didn't want her to see just how different the two of them were. As he stood there while her parents shook hands with his, he was acutely aware of every threadbare section of his clothing, the shortness of his jeans, and the thin layer of soot that was sure to be clinging to him. Surreptitiously, he tried to brush himself off, but couldn't tell if he was doing any good.

"Ron!"

He turned at the sound of Hermione's voice, where she was coming through the door to another room. He was relieved to see her dressed casually in denim shorts and a light pink sleeveless top, but something distracted him as she walked across the room.

Tits. Why did Hermione have tits? When did she get them? They weren't huge by any means, but they were definitely there, and it was a strain to keep from staring.

I kept them in my bookbag, of course. Honestly!

Abruptly, he was embarrassed. Why was he even looking? It was Hermione, for Merlin's sake! You didn't stare at a friend's tits; it just wasn't done. Even if they were fairly interesting tits. Nice shape, really...BLOODY HELL. This was ridiculous. Obviously he needed to get out more if Hermione was able to get a rise out of him. Surely, she was more of a sister to him, right? Right. No more nonsense about her tits, then. In fact, he would stop even thinking the word, as he had done so far too much already. Tits, that is.

"...Ron? Ron! Are you listening at all?"

"Say wha? I mean, sorry, must be dizzy from the Floo." Yes Ron, brilliant save. It looks like she actually bought it!

Oblivious to the perverted workings of the teenage male mind, Hermione repeated herself. "I said, would you like to come upstairs while our parents talk?"

Ron blinked. The curious part of him wanted to say yes, but he was worried about leaving his parents alone. At least if he was down here, he could try to do some damage control, an issue that was bound to occur, given the way his dad was eyeing a black box against one of the walls. Hermione seemed to be able to tell what he was thinking.

"Look, I know you think it might be better if we stayed here, but do you really want to sit there while our mums tell stories about when we were little kids? Because I don't."

Just the idea made him turn an unhealthy shade of green under his freckles. "Lead the way!"

"I suspected you would see it my way. Let's go." Turning to leave the room, she said over her shoulder, "Where are Ginny and the twins? I assumed they were coming too."

"Did you really want the twins let loose in your house? No, Mum has Ginny watching them at home. Though, now that you mention it, I wouldn't put it past them to try to sneak along."

"I suppose Fred and George might be a little...overwhelming. Even if I had already told Mum and Dad what to expect from them."

"Oh yeah? What was that?"

"Mayhem. Complete and total mayhem."

Ron laughed as they came to a set of stairs, letting her go first. The house didn't have as many stories as the Burrow, so he assumed they wouldn't have to go up many flights. He looked up to ask her, but the words died in his throat. The word 'tits' was knocked out of his mind. It had been replaced firmly, if no more understandably, by 'arse.' Hermione's bum bounced along right in front of him, the curve made more pronounced by the tight denim. That settled it. As soon as they left, he was having his parents check him into St. Mungo's. On second thought, no. He could never explain the reason why to his mum. Did Harry ever look at Hermione this way? And if he didn't, why was he? He knew he hadn't last year. Of course, he hadn't really looked at girls much at all. Not that he was around that many to begin with. That was it! It was because he was always around Hermione! She was practically the only female non-family member his age that he had close contact with, so it was only understandable. His dad had had 'The Talk' with him and all that shit about how his body was changing; it was just a phase, and would go away soon on it's own. No need to ask Harry, and definitely no need to tell Hermione. In fact, he just wouldn't think of it at all. Hermione was his best friend, and he wasn't going to ruin that over something so stupid.

Interesting. She had thought he hadn't even had a physical reaction to her until the next year. True, it wasn't really personal, and he hadn't even thought of anything close to a relationship, but he was beginning to notice, though he didn't exactly want to, and was even a bit scared about it.

Her room was at the end of the hall, and whatever he had been expecting, this wasn't it. Somehow, he could only really picture her in a library with a bed in it. Lots of dark leather, and the smell of old parchment filling the air. The reality was quite a bit different. The walls were a purplish blue that probably had some fancy name he didn't know, and the duvet was patterned with pink, purple, and blue flowers. The only thing 'Hermione' about the room was the rows of bookcases lining the walls, and the Gryffindor scarf draped over the mirror on her dresser.

"Wow. It's, um, rather...girly in here, isn't it?" he asked uncomfortably, not quite sure where to put his feet, jamming his hands into his pockets to reduce the danger of breaking something. He noticed she had one of those square black boxes like what was in the living room, and wondered if there was one in each room.

"Well, yes, my parents were under the impression they had a daughter. I know what you mean though; it's not really me, is it? But since I'm hardly ever here, I just let Mum decorate it however she likes."

"I guess that's one of the few perks of being sixth in line. Mum doesn't really care what I do to my room, as long as you can see the floor."

Hermione sat on her bed with a laugh. "Yes, so I've heard. Ginny tells me that the walls are a bright enough orange to make your eyes bleed out of your skull."

Ron shrugged, muttering, "No worse than the rest of the house, I suppose."

"Don't say that. I've heard wonderful things about the Burrow, and I'm really disappointed I won't get to see it."

"Not much to see. About five stories that look glued together in no particular order, that looks like it should be condemned, with a garden full of gnomes. Nothing like you have here," he said frankly, wondering why anyone would want to see the Burrow after living in a place like this.

She stared out the window, a strangely sad expression crossing her face. "That wouldn't be such a bad thing. My parents are busy most of the time, so the house always feels sort of...empty. Harry says the Burrow feels full even when people aren't there, and you can relax and it's as if you've belonged there your whole life. I was looking forward to seeing what that was like."

Harry had said that? Huh. Although he supposed that after living with those Muggle relatives of his, anywhere would look good. But Hermione came from a happy family, so the Burrow couldn't offer her anything she needed, could it?

But it could, and it had. The Burrow had been a wonderful place, and many of her happiest moments as a teenager had been spent there. Even as the world darkened around them, the Burrow always retained a sort of light about it; a reflection of those who lived there. Picnics by the pond, supper around the large kitchen table, late nights in Ginny or Ron's rooms...there were so many memories, so many little things that helped their relationship along the way.

"I mean, unless you rather I didn't. I didn't mean to make you feel like you had to invite me, or-"

Apparently he had been silent too long, giving her too much time to overthink it.

"Next summer. I'll have you and Harry over next summer, alright? Then we'll see if your eyes really do bleed out of your skull."

She looked so happy when he said this, that he was surprisingly glad he had changed his mind. Maybe Hermione at the Burrow wouldn't be so strange at all. Actually, now that he thought about it, he could see her fitting in quite well...

"Since they'll be awhile, would you like to watch a film? You said before that you've always wanted to."

He felt his ears burn. Yes, he had said that, but he wished she hadn't remembered. "Yeah, that'd be wicked and all, but I don't have any Muggle money with me, so I guess that's out." No Muggle money? How about no money at all! And if she offered to pay, he knew he would sink through the floor. It wasn't the idea of her being the one to pay that bothered him so much as the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything in return, and it didn't feel right to always be taking without giving back.

"Oh, I didn't mean we would go to the cinema. That's for new films. After they've been out about a year, you can buy a copy to watch at your house whenever you want."

Bless the Muggle that thought of that.

"Sure, sounds good. Hey, do you have one of those ani-whatchamacallits?"

Hermione hopped off the bed and was digging in the small cupboard underneath the black box. "Animated? Yes, I have a few. Let me find something that doesn't have too many unfamiliar Muggle references so you can enjoy it more...Ah! The Rescuers. That's a good one."

He watched with interest as she put a black rectangle into a smaller black box, then jumped back as the larger black box lit up. His eyes widened as Hermione pulled out a large, blue blob-like thing from the other side of the bed.

"Here, sit on this. Or I suppose you could sit up here on the bed."

Flowers, or something that looked like it would swallow his body whole. Decisions, decisions...

Hesitantly, he lowered himself onto the strange object, muffling his squawk of terror as he continued to sink. It conformed to his body, and, after wiggling around a bit, he found it was surprisingly comfortable.

"Hey, this is nice!"

She grinned. "Good. I'll look for one in neon orange to send you for Christmas."

His retort was cut off by movement and sound coming from the black box. As the pictures flashed in front of him, he tried to remember how this worked. Harry said it was like Wizarding pictures, where they took pictures of people acting out a story, only you could hear them, too. But somehow, this was different.

"Hermione? What was the difference between this and a regular film again?" he finally asked.

She pushed a button on a small black wand-looking thing, and the image froze.

"Regular films are of people acting out a story, while animation tells the story with drawings that move really fast."

Okay, that didn't really help. How did drawings move without magic? His confusion must have shown, for she reached for something on the desk beside her bed.

"Here, let me show you."

Crouching down next to him, she had a pad of Muggle paper and a pen (which he thought was a hell of a lot more convenient than quills and ink), and she was drawing a little stick figure in the bottom corner of each page.

"Alright, you see how each drawing is slightly different? Watch what happens when I do this."

She then flipped the pages in a rapid motion, and the pictures she had drawn blurred together into a person doing star jumps.

"Wicked!" he exclaimed. He would have to show this to the twins!

"That's basically all it is, only a lot more detailed, of course."

The film started back up, and Ron felt himself getting sucked into the story. It was really interesting, even if he found himself more emotionally involved in the lives of two fake mice than was probably healthy. No one needed to know that he was rooting for the awkward little mouse to get the girl. It would be his little secret. Forever and ever, until the next coming of Merlin, amen.

Not quite forever, my dear! Just wait until the next time you tease me for getting teary over the characters in a book! Hermione thought gleefully. Although it shouldn't have surprised her; Ron always did have a soft spot for the underdog, especially when it came to romance. Sadly, being sympathetic to the plights of others didn't cause him to take more of a initiative in his own love life, or they could have been spared a lot of needless angst.

Though there had been nothing romantic about that day, She could tell it was special to Ron, and not just because of his introduction to pizza later that night. They had laughed and talked through several more films while their parents went out for dinner, and he felt like he was learning more about the Muggle side of her that he sometimes forgot she had. They talked about his upcoming trip, and how he was excited to get to see his older brother again, and they speculated on the likelihood of having a normal school year. Both agreed that it was unlikely, but that being friends with Harry was worth it. They made plans for next summer at the Burrow, where Harry would of course join them. Hermione enjoyed the sense of happiness she felt through Ron.

He liked her best when she was like this; laid back and relaxed, not constantly worried over something. So many people thought she was too uptight to have fun, and Ron liked being one of the few people who knew better. That was something he only really shared with Harry, and, to a lesser extent, Ginny, Fred, and George. But mainly, It was him and Harry that experienced all sides of Hermione, and the more he did, the less he liked the idea of sharing her with anyone outside their small circle. She was becoming more and more of an important part of his life, and he felt as if he had to hold on tight, because anything that had ever been important to him had a nasty habit of breaking or slipping away...

Something she wished she had seen sooner, because it explained so much of his behavior anytime she interacted with other people that she normally didn't (namely Viktor). Ron, like many insecure people, clung to set, comfortable patterns, and hated anything that disrupted them.

Flakes of snow whirled around her head, and, turning, she found that one of her walls had disappeared, to be replaced by...Hogsmeade?

Ron watched as Hermione gushed over the owls in the Post Office, smiling to himself at the thought that she, unlike most girls he knew, was squealing over how orderly they were set up for deliveries rather than how cute they were. Hermione, he thought with fond amusement, was not a girl to be won over by flowers and chocolates, but by lists and timetables.

It's true I'm impressed by planning and forethought, but flowers and sweets would have been appreciated too. I just didn't get my hopes up, since I didn't know any boys with the sensitivity to try that. You may consider yourself exhibit A, Ron!

When he had proposed the truce, he had thought it would be hard to keep up, but that wasn't so. Every time he started to make a sharp comment, he remembered her pleading expression, and the way she had said that she wanted to have a nice day with him. The anger would die back down, and he found that he actually preferred it to the way they had been acting recently. Why couldn't she say things like that more often? She could be so harsh sometimes that he couldn't help fighting back, but if she just toned it down a bit, he was more than willing to get along.

Hypocrite! It would have been just as easy for you to make the effort, you know. Although to be fair, you're much better at that sort of thing now. Not perfect, but better.

"Hermione, can we go to Honeyduke's now? If we don't hurry, all the best stuff is going to be gone!" he asked desperately. His sweet tooth was his major weakness, and he had scrimped for a chocolate binge for months. Besides, they still had to pick some out from Harry.

"Yes, yes, just a minute...besides, I thought we agreed to go there last? Carrying all those sweets around everywhere would be a pain. Don't you want to go for a butterbeer?"

He shuffled impatiently towards the door, glad when she finally joined him. "Yeah, alright. They say it's supposed to warm you up, and I could use that. My bloody bollocks are growing icicles!"

"Lovely, Ron. I think you've managed to kill my appetite for the feast tonight."

"That's all right then. I'll just have your share as well." he said cheerfully. "Hey, isn't that Fred and George over by Zonko's? What's everyone huddled around them for?"

"Knowing your brothers, I'm almost afraid to find out. Let's go and make sure they haven't turned one of our classmates into a penguin or something." she sighed in resignation, trooping over to the small gathering.

"Don't say that too loud, you'll only give them ideas." he replied, nervous about what they would find. As they got close enough to see through the gaps between people, his stomach sank like a stone in a pond. Holy fuck, did they have to bring that out here? It may have seemed funny in the boy's dorm, but when Hermione saw it, she would go spare!

His eyes darted around, quickly assessing the best places to either duck and cover, or slither of to escape as Hermione shot out a tiny blue mittened hand and grabbed the sheaf of parchment George was flipping to the delight of his audience. He took a half a step back as her face went blank when she saw the stick figures locked in an...explicit embrace. Aaaaany minute now...

She cocked her head to the right, then the left, then thrust the pages back at George with a cool look. "Your male figure is obviously overcompensating, and you have a woeful lack of understanding of the basics of the female form. Obviously, your art doesn't spring from practical knowledge." she turned to sail away, Angelina, Katie, and Lee laughing so hard they had to clutch at each other to stay upright.

Fred was the first to find his voice. "Oi! Watch what you say about 'overcompensating'! I'll have you know, Weasley's are abundantly blessed in that area! If you don't believe me, just ask Ron to sh-"

Hermione spun on her heel, speaking softly with one eyebrow arched, in what Ron knew to be one of her most deadly expressions. Now they would get the reaction he had been expecting. It was nice knowing you, Fred. Sometimes.

"Did you know, there are five hundred and seventy-three curses and hexes directed at the male genitalia alone?" she paused until she saw that she had Fred and George's complete and undivided attention. "Now, while I don't pretend to have all of them memorized yet, I am quite capable of performing the worst ones, and have several variations of my own that I wouldn't mind trying out if you choose to complete that sentence the way I thought you were. Well?"

"Did you notice the curious emphasis on the word 'yet', George?"

"I did indeed, Fred. Which begs the question; what were you saying to the young witch? The young, dangerous witch?"

"Why, I was only going to suggest that she makes sure Ron is gentleman enough to show her around Hogsmeade properly; the Shrieking Shack, the Three Broomsticks...nothing objectionable about that, right?"

They both directed winning smiles in her direction. "Smooth. Doesn't fool me at all, mind you, but smooth enough to ensure that I won't be robbing your mother of grandchildren just yet." she deadpanned, but her eyes sparkled with humor.

At the mention of children, the twins looked quite horrified, and on that note he and Hermione walked away. He couldn't keep the grin from spreading on his face; when not directed at him, her sass was amazingly cool.

Typically, Hermione would have acted about as well as he had originally predicted, but for a few reasons; the first being that they weren't actually on school grounds, and none of the people involved were even under fifth year. Hermione might be conservative, but she wasn't naive enough not to realize things like this floated around all the time. Second, the stick figures were fairly tame; you had to use your imagination to translate the blobby lumps into anything remotely sexual. But she knew some kind of reaction was expected of her, and it always secretly amused her to one-up the twins, and they appreciated her snark. It was one of the reasons they put up with her occasional preachyness.

"Come on Ron, I owe you a butterbeer. We can go to Honeyduke's next, unless you can think of anywhere else you want to go?"

He thought a moment. They had seen the Shack (only mildly impressive), Zonko's (tempting, but sweets were the main goal for this trip), a bookshop (dead boring), school supply shop (ditto), and the Post Office..."No, I think we've seen pretty much everything. And it looks like now's a good time to get a drink, since the crowd's thinned out."

They stepped into the small pub, which was loud and dimly lit, but clean and warm. They wove their way to a small table in the corner, and Hermione waved to catch Madam Rosmerta's attention. Ron found his eyes riveted on the older woman. There, that was more like it! That was the type he should be attracted to; nice, soft curves, curly blond hair. That was every bloke's dream, right? Right. She was a fine looking bird, even if she wouldn't give him a second look, at least not for another four years, when he became of age. He would just have to keep an eye out for a girl his age with similar...attributes. That would put to rest these weird feelings he was experiencing for Hermione. His internal appreciation for Madam Rosmerta's thighs, and points north, were brought to an abrupt halt by a sharp pain in his shin. He yelped, looking up to find Hermione glaring daggers at him as if she had just discovered him in the act of stringing up her bloody cat. See? Completely mental. He added 'docile' to the list of requirements his ideal girl needed to have. What kind of fool would ever be interested in a violent little miss like her?

Obviously, someone with latent masochistic tendencies, Hermione thought dryly. She had been unexpectedly furious at seeing the way Ron eyed up the older woman like a dog with a fine cut of steak. At the time, she had attributed the feeling to being outraged by his objectification of women; She hadn't figured out till later that it was the first stirring of jealousy. It was an ugly trait, one she shared with Ron. Though she had liked to pretend that she took the high road in dealing with hers, she had to admit that that was not always the case. How many times had they needlessly hurt one another out of their own insecurity and need to be acknowledged by the other? And it had started, for all practical purposes, right here, in a tiny pub while a thirteen year old boy tried desperately to smother his growing affection (and, to be blunt, hormone driven lust) towards his friend by distracting himself with another woman.

The scents of pub food and butterbeer faded away, replaced by a harsh, almost chemical odor; Ron was on his knees next to her, scrubbing away at something disgusting caked at the bottom of a bedpan.

With every vicious swipe of the cloth, Ron was imagining he was wiping the blobs and bits directly into Snape's fucking face. Or even better; giving him a good shampooing, forcefully cleaning that oilslick he called hair. He knew his face was burning with fury, but he didn't care. It's not like anyone was even here to see him, anyway. It was late at night, and with the luck he was having, he would probably get points taken on his way to bed. Why hadn't he just kept his mouth shut? Actually, why hadn't Hermione kept her mouth shut? Snape had warned her more than once, but she just couldn't seem to help herself. If there was a question asked and she knew the answer, she would give it to you or bust a gut trying.

It's not like he and Hermione were on warm fluffy terms. Not that they ever were, really, but right now was the worst they had ever been, and he could almost feel it getting worse. And on top of that, he was bloody confused. One minute he wanted to strangle her, and the next, he was ogling her hemline when she bent over. It wasn't natural!

No one would have blamed him if he hadn't said anything in the lesson, even if they did hate Snape. Not even Hermione, and she was taking every chance she got to lecture him for the smallest thing. And he probably wouldn't have, if he hadn't looked at her. If he had just kept staring straight ahead, he could be in his warm bed right now, dreaming of things like Quidditch and the way Madam Rosmerta filled out her blouse. But he had looked, and the tears that were filling her eyes had him reliving that moment in first year when he called her a nightmare. When he saw that, he was angrier at Snape than he had ever been before, and that was saying a lot. Last time he had been that angry, he had ended up belching slugs. He was noticing a disturbing trend of standing up for Hermione and coming out the worse for it. Still, what right had the greasy git to pick on her like that? She had only answered the bloody question. That's what you were supposed to do in lessons, wasn't it? Harry had pointed out that it was a bit odd that he had reacted so strongly to Hermione being treated badly, when he hadn't exactly been sweetness and charm to her himself. But that was different. Snape didn't know Hermione. He didn't spend nearly every moment of every day of the school year with her. He didn't know the things that would make her smile when she was in a bad mood, or that she sometimes got so wrapped up revising that she forgot to eat. And he definitely didn't know that there was something funny going on with her that she wouldn't talk about (actually, even Harry didn't seem to notice, but Ron was determined to get to the bottom of it). Snape just plain didn't...care like Ron did.

Some would say that that only made the way he was treating her worse, and maybe they were right. But in Ron's mind, that was what he and Hermione did; they bit, kicked, and scratched, as it were, until it all blew over and they got sorted out. Then there was a nice lull, and they started the process all over again. Oddly enough, even with living with Fred, George, and Ginny, Hermione was the only one who could get under his skin as much as she did, and was the only one who could give as good as she got in a fight. Fred and George rarely got that mad, and Ginny didn't have the patience for long bouts of verbal warfare; she would snipe along at you for a while, then end it all with a Bat-Bogey Hex. Hermione could sink in for the long haul, and get just as creatively vindictive as he could. It was strange, but he had a sort of love-hate thing with their fighting. He loved the challenge, the weird charge that rolled off of them in waves, but he hated the lousy way it felt when he knew he actually hurt her, and the way it stung when something she said got too close to home.

Besides, it didn't matter what was going on between them. You stood up for your friends, even when you wanted to wring their necks with their own bushy hair. He just wished she gave a damn about it. She hadn't said anything to him about it, and had been unusually quiet. In fact, he was beginning to think she thought he deserved this detention for talking back to a professor. That sounded like something she'd say. He threw down the rag, staring at the now clean bedpan. His anger had faded into a kind of morose bitterness. Would anything he ever did matter to her, or would he always just be a giant fuck up? It's not like he was trying to impress her. He just wanted her to know that while he might be a bastard to her sometimes, he didn't want anyone else hurting her like that. But he knew, that if it came down to it, he would do it again. At least he could be good for something, even if she never thought so...

Hermione wiped away the tears that were spilling over her eyelids. She had noticed, and had thought he was wonderful for standing up for her like that. But with the way things had been going between them, she hadn't known how to tell him. She was afraid he would blame her for his detention, and she already felt guilty enough about that as it was. She still should have tried. Because this was where Ron started to really believe he couldn't do anything right in her eyes; that no matter how hard he tried, it would never be enough. It said so much about him, that though he believed that to be true, he still kept trying. Sometimes it got too much for him and he would give up for awhile, but he always came back, even when he thought it was a losing battle. His bravery and loyalty wasn't exclusively reserved for Harry; he had done so much for her, and had got very little in the way of acknowledgement from her in return. While not quite so drastic in their life anymore, they still followed this pattern. He would make an effort, and she would, with no intention of being hurtful or ungrateful, let it pass without remark. That was something she needed to correct; she was quick enough to let him know when he did something wrong, but she needed to be just as verbal when he was doing the right thing. Just because he was more confident now didn't make it any less important for him to know she appreciated him.

Tucking that resolution away for later, she followed him out of the room, and was almost knocked off her feet by the hurt and anger that shot directly into her chest like a fiery cannonball.

Ron's vision had passed from red to white hot, and his breathing was coming in short bursts as he paced around the dorm, Harry watching from the safety of his bed. He was furious. Absofuckinglutely furious. He had told her, and told her, to keep that monster of hers under control. But did she listen? Of course not! The Great Hermione Granger knew better, as always. So here he was with a dead rat with no body for a proper burial, just a few bloodstains on his bed sheet. And all she could offer was the fact that it was in a cat's nature to eat rats. As if he didn't know that! He lived in the country for fuck's sake; he wasn't so thick that he didn't know that a cat's normal food source didn't come out of a can. He also knew that for such an otherwise responsible person, she was inexcusably sloppy when it came to pet ownership.

But as badly as he felt about the death of his rat (and he did feel bad; as much as he grumbled and complained, he had been attached to the little guy.), that wasn't what was making him so upset. No, it was the fact that she couldn't even squeeze out an apology. He didn't have many personal belongings. Why was it no one could seem to show the few he had any damn respect? If it had been Hedwig, Hermione would have sobbed all over Harry, but he hadn't got one ounce of sympathy. Weren't they friends? Hadn't he puked up slugs for her? Scrubbed bed pans without magic? Did he really mean so little to her?

Of course he had. She just had been confused by his whole attitude about Scabbers, and why it bothered him so much. It hadn't been until later that she had figured it out, and by then, she thought it was too late to fix. With everything that was going on in her life, she had felt scared, alone, and hurt, and Ron had given her no sign that he would ever forgive her.

"Ron? You alright, there?" Harry asked tentatively.

He swung around to face him, a scowl contorting his face. "I hate her, Harry! That stuck up, smart arsed, swotty little bi-"

"Stop it. You know you don't mean that." Harry interrupted, a slight warning tone in his voice. Just because he usually stayed out of their fights didn't mean he would let one of them go that far.

Ron gave a wordless growl. Harry was right, and he was glad he hadn't finished what he had been about to say, but he was still pissed off, and Harry didn't have much room to talk.

"Oh, come on! As if you didn't want to murder her when she got your broom taken away!" he said accusingly.

Harry dropped his gaze, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "Yeah, I did, but you know, she kind of had a point..."

A small, logical voice in the back of Ron's mind agreed, but with thirteen plus years of experience behind him he found it easy to ignore. Besides, at this moment, he wouldn't agree with Hermione if she told him the sky was blue.

"So what? That suddenly makes it okay for her mange-ridden animal to eat my rat?"

"'Course it doesn't, but come on! I think she was starting to cry when we left..."

Ron snapped open his bed curtains, crawled onto the mattress, and turned to glare at his friend. "Harry. I don't. Fucking. Care. Alright?"

Harry sighed. "You don't-"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT I MEAN!"

The muscle in Harry's jaw clenched, but he didn't say another word, instead removing his glasses and rolling over to face the other way.

Ron jerked his curtains shut. Harry was right, he did care. And that, more than anything, was what made him the angriest. Not that she got the Firebolt taken away, not that she didn't give a damn about Scabbers being killed. Not even that she was hiding something, and treating him as if he was too stupid to figure out, or too untrustworthy to tell. No, what had him so angry was that after all of that, he still cared about her, and wanted things to go back to the way they were between them. He wanted the good natured bickering of an evening by the fire, the easy laughter of the days they spent together at her house or Hogsmeade; the content feeling he got just being around one of his best friends. But she had hurt him, and she wasn't doing a damn thing to make it better, and the fact that hearing she might have been crying made him want to go and check on her made him want to punch something. This mess between them was all her fault, and he wasn't going to let her get away with it. Not this time. He wouldn't back down. He didn't have much, but he had his pride, and if she couldn't respect that enough to be the one to say she was sorry...and really, that was all he wanted. If she would just say those two words, and mean them, he would let it go. He would gripe and grumble, but he would forgive her.

He flopped back on his pillow, exhausted. The backs of his eyes stung, and a thickness choked up his throat.

'Damn it Hermione, hurry up and apologize already...please.'


	12. Chapter 12

AN: These two chapters are slightly different. While writing, I realized things were getting too long, so I split these sections off into their own parts. This is the period they were separated in third year, and I'm using it to split the year up, so you can think of these as interlude chapters, with the set up going back to normal next time. I know some of you see a disturbing trend; first year was covered with one chapter, second year in two, and now third year will have three installments. Believe me, I'm trying very, very hard not to let that become a trend. That being said, I promise nothing. Inspiration is a flighty thing, and I must go where it leads.

Also, please forgive any mistakes with British terms. My lovely beta is without the internet, so I am working without a net. Hopefully I can go back and correct things later.

When I saw that this story had over 200 reviews and over 100 follows, I had to take a few moments to calmly wheeze into a paper bag. I never thought this story would go over so well, and you are wonderful people for sending me all your positive feedback. Each review is treasured, so thanks again for taking the time to do so!

Hermione wiped her eyes as she shut the door to Hagrid's hut behind her. She had just spent the last hour inside visiting, and, to her embarrassment, crying. The large man had a comforting nature, something she had been sorely needing, and she had missed talking to him. Usually she came with Harry and Ron, but that had stopped when they had shut her out. This afternoon she had snuck out when she thought she would be able to avoid them; she hated running into Ron, for he always looked at her as if she was one of the more disgusting Potions ingredients. But hearing about his brush with Sirius Black had frightened her, and she needed someone to talk to. She could have spoken with any of Ron's siblings, since they had surprisingly treated her the same as they always had, but looking at them hurt too much. It reminded her how wrong things were between her and Ron, and she was feeling bad enough about it as it was.

Hagrid had been kind, telling her that the boys were sure to come around, that she was more important to them than a broom or a rat. She wished she could believe that, but the longer this dragged on, the less likely it seemed. Now, she was in the right about the broom, and she knew it. Harry would probably forgive her for that, if it was only him. But Scabbers...she had messed up there. Badly. Once she had read her mother's letter, and the reply she had forwarded from Jackie, she had felt like a fool. A heartless fool.

'Hermione, while your father and I have always admired your level-headedness and compassion for others, it has concerned us how oblivious you can be to the feelings of the people closest to you. The incident with the broom was understandable, since it was a matter of safety. You did the right thing about informing the professor when you couldn't make your friends see sense. But the rat is an entirely different matter altogether. In the first place, the plain and simple fact is that your pet ate his; whether his rat was already dying, or that you believe he has never cared about the animal before this makes no difference. Even though it was an accident, you still owe him an apology. Second, you say you are confused as to why it matters so much to him, when he has always given the impression that he doesn't even like the rat. Dear, I don't believe you thought that through very well. From everything you have told me about Ron, it's very obvious why he has acted this way. Coming from a poor family, and having so little to call his own, with even that being second hand, is it any wonder that he's distanced himself from becoming close to them? Sometimes, when a person cares for something, they often act as if they don't, to lessen the hurt when they finally lose it. This doesn't mean they don't care, and usually, they find that it doesn't lessen the hurt at all. I think you'll find that Ron cares for things more than he lets on, but is afraid of admitting to it for that very reason. You say he was always complaining how worthless Scabbers was, but if he really thought that, would he have spent the little money he had on medicine for him? Would he constantly carry him around, trying to make him comfortable?'

Hermione's mother was an insightful woman. He wasn't sure if it was because he was the youngest son out of the six, or because he was caught in the middle between them and Ginny, or even if it was just in his nature, but he had developed the habit of distancing himself from the things he loved early on. It had taken the sting out of watching his older brothers receive the shiny new things, and of Ginny coming along to take what had been his. He tried so hard to make himself believe that nothing mattered to him, as if that could take away the hurt when it went to someone else. Not that it ever did, but it made him feel more in control of things, and he didn't realize what a bad habit it had become until it was too late. Because that was what he was doing to Hermione here; she was hurting him by not caring about his feelings, so instead of being mature, he had pushed her away, not wanting to give her any more opportunities to hurt him. Instead of making her feel bad, though, he had made her feel like he thought she was less important than a rat. No wonder she hadn't tried to apologize; he had spent years belittling Scabbers, so what was she supposed to think he thought of her? He hadn't exactly given the impression that forgiveness was likely, and he could say some pretty nasty things when he was crossways with someone. He couldn't blame her for not wanting to open herself up to that. When he was hurt he could be an absolute shit, and he hated that about himself. He had tried to work on that, and thought he had made progress, but he knew it would probably always be one of his weaknesses.

'You need to start taking his actions into consideration. People with kind hearts are often the most easily hurt, and they are prone to using harsh words as a defense. Give him a chance to cool down, and then let him know that you are sorry. Do it soon, Hermione. He's been too good of a friend to you to lose him over something as easily fixed as this. It's deeply important to him now, but in ten years it won't matter. Let him be mad. Don't try to rationalize things, because he will only see it as you trivializing his emotions. I know you're worried he won't forgive you, but don't let that stop you. I've met the boy, and I refuse to believe that he considers his rat to be more important than his friendship with you.'

Hermione released a sound that couldn't decide whether it was a laugh or a sob. That was easy for her mum to say, but she hadn't seen the way he had been treating her. It was worse than first year, and she shuddered to think of the things he would come up with to call her now. Her mother's advice had been sound, but she couldn't seem to find the right time to put it into action. At least Mum had been understanding. Jackie ( to whom she had modified the story to comply with the Secrecy Act) had been more blunt.

'Hermione, I love you like you were my own little sister, but you have an unfortunate trait of always believing yourself to be in the right, and once you've made up your mind, you refuse to see things from the other person's point of view. Although the fact that you're writing for help is a sign of improvement, I suppose. Let me tell you how it is; both of you are wrong, and you're acting like little children. Your cat ate his pet, and your reaction was callous. The way he's frozen you out is equally cruel, even if he probably feels like he was justified. I believe I warned you about the nature of teenage boys, but I forgot to mention that you shouldn't provoke them needlessly. In short, you both need to grow up and apologize to one another. He is a fourteen year old boy. You are a fourteen year old girl. He is not going to make the first move, so if you want to make things right, you need to put on your big girl knickers and do what needs to be done. He'll drag his feet, but he'll come around in the end. So hurry up, so the two of you can have a nice relaxing break before your next scrap.'

She sighed. Their advice was all very well and good, but neither of them had told her how to actually go about said apology. Jackie had been right when she accused her of not being able to admit when she was wrong. It wasn't very often that she was, but when it happened, she hated it. It made her feel as if she was failing at some kind of test. Should she do it in a specific way? Should she offer to replace Scabbers, or would that only make the situation worse? Knowing Ron, it probably would.

Caught up in her troubles, she had rounded the bend before she fully registered the voices of the people in front of her. She nearly bumped into Percy, who was berating an obviously unrepentant Fred and George about something or other. Once she saw who it was, she began to slither off in another direction, but it was too late. The twins had spotted a distraction, and had each latched onto one arm.

"Hermione! How positively smashing to run into you! Isn't it, George?" Fred said brightly from her left side.

"Indeed it is, Fred! Why, just the other day, I was asking myself why we haven't seen more of the elusive Miss Granger, and even began to wonder if she wasn't avoiding us. But you wouldn't do that, would you Hermione?" George asked her keenly.

Her eyes darted from left to right, the truth weighing uncomfortably on her. "Of course not! I've just been...busy, that's all," she muttered unconvincingly.

Fred tutted. "Your lying skills are woefully inadequate. You'll need to practice a lot harder if you want to fool masters of deception such as ourselves."

"So, were you afraid that we would take our brother's side in the Great Weasley-Granger Feud, or," George spoke seriously, without any trace of teasing, "was it perhaps because the sight of freckled gingers reminded you too much of a certain prat?"

Both of them looked at her knowingly, and she hated that she had been that transparent. Why did they have to pick now to be all intuitive? Why weren't they off pouring itching powder into the clothing of their unsuspecting victims? No, now they had to be all kind and understanding, right when she was an emotional mess. She refused to let them see her cry. She had done enough of that already, and she hated the thought of anyone else seeing her so vulnerable.

Salvation came in the unlikely form of Percy, who had slipped up behind his younger brothers, to give them each a smack on the back of the head.

"Knock it off, you two! Can't you see you're upsetting her?"

The twins rubbed their heads and glared at him before looking at her contritely. "Sorry, Hermione. We didn't mean to make you feel bad, you know? We just didn't want you to think that you couldn't talk to us just because of your fight with Ron." George explained.

"Is that still going on? Maybe I should write Mother about it. I'm sure she could get him to straighten up," Percy said with a frown.

"NO!" Hermione, Fred, and George responded loudly.

Hermione grabbed ahold of his sleeve, her voice high and panicky. "Please, please don't do that! You'll only make it worse!" She knew if he thought she had gone tattling to his mum, she would lose any hope of forgiveness that she might still have.

"She's right, Perce. If Mum sends a Howler, he'll just blame Hermione. You know how he gets when he's like this," warned Fred.

Percy wore a hurt expression. "I was only trying to help."

"I know, and I appreciate the thought, but Fred's right. It would just be another strike against me, and I'm not sure how many more of them I can afford."

"I suppose, but I can't think of another way to bring him around," Percy said, folding his arms, "Can the two of you remember any time when Ron has apologized for anything without Mother making him?"

The twins shrugged sheepishly. "The thing about Ron is that he's never had to grow up enough to say he's sorry. When he gets mad at one of us, Mum's the one to sort him out, and that doesn't count. Besides, he has a double dose of the Weasley-Prewett temper, and his is the worst of all of us."

"Fred's right. Bill's slow to get mad, and he doesn't stay that way long. Charlie's all laughs until suddenly he's not, and then he's fine again once he explodes. Percy goes off and broods about things by himself. Fred and I just sort of make your life miserable until we feel like we're even, and Ginny will verbally rip you up one side and down the other and then hex you for good measure. Ron...well, he settles in for the long haul. He says things without thinking, and goes right for your weak spots. Once he's been hurt, he lashes out to take you down with him."

His brothers knew him well. He had an unhealthy way of being able to carry a grudge, nursing his anger so that it always stayed fresh. It was a good thing Hermione had stopped Percy, because he would have blamed her, taking it as another sign of betrayal. That was another thing he needed to watch for when they were fighting. He needed to learn to let things go, and not to go looking for other things to be mad about instead of dealing with the problem at hand.

"On the bright side," Fred continued, "He never gets this mad with people he doesn't care about, which means he really likes you."

Hermione gave a derisive snort. "Well if that's the case, he should be inviting Malfoy to Madam Puddifoot's any day now."

"No, Fred's right," Percy said thoughtfully, "Ron only ever gets mad at Malfoy when he's around provoking him, but once he's away, he forgets all about it and goes back to normal. This thing with you really has him upset. In fact, yesterday he turned down a second helping of bacon, and for Ron, that's the height of emotional devastation right there."

Her shoulders slumped. "Is the fact that I've upset him that much supposed to be making me feel better? Because you know, strangely enough, it isn't."

"It should. Look, Hermione. I know you can't really see it, but he's hating this as much as you are. But you're the mature one of the two, so you're going to have to lead the way on this, even if it's not your fault."

She scuffed her foot on the ground, drawing a line in the dirt with her toe. "That's just it. It really is my fault this time, and I can't honestly blame him for being so mad at me," she said, not meeting Fred's eyes.

"Yeah, you didn't do so well with the whole Scabbers thing, but Ron was out of line about the Firebolt, and he shouldn't have shut you out like this for so long, or made Harry feel like he had to go along with it."

Hermione shrugged. Ron had been Harry's friend first, and in some ways they were closer together. She was always going to lose out if it ever came down to a choice between them, just as she would if Ron had to choose between her and Harry. It hurt, but she accepted it.

Ron swore under his breath. He had never meant for Harry to have to choose, or for Hermione to think that was what was going on. For him, he had seen them both as injured parties, so it only made sense for them to both ignore her. In all the years of worrying over whether or not she would choose Harry over him, he had never once thought that she might have similar concerns.

"I understand they were excited about the broom, but it was most imprudent of them not to consider the ramifications." Percy grumbled.

George rolled his eyes. "You'd think after living with us, Ron would know better than to even open a strange package, and ours have always been relatively harmless. When an insane murderer has you in his sights, you just don't take these things at face value. Still, I think that's pretty much blown over, and if you say something about the mess with Scabbers, Ron will get over it."

George had a good point. And, looking back now, he saw how dangerously stupid he and Harry had been. It had been drummed into him in Auror training that you never opened a suspicious package on principle, and that went double when you had solid reason to suspect that your life was being threatened. Sirius had ended up being safe, but the thought of how things could have turned out made him shudder. He recalled the horror stories told in training of people who had let their guard down.

For the first time in weeks, Hermione felt hopeful. After all, these were his brothers, so they should know, right? This shouldn't be hard, really. She was a Gryffindor, after all. There was an hour before dinner; if she went looking for him now, the three of them would be able to sit down for a meal together for the first time in ages.

"You're right, I've put it off long enough. I'm going to go do it right now. Maybe Harry's ready for this to be over too, and he'll help me to convince Ron," she said, squaring her shoulders.

"'Atta girl! You'll see, you'll be back to bullinging them into revising before the night's over, and in a week, you won't even remember any of this ever happened," Fred encouraged, he and George patting her on the shoulder.

"I truly hope so. Ron seems to have been lacking motivation lately, and I hear his marks may have slipped a bit." Percy added.

Thanks for your concern over the possible permanent break of my friendship, Perce. You're all heart.

Hermione turned in the direction of the castle, but had taken no more than three steps before everything became dim, and the ground shifted under her feet. Swaying dangerously, she heard three voices cry out, and suddenly several pairs of hands were leading her to sit on a medium-sized rock on the side of the path. Gently, someone pressed her head down until it was between her knees, and she distantly heard Percy tell her to take deep, even breaths. She did, and slowly, things swam back into focus, and she looked up into the worried faces of the older boys.

Ron slumped to his knees along with her. He was familiar with the signs. It was a problem that still persisted even now, and he supposed it always would. Hermione had never been one to worry overmuch about things like weight; she tried to eat sensibly for the most part, and never bothered with silly things like fad diets. But when she was extremely focused (or worried to a great extent), she just plain forgot to eat, something that had been unfathomable to him the first time he noticed it. She would become so engrossed in whatever was holding her attention, that the time for meals would come and go, and by the time she realized it, she would decide it was too late and that she would wait for the next meal. Which wasn't too bad if it only happened once in awhile, but sometimes she got stuck on a loop, and it was usually up to him to pull her out. Obviously, he had fallen down on the job during this period.

"Sorry about that. I've been so caught up with other things, I completely forgot to get anything to eat today," she smiled weakly, trying to deflect their searching eyes.

She knew full well what they would see; she was paler than normal, making the purple bags under her eyes look deeper, and she was trembling from low blood sugar. It's not as if she meant to get into this bad of shape. But the Time-Turner was taking a much larger toll on her than she had thought it would, and the matter with Harry and Ron was compounding things even more. Adding the research she was doing for Buckbeak, and she was stretched thinner than was probably good for her. Still, she was confident that if she got at least one thing settled then the rest were sure to follow, so after waving away their offer to help her back to the tower, and making many promises that she would take better care of herself, she was finally on her way to find Ron.

Since it was late afternoon on a Saturday, she decided to try the Common Room first, and was pleased to be lucky on her first shot. Slipping in quietly, she took a minute before anyone noticed her to brush aside her nervousness and swallow her pride. Ron was sitting at one of the tables with Harry, Dean, Seamus and Neville. He was laughing at something one of them had said, and he looked happier than she had seen him of late. In an instant, his gaze found hers across the room, and the smile on his face died, to be replaced by a hard, implacable look of loathing.

Ron was shocked by the expression on his own face. Had he really looked like that? His face was twisted into something ugly, and he wasn't surprised at all when Hermione could find no trace of the boy that had been her friend on it. There was nothing to tell her that this had been the same Ron who had belched slugs for her, or defended her against Snape. Looking at him, you would never know that he had missed her over the summer, or had enjoyed their day in Hogsmeade so much. He thought it couldn't get any worse, but then he watched as he did something that cut her the most, and him along with her; he turned away, as if he hadn't even seen her standing there, as if she meant less to him than the very space in which she stood.

Her momentum failing her, she opened her mouth, searching desperately for the right words, but nothing came. As he turned away from her, her eyes caught the helpless shrug that Harry sent her way, as if trying to tell her that he couldn't understand, either. Without a word, she crossed the room to the stairs, her head ducked so that her hair blocked her face. His brothers had been wrong. It might be different with other people, but there was no forgiveness for her there. He was done with her, and he had made that perfectly clear. Merlin, if she ever wanted to cut the heart right out of someone, she knew now exactly how to do it; with utter contempt, staring right through them like they weren't even there.

That thought caused him to smile mirthlessly. His own actions would come back to haunt him in sixth year. And, as with everything else, not only had Hermione mastered the lesson she had learned here, but she had improved on it as well.

She closed the door behind her, thankful the other girls were out. There was nothing left for her to do now, anything she tried was sure to get the same response. She had lost one of the two best friends she had ever had, and now she was faced with the reality that she was going to have to go back to the way things were before. When she was alone. She rubbed her temples, which had begun to throb. She didn't want to think right now. It was forty-five minutes before supper. Reaching for a book, she decided to read for just a few minutes. Just a few minutes, and then she would go down like she had promised Fred, George, and Percy, but right now, she would let herself forget. Just a few minutes more...


	13. Chapter 13

Ron sat at a table with the other boys in the Common Room, where they had gathered to work on their essays. Predictably, they were doing more goofing off than actual writing, and even though they had plenty of time if they buckled down to it, he knew it would end in a mad rush later tonight. He was trying to enjoy himself, but only partially succeeding. While he liked the other boys well enough, he felt like there was something missing. He laughed and joked along with them, but he kept waiting for an admonishing voice telling him to get to work, only it never came. It wasn't as if he and Harry had never spent time without her before. They had different interests, and would drift off to do their own thing. But it was never for very long, and each one knew it wouldn't be for more than a day and they would be back together again. This was different. There was something uncomfortably permanent about it, as though they had splintered for good.

He hated it, and knew Harry did as well, with the way he would look at Hermione and then back at Ron, with the same expression Ginny would look at Mum with when she wanted to get an ice cream but knew she would be told no. After his last explosion, Harry hadn't brought it up again, and Ron wasn't sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, it made it easier to ignore his guilt, but on the other, it at least would have given him an excuse to make up with her without losing face if he could blame Harry. This was dragging on a lot longer than he thought it would, and he was secretly hoping Harry would push him again.

Fat chance of that. When it came to their rows, Harry remained so neutral that he nearly broke out in a Swiss flag patterned rash. She had forgotten just how stubborn Ron could be. In one of their most recent arguments, she had accused him of being stubborn, but the way he was in the future didn't have a patch on him now. The changes had been so gradual that she supposed she hadn't noticed it, but he had become more willing to be the one to make the first move to end a fight, and she was thankful that they had moved past the point where the pain was drawn out like this. He could be spiteful and petty when they were younger, but that had become far less frequent. Things were still said in the heat of anger, but she was no saint in that regard herself.

It was tempting to suggest that they go to the library to finish up, but he was afraid that the others would see past that. The library was the best place to catch a glimpse of Hermione, and she had been spending more and more time there of late. Partially, he was sure, to avoid him and Harry, but he didn't think that that was the whole reason. Though they were, for all intents and purposes, at war, he still noticed things about her, and what he was noticing had him confused.

Her schedule was nearly the same as his, so he had easily memorized it, and things just didn't add up. Fact one: she had never missed a lesson they shared. Fact two: she had (from what he could gather) never missed a lesson that they had separately. Fact three, and this was where it all went hinky: some of these lessons were held at the same time. One minute she would be nowhere in sight, and the next she would be raising her hand from her usual seat. How was she doing it? Even with magic, it should be impossible. He had given it a lot of thought, but couldn't come up with anything. Well, one thing. He wasn't stupid, and he listened to his dad a lot, so he knew of one thing that could account for it, but he discarded the idea almost instantly. Not only was it dangerous, but it would be breaking actual laws, not just school rules. There was no way Hermione would be doing anything like that.

Of course, the thing that bothered him the most was that she wouldn't tell him. Not that he guessed that it mattered much now, but he had been getting worried. She had been throwing herself into her work more than ever, and it had gotten harder and harder to snap her out of it. Guiltily, he wondered if she had been remembering to eat and take enough breaks, but he quickly shook it off. Hermione was a big girl, and she didn't need anyone looking after her, much less him. In fact, she would probably prefer it if he kept his overly long nose out of it. Yeah, he was sure she was happier without him, getting more work done, wondering why she hadn't dropped him sooner...otherwise, why had she not tried to get him to talk to her again, especially after he almost got stabbed in his sleep?

He was only partially right about not needing anyone to look after her. While she was no damsel in distress, she did have the habit of getting so caught up in things that she forgot to take care of herself sometimes, and it wasn't until someone else pointed it out that she would remember. Her father was the same way, and she and her mother had to stay on top of him. Ron had always been the one to jump in and stop her when she was pushing herself too hard, and, even though he could sometimes be overly blunt about it, he never made it seem like he thought she was weak because of it. They had just fallen into a natural balance; she spurred him on when he slacked off, and he slowed her down before she could run herself into the ground. There was an equal measure of give and take, which any good relationship had to have.

He realized Dean had made a joke, and laughed loudly to cover up the fact that he hadn't been paying attention. Across the room, the portrait swung open, and a familiar head of thick hair popped into the room. She stood standing for a moment, looking rather lost, and suddenly he was filled with the urge to call out for her to join them. Instantly, he fought the feeling down. He hadn't held out this long for nothing. Gathering every bit of his anger that he could summon, he glared defiantly at her; if she wanted things to go back to normal, then she would have to make the first move. He tried not to show his shock when her mouth, which had opened, trembled and closed, and her shoulders seemed to sag in defeat. His resolve weakened, and he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his anger up for long, so he turned away, hoping that she would just go ahead and get it over with already.

Instead, she nearly ran for the stairs, and if he didn't know better, he would say she was crying. But that was impossible, right? He hadn't even done anything.

'We obviously had very different ideas about what 'hadn't done anything' consisted of, Hermione thought. It was amazing how fierce and unapproachable he could look without even trying.'

Her reaction wasn't lost on Harry, either, because he was giving him that look again.

"Ron, don't you think it's time you-"

"No."

"But-"

"No!"

"C'mon, Ron. don't you think you've made the poor lass suffer enough?" Seamus broke in.

Ron rounded on him. "You know what time I think it is? Time for everyone to get their damn noses out of my business!"

Seamus threw his hands up in surrender, and an uncomfortable hush fell over the group. After a few minutes, Neville fidgeted around in his chair, saying with false brightness, "Well, This is an awkward silence. Would anyone care to fill it?"

That broke the tension, and Ron sat back, letting the others talk around him. Now that he had a chance to think, it had looked as if she had been about to say something, and he wondered, if he had waited, if she would have made a move. But surely she hadn't been scared off just because he had frowned at her. It would take a tougher bloke than him to cow Hermione Granger.

Not long afterwards, people began filing out of the dorms headed for the Great Hall, and Ron was eager to join them. Conflict always gave him an appetite. As did being depressed. Or happy. Or sad. Alright, pretty much everything made him hungry, but he was a growing boy, what did people expect? (Which only made things harder right now, when he would suddenly lose interest in his food in the middle of a meal. he had to pack it in quick before he wasted away.)

He had used that excuse often, and Hermione had once calculated his projected growth based on his intake. If he had in fact grown as much as his eating habits indicated, he should have ended up at least the height of Grawp. Fortunately he hadn't, although he still used the same excuse, only nowadays with a lewd eyebrow waggle that earned him a mild slap on the arm.

Ron sat between Harry and Neville, across from Dean and Seamus. He loaded his plate with as much food as he could squeeze on, already mentally deciding what he would have for seconds. He shovelled in mouthful after mouthful, while Harry poked at his food. Huh. Brooding again. He would have to find a way to jolly him out of it later. Down the table, he could see Fred and George occasionally half rising and craning their necks around to look at the doors, like they were waiting for something. At first he thought it had to do with some prank of theirs; a fairly safe bet, since that was almost always the case. But the expressions on their faces were troubled, and that caused Ron to pause in mid-bite. Ever since the incident with Ginny last year, he had tried to be more aware of any changes in his siblings. Sure enough, across from the twins, Ginny was looking a bit put out too, frowning heavily at something George was saying. Ron glanced at the other end of the table. Even Percy was acting oddly, glancing at his watch every few minutes.

He watched in surprise as Percy stood up and marched over to Ginny, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Curiosity was killing him, but before he could begin to figure anything out, a loud clattering came from the end of the table Percy had just left. Someone had taken advantage of the absence of the Head Boy, and two turkeys had been Charmed to tango down the middle of the table, sending dishes and platters of food flying into the laps of shrieking students. By the time Ron had looked up again, Percy was hurrying over to get the damage under control, and Ginny had disappeared. Weird. He was going to have to find out what was up.

It gnawed at the back of his mind throughout the rest of pudding, robbing him of the full enjoyment of what had promised to be a tasty tart. Afterwards, as he had predicted earlier (Ha! Maybe he wasn't rubbish at divination!) he had spent several hours furiously scrawling on his roll of parchment, desperately measuring with each added line. With a triumphant flourish of his quill, he jotted down the final word, flopping back in his chair with a loud exhalation. He and the rest of the group from earlier had made a mad dash for the library, and had gotten one of the good tables in the back. His eyes darted around the room surreptitiously, trying to spot any sign of Hermione. It was strange, but no matter how angry he was with her, being in the same room as her made him feel...more comfortable. Or something. Whatever it was didn't really matter, since she didn't seem to be there after all. He sighed, beginning to wonder if maybe he should look for a way to drop a hint that he would take her back.

Take me...? Oh, how very sporting of you, Ron! Considering that if you hadn't acted such a prat, none of that would have been necessary!

"Merlin, there for a minute, I was afraid we were going to be at it all night! Are the rest of you ready to head up?" Ron asked, shoving his books into his bag, careful not to smudge the still damp ink on his essay.

Seamus scowled up at him. "It may've escaped your notice, but the rest of us haven't exactly finished yet."

Ron blinked. Sure enough, the other four were still hard at work. Either he had just done some of his most brilliant work, or else he had majorly fucked up somewhere along the line. Since Hermione wasn't here, he had a pretty good idea about which it was. Oh well. Flitwick was generally merciful.

He ignored Seamus. "Are you almost done, Harry?"

"Hm," Harry grunted, without looking up.

"I said, are you almost done?"

"...hm."

"Think you might fancy a quick game of chess before bed?"

Slowly, Harry put down his quill, looking up to gaze at Ron calmly. "Ron, we're friends, aren't we?"

Ron cocked his head, unsure what Harry was getting at. "Yeeeeees," he said uncertainly.

"Best friends? Do anything for each other, and all that?"

"Harry, what the hell are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying, that as a friend, I feel like I should let you know that if you don't shove off and let me finish in peace, I'll tell Fred and George about how you told Olga Barnsworth and Midge Fowley that they were madly in love with them, and that it would be a good idea to send your brothers the giant matching pink perfumed teddy bears."

Ron had to snicker at that. That Valentine's Day had been the best one to date, with the twins jumping at every shadow. Then he thought of something. "But Harry, I wasn't the one that did it, you know that."

Harry's eyes glinted wickedly, but he said with a perfectly straight face, "Ron, you know that, and I know that, but can you imagine the hell your brothers will put you through before you can convince them?"

Hermione giggled. Harry often gave the impression of being meek and quiet, but he could hold his own with the best of them when he wanted to. She was sure that if he hadn't had all the darkness weighing on him, he would have been a holy terror.

Ron turned green. He tried to imagine it; it was like looking into the fires of hell. Sometimes, he wished he had the kind of brothers that just punched you and got over it.

Pretending to be deaf to the chortling of Dean, Seamus, and Neville, he shouldered his bag. "Fine. Be that way. I had been about to offer to let you copy mine, but I think I've changed my mind."

Harry peered over the tops of his glasses. "Thanks, but that might look a tad suspicious, seeing as how we were assigned different subjects, don't you think?"

He huffed, turning away. "Bloody tosser," he muttered.

"Language, Ron!" Harry called out behind him.

Ron nearly tripped over his own feet, but it had nothing to do with their size. Hearing those words from the wrong mouth sent a pang through his chest, and he hurried from the library, hoping no one would notice. How long had it been since he heard her say that? For that matter, how long had it been since he heard her say anything? He wished he had waited a little bit longer before looking away today; if he had known she was going to say something, he would've. In a way he couldn't quite describe, he was lonely. Sure, he had Harry, and even the other boys in his year, but there was something different about Hermione. He missed talking with her, about all kinds of things. She was the only one who understood everything he did about Harry, the only one that was even safe to talk to about him. Sometimes, with everything that went on around Harry, Ron got worried, and it was nice to be able to have someone to hash it out with, because Merlin only knew that trying to talk to Harry in one of his moods was like having high tea with a rock.

And it wasn't only things about Harry, or even school. Sometimes they talked about stupid things, or even nothing really at all, but for some reason, it was always interesting with Hermione. On the rare occasions he was brave enough to talk about personal things, like his problems with his brothers, she was the person he felt most comfortable about going to. If she just hadn't got that stupid cat! Everything would be fine now, and they could be sitting in front of the fire playing a game of chess while they waited for Harry.

The Common Room was surprisingly quiet when he arrived, but he supposed that most people were either still in the library, or had gone up to their rooms. In fact, he almost thought the room was completely empty, before spying his brothers in the corner. Harry's fake threat came to mind, and he made for the stairs, even though he knew that they weren't actually after him.

Sadly, feet his size weren't exactly built for stealth, and after this last growth-spurt, he didn't quite have them under control yet. Catching his foot on the end of the rug drew their attention, and he sighed. Fortunately, they didn't look to be in a teasing mood tonight. Ron remembered the odd way they had been acting earlier, and decided that now was as good a time as any to find out why.

"So what's up with the two of you? You, Percy, and Ginny were strange tonight at dinner," he asked, resting his bag on the back of a sofa.

The twins looked at each other. "Ron, when was the last time you talked to Hermione?" George asked cautiously.

He bristled at the unexpected topic. Not wanting them to see how bothered he was, he snapped sarcastically, "If you mean actual words, who knows, or cares? But if you mean when did I last see her, then it was some time this afternoon."

"She didn't say anything? Anything at all?" Fred pressed.

"No, she just stood there flapping her lips for a few minutes, but then she left. What's all this about, anyway?"

The twins leaned back on the edge of the table, their arms crossed in front of their chests.

"I was sure she was going to do it, Fred. Would've laid money on it, in fact."

"Me too, George. Of course, if I came up against a face like that, it might scare me off too. Poor girl is probably having nightmares right now."

She felt Ron's anger rise. Hermione knew they were referring to the expression he wore, which strongly resembled Crookshanks getting his tail slammed in the door. Ron took it as an insult to his looks, which he was sensitive about. Being a ginger wasn't the easiest lot in life, and it only compounded matters when you were covered in freckles.

"What the hell does any of this have to do with her?" he asked brusquely.

"Ron, can't you put all this behind you? I mean, we're all for holding a good grudge and all, but this is getting ridiculous."

Ron slammed his fist on the top of the sofa. "Why is everyone giving me grief for this? It was her bloody cat; I didn't do anything wrong!"

"No one's taking sides! Yeah, it sucked about Scabbers, and she might've tried harder to keep her cat in line, but It's over now! Do you and Harry have to keep punishing her for the sake of a broom and a half dead rat?"

"It's about more than the damn rat, alright? Merlin, you're supposed to be my brothers, not hers! Why are you so set on sticking up for her?"

Because that was who the twins were. They thumbed their nose at authority, and lived to top themselves with each new prank, but they believed strongly in sticking by your friends. She could tell Ron knew this, and it only added to his shame; his brothers might get on his nerves, but he looked up to them, and their disapproval hurt, especially since he knew he mostly deserved it.

Fred cocked his head, rubbing his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Oh, I dunno. Let me think. Hey, maybe it was because her two best friends abandoned her!"

Ron ducked his head, stung. "We didn't...we didn't abandon her."

"Really? She looked pretty abandoned today, when she almost-" George was cut off by Fred's elbow.

"What? When she almost what?" Ron asked, growing worried. His knuckles turned white, his eyes darting back and forth between his brothers. A sick, queasy feeling lodged in his gut when he realized he hadn't seen her at dinner tonight.

"No. You know what, George? If he can't be bothered to find out from her himself, then he doesn't deserve to know."

The two turned to the stairs, and desperation pulled the words out of his mouth.

"I just want her to apologize, okay? Just once, I want her to admit she was wrong, and tell me she's sorry!"

George shot Fred a pained look. "You hear that? He just wants her to say she's sorry. Freddie, I think I'm getting a migraine."

Fred slung an arm around George's shoulders. "Me too. I think it's irony overload. Let's go up and see if Lee will sing us to sleep with a soothing lullaby."

They had barely clomped up three steps when he had shot forward, gripping the backs of their jumpers.

"Wait! Was she...is she alright? Nothing really bad's happened to her, has it?"

They must have seen how upset he was, because they relented slightly.

"Well, she is now. Sort of," said Fred, scratching the back of his head. "But she would be doing a lot better if she wasn't on the outs with you. Maybe if you didn't look at her like you were planning on murdering her in her sleep would be a good start, yeah?"

"You might get something out of her if you tried toning down the prat level," George advised, patting him on the shoulder.

"But not too much. We wouldn't want you to go destroying the delicate balance of nature," Fred added.

Ron followed slowly, his feet dragging as he entered his room. He dropped his bag on the floor, and then threw himself on top of the bed, burying his face in the thick crimson duvet. They still hadn't told him what was wrong with Hermione. Surely it couldn't have been too bad, or everyone else would know. Then again, some of the things that had happened to the three of them the last few years had been pretty bad, and only a handful of people knew the truth, so that wasn't saying much. Could it have anything to do with the odd way she had been acting since the start of the year?

He considered what his brothers had said about making things okay with her; he wanted to, but there was a problem. Even if he could look past everything, he had no idea what to do next. He couldn't bring himself to say he was sorry, not when she had been the cause of most of it. Still, he had thought he had gotten his point across by now. It was true that he had wanted to get a good dig in at her, but had he crossed a line? Was he hurting her more than he had intended? It seemed impossible, but everyone else seemed to think so. He mulled it over for hours, long past the time that the others had come in and fallen asleep in their beds. In the end, he could only come to a sort of compromise. He would try to hold back on saying anything nasty, and instead avoid her even more, so he wouldn't be as tempted. He wasn't able to bring himself to forgive her quite so easily, but he had grown tired of fighting, and didn't want to make this any worse than it had to be, either. If she hadn't apologized by the time they were on the train home, he would...well, he would say something then. What, he hadn't a clue, but something was sure to come to him. Maybe he could get someone to drop her a hint. Someone like Harry, or Ginny. He paused, thinking of Ginny's likely reaction. No, it would be much safer to go with Harry.

Satisfied that he had a plan, his guilt settled down to a dull roar, enough to be able to let him fall asleep. But not enough, however, for it to be peaceful, and images of her face from this afternoon, coupled with twisted scenarios of what might have happened to her that his brothers weren't telling him, plagued his dreams long into the night...

Hermione sighed, patting his shoulder as sleep ebbed around him. One of the strangest things about seeing everything from his point of view was being able to understand why he acted the way he did. It wasn't always right, and quite often, he could be an insufferable prat, but she could still understand him. Though she had forgiven him for these things long ago, dredging through them brought to mind old hurts, and she wondered how much they were still affecting her without her knowing it. She may have forgiven, but she still needed to move on. Hopefully, dealing with all of this the way they were now would help her with that.


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review, especially those of you who have recently messaged me asking where the next chapters were. My sliver of RL got in the way, but that is unlikely to happen again soon. Special thanks to HalfASlug, my beta from across the pond.

AN 1: Some of you have been worried that I am making everything bad that happened between them Ron's fault. Don't worry, Hermione will have her less than perfect moments too! But the point of this story is not to assign blame, as will be addressed in a few chapters from now. Sometimes one character will come off looking badly over another, and sometimes they will switch places. Also, other characters perceptions of each other will be different; when a group of people look at the same situation, opinions still vary, and sometimes even disregard the facts.

AN 2: I have also heard that the twins are too nice, and were cruel in the books. First, I don't believe they were ever cruel. Thoughtless, yes, but not cruel. And I can't believe that Ron hated them and wanted to get away from them. During the fight he had with Harry in fourth year he spent time with them, and he helped George after Fred's death. The twins are not one dimensional jokers. That may be their defining trait, but real people have more than one side to them. And siblings can be absolute shits to one another, while others don't see that side. With my own sister, sometimes we get along great, and others we are complete bitches to one another. But for those wanting a bit more brotherly conflict, it's coming up next year. Anyway, on with the story. Allons-y!

Hermione stroked the fluffy cat in her lap, feeling rather like the villain in a spy film. The feeling was heightened by the looks she had received from Harry and Ron earlier. She had sat behind them in silence for as long as she could, but had grown more exasperated with each passing moment. Why couldn't they see that Harry going into Hogsmeade was a bad idea? He might as well trot outside with a target pinned to his shirt and have done with it. She knew she was a stickler for the rules, and could come across as an insufferable goody-goody, but Harry's life was at stake! Ron's too, for that matter; it was more than likely that he would get caught in the crossfire if Black was able to get to Harry. Couldn't they see past their anger at her long enough to see that she was just trying to look after them? Someone had to, because between them they weren't showing the sense that God gave a goose, as her great-aunt was fond of saying.

Ron shrugged. What could he say? They were young boys, and young boys were fools by default. He knew this for a fact from vast personal experience. That was the last year that death had seemed so far away, unable to touch them. Danger was little more than a vague possibility, something you knew happened to others, but would obviously never happen to you. Things like Zonko's and Honeydukes had seemed far more real, more immediately important. Looking back it had been stupid, but then it had been the most important thing on their minds. Except for Hermione. Fourteen going on forty, she had been the lone voice of common sense. He wondered how things would have gone if they had ever listened to her; he wouldn't be surprised if he found out she developed bleeding ulcers by the time she was sixteen.

By all rights, she should go straight to Professor McGonagall and tell her everything. Her teeth nibbled on her already raw lower lip. But should she, really? There had turned out to be nothing wrong with the Firebolt, and look where that got her. With the Dementors roaming the area, surely Black wouldn't be able to slip past them again. And Harry was so rarely able to enjoy himself outside of Hogwarts, and he had been so upset after finding out how his parents had been betrayed. Maybe one day out wouldn't hurt. She shook her head. No, letting his guard down like that was more likely to get him killed. He wasn't going to listen to her, so she wouldn't bother trying again, but she would keep an eye on him. If it looked like he was going to manage to sneak out, then she would tell, but she would keep quiet until then. He would have to find a way out first, although that would be made easier by that stupid map the twins had given him. When she thought about the way they had blithely handed over a means for Harry to get in more trouble, she could cheerfully kick their teeth in. She would just have to be careful to keep her time straight that day. The more she used the Time-Turner, the more things began to blur together. Sighing, she checked her watch. Speaking of which, she should give it another couple of turns. She was falling behind, and needed to spend a few hours in the library.

Ron watched with interest as she pulled the device from her jumper, giving it a few practiced turns, the glittering sand shifting fluidly in the tiny hourglass. He had been laid up with a broken leg when she used it with Harry, and this was his first time seeing it. To this day, he was still a bit shocked that she had been allowed to use one, no matter how mature she may have been. Time-Turners had been the downfall of much more experienced wizards, and Hermione was already under enough mental strain without it.

The speeding up of time had nothing to do with the Time-Turner, but he found he had only moved a few days forward. Hermione was in the Common Room flicking through a stack of parchment, and he recognized that particular scowl; she had been thwarted, and he had a good idea who had done it.

Hermione glared at her notes, but the words didn't register with her. She was too upset to concentrate, and that only served to upset her further. Did those two take her for an idiot? Oh, they thought they had been so clever and sly, but in reality, they couldn't have been any more obvious if they had tried. They had looked far too pleased with themselves, while Harry should have been sulking about being left behind, with Ron playing the sympathetic friend. The hammy way Harry had said goodbye had been over the top, but what had gotten her eyes rolling had been Ron, who had winked. Winked! Who even did that? She hoped he didn't have any aspirations to the theatre, that's all she could say.

What the hell had she expected? He was fourteen, for the love of Merlin! It wasn't as if Hogwarts had offered a class in Subterfuge. And they couldn't have been that bad, because no one else had noticed. No, she was just miffed that they had managed to pull it off under her nose.

The thing was, she couldn't even tell anyone. She had no proof, and by the time she could find some, the boys would be back, and she would just have them even madder at her than they had been before, with nothing to show for it. Grumbling to herself, she settled in with several of her school books, trying to memorize as much as possible. Hours passed as she immersed herself in her work, the tower nearly silent since most of the other students were gone. She was so engrossed that it took her several minutes before she recognized the tapping that was coming from the window, made by a disgruntled looking owl. Hurrying over, she let it in, only to discover that the message was addressed to her. With a feeling of foreboding, she opened it, quickly skimming over the awkwardly formed letters. Disbelievingly, she reread it again. And again. Shakily, she returned to her seat, her vision foggy with unshed tears.

Poor Buckbeak! Poor Hagrid! She had known the chance had been slim, but she had still had a bit of hope that things wouldn't have come to this. Guiltily, she wondered if she could have done something more. If she had just tried harder, maybe she could have found something that would help, but she had let herself get overwhelmed with her studies and everything else going on, and Buckbeak had slid lower on her list of priorities.

Typical of Hermione. Even when she was running in six directions at once, driving herself to the breaking point, she was still concerned with the troubles of others and how she could help them. There were times when this trait of hers had driven him mental (and sparked his jealousy on more than one occasion), but it was also one of the reasons he loved her so much.

With a heavy heart, she stood back up. Hagrid should have someone with him right now, not that she knew how much good she would be. Harry and Ron should be getting back soon; maybe she would wait for them, since they needed to be told anyway. Other students passed her as she made her way into the main part of the castle, but she didn't stop to speak to any of them. She had planned to wait by the door for the boys, but instead ran into them on the top of the stairs. Ron, unsurprisingly, was hostile, but she made herself deliver her message anyway.

She had been expecting them to leave her there as soon as she had told them. But when Ron had told her that she wouldn't have to do things alone anymore, she had broken down completely. Before she had known what she was doing, she had thrown her arms around him, sobbing into his neck. There had been the fear that he would push her away, angry once more, but it had felt too good to be close to him again and she wanted to be near him, even if it wasn't going to last. The relief she had felt when his hand reached up to hesitantly pat her on the head had been intense. His hand was large, and his attempt at affection clumsy, but to her, it was the best feeling in the world. It was enough to spur her into the apology she had been meaning to give, and his acceptance of it was a heavy weight off her shoulders. Harry looked rather amused, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Things were going to be alright between the three of them now, and that was all that mattered. She blushed as she pulled away from Ron, finding his ears to be even redder than her face. The hesitant smile he gave her sent a fluttery feeling through her chest, stronger than it had ever been before. Later, she would need to examine it, but right now she was too happy for puzzles, and there was still the matter of Buckbeak. But as they walked back up to the tower, she found that her gaze rested more and more often on Ron...

She was so close to realizing what she felt that Ron could almost taste it. There was a pull between them, and Hermione was about to stop fighting it. Instinctively, he knew the moment would be soon, and he was excited to find out what had finally made her see him in a different light. They had never really talked about it, but he had always wondered.

Again, the passage of time was only a matter of days; this time, it was late at night, and they were in Hermione's bedroom. The other girls were sleeping, their deep, even breaths faintly heard through the thick bed curtains. Hermione was lying in her own bed, unable to sleep, her mind busy at work unknotting a puzzle that had been steadily growing until she could no longer ignore it, and Ron made himself comfortable at the foot of the bed, her face dimly visible by the moonlight coming through the crack of the curtains.

Hermione stared up into the darkness, one hand twirling a lock of hair as her mind sorted through recent events. Everything had been so strange lately, and she was trying to sift through and decide what were really her own thoughts and motivations, and what were merely the effects of the Time-Turner and stress. If her parents could see her behavior over the last few days, they wouldn't recognize her. She couldn't even recognize herself. Hitting people, dropping out of lessons...what would she do next? Her lack of self-control was frightening and exhilarating all at once, giving her an odd sense of liberation. She took a deep breath through her nose, exhaling slowly from her mouth. She needed to get herself together. Time was running out for Buckbeak; she couldn't lose it now. But here, in the privacy of her own room, she could admit that hitting Malfoy had been supremely satisfying on a deep level, and when she remembered Ron's expression, she had to choke back her giggles. He had looked as if he couldn't decide whether he was afraid or proud, his eyes wide as he held her hand back. Talk about role reversals! She had derived a certain pleasure from surprising him, showing him that she wasn't quite as rigid as he believed her to be. It wasn't as if she had never wanted to tear into Malfoy; she just usually had better restraint than that.

And she had never, in all of her life, imagined she would ever walk out of a classroom, or show such disrespect to a professor. But all of that Divination bunk rubbed her the wrong way, with people looking for signs everywhere. If only they would pay attention to the facts, and what was going on around them, then they could have a much more accurate guess about what would happen in the future! Not that it would do them much good. People generally couldn't even handle what was going on in the here and now; what made them think they could deal with things that haven't even happened yet?

But more disturbing than her actions had been her reactions to Ron. Every look he had given her had sent a tingle throughout her body, and she couldn't seem to get enough of it. She had even caught her self sliding her chair closer than was strictly necessary to his on more than one occasion, and once, when he had bent over to tie his shoes, she had caught herself admiring the shape of his bum. She wished she could blame it on the Time-Turner, but she was aware this was something that had been developing for a while now. Her thighs rubbed together before she could stop herself.

Sweat broke out on Ron's forehead. The temperature in the room had risen uncomfortably high. He didn't need Auror training to tell him that things were about to take an unusual turn.

This was so wrong! How could she possibly have these sort of feelings for Ron? Well, he was a good person, and could be quite sweet when he wasn't busy being a prat, but he wasn't the type of boy that she had decided that she was going to fall in love with. He was light years away from the quiet, mature and studious boy she had pictured. Could it be because they were in such close proximity to each other on a regular basis? If that was the case, why Ron and not Harry? They certainly fought a lot less, and Harry had a (usually) more even temperament. Maybe she felt the same way about him too, and just hadn't noticed. Concentrating on Harry, she tried to picture being involved with him romantically.

Sitting forward on his knees, Ron held his breath. She and Harry had always said there was nothing like that between him, but he had always found it hard to believe. Harry was everything a girl usually wanted, and Hermione...well, he had fallen in love with her, so why was it such a stretch that Harry would do the same? He hadn't thought about it in years, but living through it all again, even if most of it was through her perspective, brought some of his old doubts back.

Hermione thought of Harry. She thought about his smile, and how he looked playing Quidditch. She imagined the way it felt when he brushed up against her, or the way his voice sounded when he said her name. She felt...nothing. Alright, step it up a bit. Harry, taking her in his arms and kissing her-no, that was too much. Tears streamed down her face as her body shook in silent laughter. Well, so much for Harry. It was just too funny for words, and more than a little sick. Strike out Harry, then. For comparison, she would do the same for Ron, and try to pinpoint the differences.

Almost instantly, she could tell that he was another matter entirely. His smile was somehow brighter, his lips pulling up just a bit farther on the left side, giving him an adorably off-kilter look. He was usually slouched against something, giving him a laid-back, relaxed air that was enhanced by his manner of dress. His collar was slightly wrinkled, and his tie was half undone. His shirt was almost always untucked, and his jumper was pushed up to expose his forearms. Such sloppiness would annoy her in anyone else, but on Ron, she found it strangely attractive. And when she thought about him touching her, his hands gripping her arms, her mind immediately jumped to his mouth, his wide lips coming into contact with her skin...the noise that left her mouth this time was no laugh, but a small whimper, and the heat between her legs intensified unbearably.

Her hips gave a slight thrust, and she gasped shallowly. She wasn't stupid, she knew what was happening. In about four months she would be fifteen, and it wasn't the first time she had experienced arousal. But it had never been this strong before, always a fleeting feeling that would go away as soon as she concentrated on something else. This time though, she didn't want it to go away. She was curious, and wanted to see where these feelings would take her now that she was finally letting them. Slowly, but with determination, she lowered her hand under the elastic of her knickers, to find herself slick and wet.

Ron scuttled backwards with a shriek, falling off the bed. "Here, you don't want to be doing that!" his voice cracked, going higher than it had in nearly ten years as he huddled on the floor. This was wrong. This was wrong. This was so bloody wrong! A bloke should never get this hard for himself, which was basically what was happening to him now. As her lust intensified, so did his, and it was all directed at him. Which would be a major ego boost if he wasn't kneeling on the floor of a fourteen year old girl's bedroom while she learned how to diddle herself. Merlin, he didn't know whether he was going to have to Obliviate or arrest himself when he got home. Maybe both. Yes, both was good.

Working her fingers gently, Hermione tried to discover what felt best, thinking of Ron all the while. She had to stuff her other hand into her mouth to make sure she didn't get too loud; the last thing she wanted was to explain this to the other girls. The sensations were strange at first, and she felt a bit stupid, but after a few minutes it began to feel better, and she developed a rhythm.

Panting along with her, Ron sat on the floor with his eyes squeezed shut. "Right now would be the perfect time for a tasteful fade to black!" he gritted out. His fingers dug into the material of his jeans, but he refused to watch her or touch himself, although that last part was becoming harder and harder to fight. He shifted in a futile effort to find relief. Her frustration at her lack of release was equal to his, and he knew it wasn't going to get any better. At this point, he knew her body better than she did, and the way she was touching herself wasn't going to get the job done. But Hermione wasn't the sort to give up quickly, and he wondered how long he was going to have to suffer. Why did women's bodies have to be so complicated? For men, it was simply up, down, and repeat, add pressure and speed to taste.

She was so close, she could feel herself teetering on the edge! But nothing she did was quite enough, and she couldn't bring herself that last little bit to completion. With a huff, she gave up, her nightgown twisted around her hips, sweat dripping from her temples. She had heard that it took time to figure out the best way to achieve orgasm, and now she could believe it. Still, it had been quite pleasurable even without finishing, and she wouldn't mind doing it again. With a guilty start, she realized she had just tried to get herself off while thinking of her best friend. Her best friend, whom she apparently fancied. Was it really that bad? It was something most people did, and Ron himself was probably no stranger to the act. She would feel better if she had some sort of permission, but it wasn't as if she could pop up at breakfast and say, 'Good morning, Ron. I fingered myself thinking about you last night, and was wondering if you wouldn't mind if I made it a habit. Pass the toast, please.'

Ron laughed out loud. At one point her doing so would have been the answer to his (usually wet) dreams, but at this particular time would have just fried his brain.

She was being silly. What she was doing was perfectly natural for a girl her age, and nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, masturbation was an efficient way to deal with stress, and she certainly had enough of that. Besides, this was just a passing fancy. In a few months at the most she would get over it, so there was no reason to make such a fuss. She would enjoy it while she could, do her best not to make a fool of herself, and then go back to being nothing more than best friends. Her mind at ease and her body relaxed, she melted into sleep, perfectly content.

Sure, easy for her. She didn't have a stiff one in her trousers now, did she? Discomfort aside, the whole thing was pretty amazing. He knew Hermione was a passionate person, but for some reason, he had never thought that she had any real physical interest in him for very long before they got together. It was odd, but flattering, to know that it was he and not Harry that had sparked such a desire in her. She had admitted to physical attraction, but she was still denying that she had any deeper feelings for him. But that wouldn't last long, because Hermione didn't like to lie, even to herself. From the Yule Ball to about the end of sixth year, this would have been enough to start with; But from his seventeenth birthday on, he would have traded this scene for even the smallest hint of love. He knew it was coming, but it felt as if it couldn't come fast enough. Hermione's love for him had always been mysterious to him, and being so close to finally having answers was driving him mental.

The air shuddered around him, and he knew that the next memory wouldn't be long, but it would be important. The darkness began to fade away, and he was in a familiar dimly lit room, the panic from Hermione's beating heart thudding in time with his.

Hermione was about to die, and her mind might be filled with a hundred tiny regrets, but she was too busy concentrating on standing upright to worry about things like that. To summarize; a homicidal maniac bent on murdering one of her best friends had dragged her other best friend into the Shrieking Shack, breaking his leg while luring them into a trap. No one knew where they were, their cries would go unheard, and they had absolutely no means of defending themselves. To her left, Harry was looking rather unstable himself, and on his other side, Ron looked just about ready to pass out from the pain he must be in. Alright, that left her to think of something, but nothing came to her. Try as she might, the only thing happening was the rapid burnout of her brain as the gears spun uselessly. Harry stepped forward, murder in his eyes, and it was all she could do to hold him back; Ron hung onto his other arm, using the weight of his swaying body to help her hold Harry. She pleaded with Harry, but Ron was speaking to Black, his voice filled with a determination she rarely heard. Here he was, a fourteen year old boy with a broken leg, facing down a crazed killer, telling him that he was willing to die for his friend. Suddenly, everything else faded into the background, and the boy next to her was all she could see. Things twisted and clicked into place with an ease and rightness that would have made her laugh in any other situation.

Hadn't she said, little more than a year ago, what kind of man she would fall in love with? No, not her silly little list of silly little girl dreams. She had said that she wanted a man who was brave, whose actions would match his bold words. Someone who could be counted on to do the right thing, who would stand up for others. And there he was, red hair, freckles, large feet and an even larger appetite; rude, insensitive Ron Weasley. And he was wonderful. Not perfect, not even in the neighborhood, but wonderful all the same. And she knew that it was more than just a passing fancy, or a surge of hormones. She cared deeply for him, and there could be something between them if it was given a chance. Marvellous, Hermione. The subject of your adolescent yearnings and revelations are riveting, but maybe you could concentrate on the little matter of getting out of here alive before you go back to swooning.

Thoughts of Ron were shoved to the back of her mind for later, along with a mental note to determine just when her inner voice began to sound disturbingly like Snape.

Ron stared, his face blank with shock. That was it? He looked pitiful, barely able to stand without leaning on Harry. Yeah, he had meant what he said, but it wasn't really that special, was it? For some reason, he had thought the moment would be bigger, with more fanfare, but Hermione had accepted it as fact, and the world moved on as usual. Of course, she would probably try to talk herself out of it later, and she would have doubts along the way, but this was it. It wasn't fully formed, but it started here, this something that was no longer just friendship, this something that was something more. But maybe it was better this way. Because, when he thought about it, the moment was definitely him. Afraid, confused, probably doing something stupid, but trying like hell to do the right thing. Merlin knows he didn't always succeed, but he tried. And that's what Hermione was seeing; not all the words and bluster he normally tried to hide behind. Here he was just...Ron. And that was what she wanted. He looked at himself again, thinking that maybe he didn't seem quite so pathetic after all.

The moment was up, but Ron didn't look away until the very end. He needed to remember this, when times were low, and the doubts crept in. All he needed to be to make Hermione happy was in that boy he had been. Nothing fancy, or powerful. Just him. Yes, he had gotten better about being sensitive (not great, but better), and yeah, he had come up in the world a bit, but this right here was the core, and it hadn't really changed at all. Except that this had been one of his rare moments of being a man, and he knew that this Ron would go on to be just a big a prat as he was before. And yet, he was a man now, and seeing this eased many of the worries of failure that had been plaguing him in the last few months. If he could show that kind of strength at fourteen, then at twenty three, chances were he was even better. And maybe that was what Hermione had been trying to tell him this whole time.

The fear of the Shack was replaced by the hush of the hospital room, early morning sunlight streaming through the windows behind Hermione. He followed her down the aisle to his bed, which was behind a screen.

Hermione tiptoed across the room quietly, in case there were any other patients besides Ron. They had had a good talk last night, and she wanted to make sure his leg wasn't bothering him anymore. He had been given a potion for the pain, but it should be nearly time for it to wear off. Rounding the side of the screen, the sight that met her brought her up short. There was Ron, deeply asleep and snoring with a small smile on his face.

...And cuddling Harry like an oversized teddy bear.

Ron's hands covered his face, muffling his groan. Bleeding hell, he had heard about this part, but watching was even worse. Pain potions always made him a bit wonky, and sadly, this wasn't the only embarrassing moment it had caused.

Harry looked up at her with panic in his wide green eyes, giving a futile wiggle. "Hermione, thank Merlin! Help me!"

She raised her hand to her mouth, but it didn't hide her smirk. "Oh my! Should I give you two a moment? I can come back later."

"Ha ha. Do you hear that? I'm laughing. Now could you stop being clever and help me? I've been stuck like this for the last hour! His leg may be broken, but he's got a grip like a pro wrestler!"

"Why don't you just wake him up? Ron? Ron, it's time to get up now," she said loudly.

"You think I haven't tried that? He won't wake up, I tell you!"

The only reaction from Ron was to wrap his arms tighter around Harry, nuzzling his face into his neck.

Harry bucked wildly. "Damn it, I can feel his lips on my skin! His. Lips!"

Taking pity on him, Hermione moved to the side of the bed and began to try to pry Ron's arms apart. Harry helped, squirming lower down the bed. He was nearly free, but before Hermione could move away, she was pulled in, an unwilling replacement for Harry.

"Ron, stop it! This isn't funny! Ron!" she yelled, kicking her legs uselessly. She had discovered her feelings for him less than twelve hours ago; it was far too early to be leaping into bed with him!

At the foot of the bed, Harry stood and adjusted his glasses, his hair even more hopelessly tangled than usual. "Well now, maybe I should be giving you two a moment? You look to be a better fit than I was," he waggled his eyebrows, a smarmy grin on his face.

She glared at him. Where did he get off, thinking this was funny? "Harry, help! He's crushing my ribs!"

His grin got wider. "And risk getting pulled back in myself? Nuh-uh."

Ron rubbed his cheek against her, muttering, "'Mione."

Well. Yes. This would have to happen with a witness.

"How cute, he recognizes you! And he's given you a new nickname, too! Wonder why we never thought to call you that."

"Don't you dare! You start that, and I swear I'll call you Harold from now on!" Hermione snarled.

Harry cocked his head to the side. "But Hermione...my name isn't Harold."

"And my name isn't 'Mione! The only reason Ron's getting away with it is because he's drugged out of his mind! Now, get me out of here!"

The door opened, and voices entered the room. Hermione paused, hoping whoever it was would be able to help her.

"D'you think he's up yet? I'd say we had time to eat first, if I didn't know Mum would have our heads."

"Oh, shut up, Fred. He broke his leg, the least we could do is look in on him," came a second, higher voice.

Hermione groaned. Perfect. She should have known they would show up. Ginny wouldn't be so bad, but the twins! They lived to find her in positions like this, to throw back at her whenever she got too naggy. She rarely gave them anything, but here she was, trussed up like a Christmas goose.

Ron's siblings came around the screen, shock filling their faces. The twins began to cackle madly, leaning into each other. Even Ginny was amused to a degree that Hermione found unwholesome.

"Lookit, Fred! Our ickle Ronniekins has become a man! Although I am a bit surprised at you, Hermione, but I guess even you were helpless against the Weasley charm in the end. Or what little of it Ron has."

Fred gave George a push. "Quick, go get Colin and that camera of his. This is way too good to pass up; I bet Ron's ears will melt clean off his head when he sees this!"

"Yes, why don't you do that? Then we can all have photographic proof that Ron got a girl in bed before you two prats." Ginny drawled sarcastically.

The twins glared at her. "Way to go and ruin our fun, Gin," George sulked.

"Ginny!" Hermione wailed, wishing she could evaporate.

"Sorry, just trying to help. But you have to admit, it's pretty hilarious."

"I'm laughing on the inside. Do any of you know of a way to get him to move? Nothing Harry or I do seems to work."

"Well that's because you're not doing it right, are you?" Fred asked.

"Pathetic, really. The two of you should know what motivates Ron by now," George agreed.

Hermione looked at Harry, and saw he was just as confused as she was. "What?"

The twins stepped away, bowing and motioning Ginny forward. She cleared her throat.

"RON! BREAKFAST'S ON!" she bellowed, her voice sounding just like Mrs. Weasley.

Instantly Ron sprang into a sitting position, sending her tumbling to the floor. "Save some bacon for me!"

She pulled herself up, blushing at Ron's bewildered face as he stared at her from under sleep tousled fringe.

"Hermione? What...what were you doing in my bed?" he squeaked, drawing his covers up higher.

George patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, little brother. Fred and I are here to defend your virtue. Unless something happened last night that you'd care to tell us about?"

Hermione threw her pillow at him, just as Ron hit him with his.

"What are you even doing in here? No, let me guess. Mum made you?"

"You wound us! And here we went through the effort of taking up a collection of sweets for you last night!" Fred exclaimed.

Ron brightened. "Let's have them, then!"

Harry sat next to Hermione, and they shared a look, knowing what was coming.

"Well, we took a percentage. Here's what was left after our cut." Fred handed him a few foul colored beans.

"You bleeding tossers! You stuck me with the gross ones on purpose!"

Hermione watched as the Weasleys squabbled amongst themselves, while Harry laughed beside her. Her attention was focused on Ron, and what she had nearly let slip last night. In all the excitement, she had almost told him how she felt, but had held back at the last minute. She was still taking it all in herself, and she had no idea how he might react. And...she didn't think Ron was ready for a serious relationship. A real one required commitment and responsibility, two things Ron generally loathed. No, he wasn't ready yet, but to be honest, she probably wasn't, either. They had only recently become friends again after a huge fight, and she didn't think it needed the strain of adding anything more serious. And the thought of a relationship like that was a bit scary, because she knew that she would take it seriously, and it would hurt if he didn't want it as much as she did.

Even so, she knew that when she was ready, she wanted to try it with Ron. There was something there, she could tell, but now wasn't the right time. She would give him a chance to grow up a bit. Maybe next year, they would be ready. Or maybe it would be the year after that. She didn't mind. He was worth waiting for. She just hoped that it wouldn't be too long...

Sorry love, but it seems that it takes nearly four years for a teaspoon to fill to that emotional level. On the plus side, it means I didn't rush you into anything you weren't ready for, right? Ha. He knew she was right, that it had been too soon for them, but it wasn't much comfort. Not when he thought about all the petty little (and some not so little) ways they had pushed each other out of frustration. Why, fourth year alone...wait, fourth year. That was what was coming up next. His expression turned sour.

"Krum."


	15. Chapter 15

Guilt was a familiar feeling for Ron, not that that made it any easier to bear. Being wrong was also familiar, and sometimes he thought he ate more crow than he did chicken. He would never admit it, but Hermione had been right. Harry shouldn't have gone to Hogsmeade, and he was partially to blame. Harry might have listened to him, especially if he had told him he would stay at the castle, too. And what had they even gotten out of it? A couple of trick teacups and some sweets? If Lupin hadn't shown up, Harry would be in deep shit. Where the guilt really came in was knowing that he had egged Harry on mainly to make Hermione mad. He was still fighting their stupid little war, and Harry had very nearly been a casualty.

But she was always so sure that she was right, so damn smug, that he couldn't resist the chance to pull something off without her. If he and Harry had made it back without a hitch, they could have rubbed it in her face for ages, as proof that she wasn't the only one who could be clever.

Well, maybe she was. Because he had been bloody useless, hadn't he. He had barely managed to choke out a feeble lie. Hermione would've come up with something that not only got them out of trouble, but she would've managed to get the map back too.

His faith was flattering, but he was overestimating her. Aside from not leaving the castle in the first place, she couldn't think of anything that would have kept Harry out of trouble. Ron had done the best that the situation allowed for, but, as usual, he didn't give himself credit.

He trudged up the stairs next to Harry, angry at himself and the situation in general. Hermione was at the top, and seeing her made his temper flair. He knew he wasn't being fair, but she was easy to lash out at, and he needed a good fight. Of course, that was until the news about Buckbeak took the wind out of his sails. With everything that had been going on, he had nearly forgotten about the wrongfully accused hippogriff. As long as he was still swallowing his guilt about Harry, he might as well have a second serving. Pity he didn't have any gravy to make it go down a bit easier. Hermione had probably been tearing the library apart looking for anything that could help the case, which would explain why she looked dead on her feet. She shouldn't have had to do it alone. He and Harry...they had let her down. Maybe they had good reason, and maybe she had been to blame, too, but they had still let her down.

Of all her possible reactions, he hadn't expected her to throw herself at him, sobbing! At Harry, sure, but not him! His collar might never stand up properly again, it was so soaked with her tears, and she showed no sign of detaching. What was he supposed to do? She was pressed right up against him, as close as she could get, except for something blocking the way between them. Something soft, yet firm. Sort of round, and...squishy. What did she have under her robes? He raised a hand to shift whatever it was out of the way, and then it hit him. MERLIN'S WITHERED COCK, THOSE WERE TITS! They were bigger than before! How did she do that? Granted, they had been hidden under layers of robes and her uniform for nearly eight months, but still. Not that they were huge or anything; she had ages to go before she was in say, Madam Rosmerta's class, but they definitely seemed a bit bigger than they had at the end of August. And now they were pressed into him. And he had been about to latch onto one like a Seeker going after a Snitch! Awkwardly, he diverted the path of his hand, ending up patting her head. She gave a weird sort of shuddery sigh before breaking away, leaving him slightly dizzy.

Oh, the mental processes of teenage boys. Reducing what should have been a heartwarming moment into a contemplation on the dynamics of breast growth. She couldn't even bring herself to be irritated, especially since it was her breasts he was so interested in. Besides, he was fourteen. It was a natural reaction, and he hadn't gone ahead and copped a feel like most boys would. Of course, he probably knew he would pull back a bloody stump if he did, but points given where points were due.

Just when he thought he couldn't be any more surprised, Hermione apologized for Scabbers. He had imagined this moment in his head, in a dozen different ways. In some, he held it over her head, reveling in the fact that he was right and she was wrong. In others, he forgave her magnanimously, while she went all dewy-eyed over his kindness. The reality...was a little underwhelming. He didn't care anymore about who was wrong and who had been right. And the idea of Hermione going all simpering and adoring was ridiculous; wasn't the fact that she wasn't fluttery and giggly like other girls one of the things he liked best about her? Choking out a reply, he couldn't help returning the grin she gave him. How long had it been since he had seen her smile? He had missed it. He had missed her. Hagrid was right; the whole thing had been pointless. Someday, he might even admit it to her.

She wasn't sure this counted as admitting, but she would take it. Hard not to, when he was feeling so affectionate towards her. Or was it towards her breasts? His attention kept wavering. No wonder he took so long to realize his feelings for her; his yo-yoing blood never stayed in the right head long enough for him to figure it out. Not that she had much room to talk; she had spent a fair amount of time admiring the fit of his trousers. Back and front. There were benefits to snug hand me downs...yes. Carrying on.

Where were they? Oh yes; reparation of friendship, worry over Buckbeak, and breast appreciation. Time had moved forward while she was thinking, and now they were standing at the front door of Hagrid's hut.

Ron followed Harry and Hermione out, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he had the last few nights when they'd come to visit. Crying people always made him nervous; he had no idea what to do, and usually ended up saying something to make it worse. And Hagrid didn't cry like normal people. Ron wasn't sure his ribs could take another crushing hug, but he would try to endure it if he could trade a punctured lung for Hermione not being set off by the large man's tears. Hermione was volatile enough at the best of times, but recently the smallest thing could get her going, and between her and Hagrid, he was beginning to feel rather like a human handkerchief.

And he was as upset about Buckbeak as the rest of them, he just...had a harder time showing it. Things like tears and distress were something you learned to mask early on when you had as many siblings as he did, and the result was that at times he came across as less than sympathetic. Which, to be fair, was sometimes the case; there were times even he had trouble telling when he was being insensitive or if he was just doing a bang up job of hiding his true feelings. Harry was a bit more open, but when he was upset, he brooded. When Ron was upset, he found it easier to get angry. So far, he had put most of his energy into helping Hermione look things up to help Buckbeak; a frustrating task, and one that sucked the energy right out of him. Harry was just as tired as he was, and Hermione...he didn't know what was up with her.

And now here was that albino bastard Malfoy and his two gargoyles. Why couldn't they shut up about Hagrid? They had caused enough trouble already, and he was in no mood to let another snotty comment pass. He could feel the anger building, and the urge to reach for his wand was so strong that-

What

the

HELL!

Hermione had just smacked Malfoy a good one, and looked like she was going back for more! He tried to hold her hand back, even though he had no idea why. She fought him off and pulled her wand, and for one tiny, flashing moment, he almost felt sorry for Malfoy. And then he didn't again. Nifty how that worked out. Hermione probably knew fifty ways to flay his skin and boil his guts, all while keeping him alive as she did it. And from the wild look on her face, he would be lucky if that was all she did. Draco must have sensed that, because he had enough brains to retreat.

Ron knew his mouth was hanging open to his chest, but he couldn't be bothered to close it. What had gotten into her? Hadn't she said she would never physically attack someone? That it was against her oh-so-morally-upright code of ethics? Maybe that wasn't Hermione at all; maybe she had been Polyjuiced. He hoped not, because that had been bloody amazing! It had been scary in a way, but it also had his insides churning in a manner that had nothing to do with fear. There was something...new about Hermione, but he couldn't put his finger on it. She had been all furious and fiery and...and...something.

As he staggered back to the castle behind her, he tried to pinpoint what it was, but had no luck. All he knew was that it made him excited and uneasy at the same time, so it was probably good that this was a one-time thing. Harry looked stunned as well, and they shared confused shrugs. Whatever her deal was, they were both just glad that it hadn't been aimed at them. Ron promised himself he would never do anything to get her that riled up at him; Unlike Malfoy, he wouldn't be lucky enough to have someone there to hold her back, and he preferred not to find out first hand what kind of damage she was capable of inflicting.

Hermione followed them, smiling in amusement. There had been a definite spike of attraction when she had hit Malfoy, and she remembered how much her younger self had enjoyed the attention. It was just another example proving that Ron had always been looking at her, even if it took him awhile to actually see her. It would have been nice if he had kept his promise to himself, but she figured she would see the reason for that during sixth year, a period she was not looking forward to viewing.

The doorway into Hogwarts opened into Gryffindor tower, specifically the stairs leading to the boys' dorm. Ron was shuffling down, plaid dressing gown thrown over too short pajamas.

Ron had been sleeping off and on, his mind too busy to let him fully rest. A sandwich had sounded like a good idea (food of any kind generally sounded like a good idea), and he had decided to go down and see if there were any left from earlier. Hopefully someone had remembered to put a Freshening Charm on them, and wouldn't mind if he helped himself. He needed a good nosh to help him think over his day. It had been a weird day; a really weird day. And it all centered around Hermione.

Now, the whole smacking Malfoy bit he could completely understand, and even found himself reliving the moment just to enjoy the sheer, beautiful joy of Malfoy's shitting-his-pants expression. That alone would have given him enough to think about, but she just kept topping herself. In all of the time he had known Hermione, she had never missed a lesson unless she was in the hospital wing, and even then, it was unwillingly. So when she never showed up for Charms, he had been amazed. If there really were seven wonders of the world, Hermione missing a lesson would be the eighth. The only thing that had kept him from being worried was the effect of the Cheering Charms, and even that only served to dim his concern. When it wore off at lunch and she still wasn't there, both he and Harry were nervous enough to go looking for her. Skipping Charms was bad enough, but the last thing she needed to do was miss a meal, even though that wasn't unheard of. But as peaky as she had been looking lately, he had been pushing food on her at every turn. Bloody hell, he was turning into Mum! He prayed the twins wouldn't find out, or they'd be forcing him into one of her dresses. Again.

When they had found her asleep in the Common Room, he could tell she was pushing herself too hard. It had been a relief when she had woken up her usual bossy self, and he was glad that she was distracted by her mistake enough to forget her depression over Buckbeak. He had thought the day was back on track when they had all met for Divination, but again, she had done something completely un-Hermionelike. Divination was a bunk lesson; that was one of the few school related matters he could agree with her on. And while he loathed sitting through Trelawney being all dramatically mysterious and upsetting Harry, he loved the fact that during this one lesson, he could get Hermione to join in when he and Harry got snarky. The three of them would sit at their table and mutter jokes and insults, and Hermione's wit was always sharp and cutting.

And things had gone normally for a while, and then without any warning, Hermione and Trelawney were tossing barbs back and forth, and he was wondering if he should take cover under the table. That might have been a good idea, but he was too fascinated by the unheard of sight of Hermione giving lip to a professor to move. Her hair had frizzed out and her eyes were snapping, and she was snarling as she shot to her feet. The movement nearly knocked him off of the ridiculous pouf he had been sitting on, but she didn't seem to notice. Ordinarily that would have been a shot to his fragile self esteem, but this was anything but ordinary. Not only was she disrespecting an authority figure, but she was walking out on a lesson, and wouldn't be continuing Divination! That was...was...well, it was bloody brilliant! He had dreamed of doing something like that (mostly Potions) for years, but she was actually doing it! 'Course, that meant Divination would be even more boring, but it was worth it to see her send that crystal ball rolling, and marching to the trapdoor with a toss of her hair.

And speaking of that hair, it was at this moment spread over the table in the corner unless he was very much mistaken. He stepped closer, squinting in the light of the fire. Yeah, that was Hermione alright. Books were scattered and stacked precariously all around her, and it looked as if she hadn't meant to doze off there. A quill was still held loosely in her right hand, ink blotting the parchment underneath. Carefully he removed it, but the ink had already dried on the notes, so he merely set the quill aside, and put the lid on the ink bottle. He sighed. Even though they were back to being friends, he still hadn't gotten her to say what was going on. If she kept going at this pace, he was afraid he was going to have to go to McGonagall. It was the last thing he wanted to do, especially after the grief he had given her for doing the same thing, but she was cracking up. If she wouldn't let him and Harry help, what choice did he have? The thought made him squirm uncomfortably, keenly aware that this had probably been her exact same reasoning about the Firebolt. Maybe he would give it another day or two.

A soft snore drew his eyes downward, but her face was totally obscured by a large hank of hair. As she inhaled, some was sucked in, and she choked on it, before spitting it out. Deciding she was better off getting some rest, even if she would be sore in the morning, he reached down to move the hair away. The strands seemed to have a life of their own as they twined around his fingers, and he remembered a question he had last year. When she had screwed herself up with the Polyjuice, he had accidently ended up stroking her tail. The fur had been soft and fluffy, and he wondered if her hair had the same texture, or if it was a side affect of being part cat. Now, he discovered, it wasn't. Hermione's hair looked like it would feel wiry, frizzy as it always was, but while it was springy, it was also very soft. It felt strange between his fingers, different from his own straight hair. In the flickering firelight, he noticed that not only had he been wrong about that, but her hair wasn't the color he had always thought it was, either.

If asked, he would have told anyone without hesitation that Hermione's hair was brown. Not an exciting color, but as a ginger, one he sometimes envied. Tonight he saw that that wasn't quite true; it was brown, but it wasn't just one flat color. Lighter shades glinted in the light, while darker shades blended into the shadows. There was even the slightest hint of red about them, if you looked hard. Finding himself trying to count the different colors, he suddenly dropped the chunk of hair he had been holding, his nose wrinkling up as he backed away. What the fuck was he doing? If Fred and George had slipped him something, he was going to murder them. How else could he explain why he was standing here thinking of Hermione's hair of all things, when there were sandwiches waiting to be eaten? Mental. Completely mental.

Finding that someone had in fact left several roast beef sandwiches out with a note for anyone to help themselves, he began to happily munch away, pushing all follicular related thoughts to the back of his mind, where he stored anything he didn't want to question too closely. The snack was dealt with quickly, and he brushed the crumbs off of his chest as he licked his fingers. Thinking that now he would be able to get some sleep, he turned to head back upstairs, but hesitated when his sleeping friend gave a small groan. He paused. It was a little cold down here, even with the fire. Quickly, he jerked a striped blanket off the back of one of the sofas, and draped it across her shoulders, turning away as she snuggled into it.

"Soft. I'm getting soft," he muttered, climbing the stairs. At least no one had seen him. It was bad enough that he was practically hand feeding her, the last thing he needed was for his brothers to catch him tucking her in. With his luck, they'd probably be able to make up one of their annoying little songs with that kind of material.

Practically skipping, Hermione climbed the stairs beside him. It might be a little silly, but she was touched by his attention to her hair, even if there was a layer of self disgust that he felt along with it. That part didn't really bother her, surprisingly. He didn't mean anything personal by it; he was still fighting his growing feelings, and was also afraid of being teased. But hair was slightly above breasts on the romantic scale, and she hadn't honestly expected anything like that for quite a while. This also gave her insight into a quirk he had. Ever since they had gotten together, whenever they were sitting next to each other (usually on the sofa of an evening), he would play with a small strand of her hair, twisting it back and forth softly between his fingers. He always had such a pleased look of concentration, but he would never tell her what he was thinking. After the first few times where he got flustered and embarrassed, moving his hand away, she stopped asking. It was a comforting, strangely intimate gesture that she enjoyed, and having some history to go with it would make it even more special to her now.

She watched as Ron crawled under his covers, and when he started to fall asleep, she prepared herself for a new scene. It didn't come; instead, there was a hazy moment while he was asleep, and with a flush of embarrassment, she realized what kind of dream he was having. Even without being emotionally connected it would be obvious by the way his lower body was thrusting into the mattress, along with the familiar sound of his moans. Just as she was about to bury her face in the curtains it was over, and he lay still, his mind foggy and half asleep.

Ron rolled onto his back, grunting in disgust at the sticky sensation in his pants. Ugh. These dreams would be great, if it wasn't for the mess they left afterwards. Even with the special secret Cleaning Charm that had been passed down from Weasley brother to Weasley brother, it was a pain to clean up. The other annoying thing was that he never really remembered what they had been about once he woke up. Which wasn't fair, because they were obviously something he enjoyed. And judging by the evidence of his latest...explosion, he had enjoyed this one more than most.

He thought hard, trying to pull up any detail of his dream that might be lingering. There was nothing. Nothing but hair. Lots and lots of hair. And prominent...teeth. Teeth? Teeth! Giving a yelp, he shot up into a sitting position. There was only one girl who fit that description, but it couldn't be! It mustn't, it shouldn't! Sweet buggering Merlin, he had just nearly humped a hole into his mattress over Hermione Granger!

No. Nononononononono. He couldn't say it enough, so he said it again. No. This was Hermione, bossy, know-it-all, nagging best friend Hermione. He rubbed his face, ignoring the drying stain on his pajamas. He had a bigger mess to worry about. Calm down, Ron. Breathe. Think about this logically; there had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. It was impossible that he was attracted to her. They were friends, best friends, and that was all. It would be as ridiculous as being attracted to Harry, and he as sure as hell wasn't that. And even their friendship had just recovered from a heavy hit, so anything more than that was never going to happen. They were just too different. Besides, even if he wanted it, he wouldn't risk it. He had just experienced what it was like without her, and now that they were friends again, he didn't want to lose that. So why had she just starred in one of his wettest dreams to date? She was alright looking, he supposed, but nothing that should work him up like that. And he didn't even see much of her body, just a vague outline of her-that was it!

Relief washed over him, realizing what must have happened to him. Yesterday, when she had hugged him, he had gotten a good feel of her tits against him, the first ever non-family tits he had ever come in contact with. That was a perfectly normal thing to set any self respecting, randy fourteen year old bloke off, and randiness was the one area he felt he excelled at. Add the fact that he had been missing her, and had focussed on her all day yesterday, and it was really no surprise that she had found her way into his dreams. Besides, she was the girl he had the most contact with. Even Harry had probably had a dream or two about her. The thought left an oddly sour taste in his mouth, but he ignored it.

He would just forget this had ever happened. It was dumb and wrong and impossible, no matter how many sly looks and comments he got from Ginny and the twins. That in itself proved it; nothing they ever suggested had a chance of coming true for him, and this wasn't any different. Hermione was his best friend, and he planned on keeping it that way. As long as one or the other (or both) of them didn't fuck it up like they had this year. Friends. Really, really good friends. A friend he occasionally dreamed about in a sexual manner. But that would be a secret he took to his grave, and it wasn't likely to happen very often, anyway. Nope. Not often at all...

Interesting. He was attracted to her specifically, as much as he tried to deny it to himself. And she had witnessed, and felt, many instances of affection for her, as well. For the most part, he was well on his way to being in love. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he could have understood that by now, but he just wasn't ready for that. Ron wasn't stupid, but his emotional development was just a little bit slower than normal, while hers had been just a bit faster. It had frustrated her terribly when she was younger, but that wasn't very fair. You couldn't choose when your emotions matured, any more than you could your body. That was another part of the problem. Ron's body had grown quickly, making him look slightly older than he was. Not a lot, but enough to subconsciously raise her expectations of his non-physical qualities. Ron was also very good at covering his softer feelings with a layer of gruffness and sarcasm, and she took it at face value more often than she should. Which was irritating, because she had known that about him, but usually forgot in the heat of the moment. Plus, Ron was stubborn. It was going to take a strong blast to get his attention, and she had a feeling she knew what, or who, that was.

The mattress beneath her became lumpier, and she realized that she was no longer in the same bed, but was now in the hospital wing instead of the dorm. it was dark, and Ron was in pain, the potion having worn off between doses. It was on his bedside table, but he hadn't taken it yet. Hermione sat cross-legged at the foot, watching his chest rise and fall under the sheet, her own leg aching sympathetically.

Ron stared up at the ceiling, shifting uselessly to find a comfortable position for his leg. It was time for him to take the potion that had been left, but he wasn't ready to fall asleep quite yet. Everything had happened so fast this evening, and he was still trying to process all of it. Especially the half of it he had been unconscious. The whole thing with Buckbeak had made him sick. His dad had told him stories about some of the injustices committed in the name of the law since he was a little kid, but this was the first time he had ever seen it close at hand. Well, Hagrid being sent to Azkaban and Dumbledore being kicked out last year had been pretty bad, but that had been fixed, and no one had died. Buckbeak hadn't even done anything wrong; it was all that git Malfoy's fault. They had all tried so hard to find something to get him off, and Hermione had taken it especially hard. All thoughts of the hippogriff had fled his mind, however, when his lousy rat had decided to come back from the dead.

Aside from shock, his first reaction had been to be happy. Scabbers wasn't the most impressive animal, but he had been his, and had at least provided a bit of nonjudgmental company. He gave a shiver of disgust. When he thought of all the nights that the fake rat had curled up on the pillow next to him...to tell the truth, he felt kind of violated. As he had struggled to control his pet, his happiness had been dimmed by the thought of his fight with Hermione. It had all been for nothing. Weeks of stupid, pointless silence punctuated only by the random nasty insults, and her cat had been innocent after all. He wouldn't blame her for gloating, but she had been nice enough not to say anything about it.

But the surprise of his rat's return had been overshadowed by being dragged off by that ginormous black dog. He had genuinely thought it was going to kill him, and had very nearly pissed himself. And very nearly shat himself as well when the dog had bent and twisted out of shape, only to turn out to be Sirius Black. Those few minutes of being trapped alone in the Shack with the madman with death in his eyes had been the most terrifying of his life, and he had been relieved when Harry and Hermione had shown up. Until it clicked that there was nothing they could do, and were in as much danger as he was. He wasn't sure where he had gotten the guts to stand up to Sirius. It must have been the delirium from the pain of his broken leg. He had never broken a bone before, and he had been caught between howling in agony and passing out. But what else could he do? Even at three to one their odds were basically hopeless, but there was still a slim possibility of Harry pulling off one of his Boy Who Lived moves, or Hermione coming up with a plan to save their arses. The least he could do was buy them some time.

From the end of the bed, Hermione glared. She had always considered this one of Ron's shining moments, showcasing his bravery and loyalty, and she hated how he belittled himself, as if he thought he was only good enough for cannon fodder.

Then had come the whole confusing mess with Scabbers that wasn't Scabbers, Lupin, Sirius, and Snape. Surprise, surprise, he had been the one to be knocked out and missed all of the good stuff. Waking up in the hospital wing, he had been dazed and confused, and Harry and Hermione had had to fill him in. Actually, Hermione had done most of the talking. Harry had looked drained, and he could tell that he was thinking about his parents again. He always got this same look on his face, and Ron never really knew what to say. Hermione was better at getting him to talk, while he took the route of distracting him from morbid thoughts. It looked like both he and Hermione's skills would have to be put to use tomorrow.

To do that effectively, he was going to have to get over the niggling jealousy that wouldn't leave him alone. Okay, so he knew he had been knocked out, and had a broken leg on top of that, but being left out still stung. He might not have been able to be much help, but he would've tried. The only bright side was that at least now, he knew how Hermione had been pulling off her lessons.

A rustling sound interrupted his thoughts, and he tensed up, even though the danger was supposedly over. A weight landed on the bed, and large, glowing eyes stared at him out of the darkness. He glared at the beast for a moment, then plopped his head back on his pillow.

"So, you've finally come to kill me. Can't say as I blame you. I accused you of raticide, attacked you a few times, and made your owner miserable. So go ahead, use those cleavers you call claws to slash my throat open. Just try to do it in one go; I'd hate to linger."

Crookshanks stalked up the bed, paused, and then leapt gracefully onto the middle of Ron's chest, raising one paw. Ron shut his eyes, waiting for the strike. A moment later, a paw patted his forehead softly, as the cat began to purr. Slowly, carefully, Ron reached out his hand to stroke him. When his flesh wasn't sliced from his bones, he took that as a good sign. This was the first time he'd really had a moment with Crookshanks when he wasn't trying to skin him alive, and he grudgingly admitted that he seemed to be a decent enough animal. A bit like one of Hagrid's rock cakes in a fur suit, but not the murderous little sod that he had originally thought.

Footsteps approached from behind the screen by his bed, and Hermione's head popped around the corner. "Crookshanks, there you are!" she hissed.

Quietly, she moved to the bed, scooping the cat up with a grunt. "Sorry, Ron. He got loose. I'll get him out of your way."

"He's fine. Now that I don't have the scent of rat on me, he's not so keen to eat my face off. Is Harry asleep?"

He moved his good leg over as she sat down on the edge of the bed. "I think so. There was a sound that may have been snoring coming from his bed, but I didn't stop to look. Speaking of being asleep, why aren't you? Is your leg hurting again?"

" A little, but I have a potion for that. But it knocks me out, and I wanted to think for a while. A lot happened today, didn't it? Of course, I was out of it for the exciting bit, but it sounds like you didn't really need me, anyway."

"That's not true! You know we would've taken you with us if we had been able to! But not only were you unconscious, but you had a broken leg, so it's not like we had a choice. Besides, at least one of us was safe. I nearly had a heart attack when Sirius dragged you off, earlier. You could've been killed!"

Damn. it was hard to stay offended when she put it like that. She had obviously been worried, and that perked him up. Until he remembered something else, and a new wave of anger overtook him.

"Could've been killed? Oh, that's rich, coming from someone who's been running around with a Time-Turner all year! Don't you know that St. Mungo's has a whole ward just for people who've messed with those things? That is, when they can find enough of them to scrape up off the ground. What the hell were you thinking? No, please. Don't tell me you did this just to keep up with your insane schedule?"

"Well, yes, but it isn't like I didn't have permission. Professor McGonagall was supervising me, so it wasn't all that big of a deal. I only used it for things like my lessons, not anything dangerous," she spoke defensively, her chin thrust out.

"Not dangerous? Not dangerous? Listen to yourself! You're always on top of me and Harry, and then you go and pull something like this. They're against the law for a reason! You know, I considered that you were using one for about two seconds when I noticed how strange you were acting, but I couldn't believe it. And then you didn't even tell us! I had to find out after you had gone off with Harry, didn't even see the thing 'til you got back!"

Hermione looked abashed. "I'm sorry. It's not like I planned it that way though."

"Yeah, but how do you think I felt? I was the one who knew something was up with you, I was the one who always asked, but Harry gets to find out first," a sick thought hit him. "Wait, did he know the whole time? I mean, I know we had that fight, and Harry's probably always been the nicer one out of the two of us, but-"

"No! Ron, I wasn't allowed to tell anyone! Harry didn't know until last night, and that was only because it was Dumbledore's idea. It was hard, you know? I was able to handle it at first, but then it started to become too much, and I didn't have anyone I could talk to about it. I wanted to tell you, though," she let Crookshanks jump to the floor, and massaged her temples with her fingers.

While happy to hear that he hadn't been completely left out, he was still skeptical. "Sure. You don't have to spare my feelings, Hermione. We both know I'm probably the last person you'd tell. Harry would be a better choice, anyway," he tried not to sound like he was pouting, but was aware he was doing a poor job of it.

Hermione let out a long, gusty sigh. "That's not true. You know I tell you pretty much anything, at least when we aren't fighting like cats and dogs. And you've grown up with magic, so you would be the one to understand what I was talking about. Besides," she paused, looking nervous, "Harry was the last person I could have told about the Time-Turner."

He didn't quite get what she was trying to say. "What do you mean? Harry isn't thick; you wouldn't have to explain too much."

She bit her lip, twisting a thread dangling from the blanket around her finger. "Ron, do you remember when the two of you stayed here for Christmas during first year? When he found that mirror?"

Of course he remembered. Sometimes, he still dreamed about the things he had seen in it himself. Not that they ever had a chance of happening, but it was nice to think about every once and awhile. Although he hadn't been as obsessed as Harry. It was alright to look a few times, but staring at something that you wanted when you knew it was impossible got depressing pretty quick.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"You told me yourself how obsessed he was about it. Going back night after night, just for a look at his parents...knowing that, how could I tell him that I had a Time-Turner?" she asked softly.

Now, he knew that he didn't always pick up on things like other people's feelings and emotions as fast as other people did, but right away he could see that an orphan that had never met his parents, plus a Time-Turner, was a really, really bad idea. If Harry had gotten it into his head to try to see them, or, even worse, save them, he didn't like to think about what could have happened. It would've taken both Hermione and him to keep him from doing something stupid, and if he had tried while the two of them hadn't been speaking...

"Oh. Okay, I can see what a fuck up that could be. But you still could've told me. I know I'm not as brilliant as you, and I've done some pretty dumb stuff lately, but I'm not stupid enough to go messing around with something as dangerous as that," he winced, a sharp pain shooting up his leg.

Hermione noticed, handing him the potion from the bedside table. He swallowed it down, gagging. She traded the empty potion for a glass of water, which he drank gratefully. Already, his head was starting to swim, but he was determined to hang on a little longer.

"You're not stupid, and I know you wouldn't have. Sneaking Harry out of the castle is on a whole different level than fooling around with time, and I know you've heard enough about things like that from your dad not to try it. But it would've been hard for you to keep it from Harry, and if you had seen him tonight...Ron, he really thought his dad was there, and he was so disappointed that he wasn't. Even if I hadn't promised not to tell you, and was willing to put you in that position with him, I couldn't risk the possibility that he might find out. But I promise, I won't hide anything like that from you again, alright?"

His eyes were heavy, and he had to blink them a few times to bring her into focus. "Good. Because I was really starting to worry that you were ill or somethin'."

Hermione stood up, patting him on the shoulder. "I think I was getting pretty close, to be honest. I'm going to go back to my own bed and let you get some sleep, since you look like you're halfway there already."

Clumsily, he reached out and grabbed her wrist as she started to walk away, his mind too clouded to fully register the tiny jump she gave. "Hey. Get rid of that thing, alright? You can't go on like this for the next four years; you'll go barking. And I know sooner or later, I'd end up at the other end of your fist like Malfoy, and I'd rather not."

She giggled. "Ron, don't be ridiculous. I'd never attack you like that!"

He gave a sleepy grin. "Not gonna risk it. Promise you'll do it?"

"I had already decided to give it back tomorrow. I don't really like the effect it was having on me, and now that Harry knows about it, I'd always be worried that he would want to use it."

Still smiling, he let his eyes fall closed. "So, no Time-Turner, no murderer on the loose, and no secrets that I have to try to figure out. Things look smoother already."

Her footsteps moved around the edge of the screen, and then back again. "Ron? Are you still awake?"

Weren't they done? His pillow was so soft, and he had gotten comfortable..."Mhmm."

"There's something I should tell you...I mean, I just wanted to say that I...well, you know..."

He groaned. Why did girls have to be so chatty? "Hermione, you're takin' the long way around that bush. Just spit it out."

"...It's nothing that can't wait. I'll tell you later. Goodnight, Ron."

"Night, Hermione."

What had she wanted? She sounded kinda funny. Well, if it was important, she'd tell him. After all, she had just got done telling him that she wouldn't hide stuff anymore. Which would be nice, since that meant he wouldn't have to stumble around trying to figure out what she was thinking, an impossible task for anyone. And since Hermione didn't break promises, he knew he could count on her to let her know when something was going on with her...

Content that things were settled, he let the potion do its work, his last thought being that it was time to have her over to the Burrow...and Harry. Of course.

Sifting through his mind, Hermione saw that they had gotten their signals crossed. She had promised to tell him about general things like the Time-Turner, but Ron had taken it wrong. He was a very literal, straight forward person, and he had gotten the impression that she would tell him anything that was important. To him, if she didn't come right out and say it, then it wasn't an issue for her. She could see already that one of the reasons he never told her how he felt was because of this. He believed that if she felt that way, then she would tell him. Since she didn't, then she must not think of him like that. Which was ridiculous; for one thing, he didn't want to hear about every little feeling she had, and she had no inclination to be that open in any case. For another thing, even if she was, that wasn't the sort of thing you just came out with.

That was the downside to being best friends with the person you were in love with; you think that you know them so well that you would be able to spot that they were in love with you. When you don't see the signs, you just assume you've lost out, and never consider that the other might be going through the same thing. They shared so much with each other, and it was easy to forget that a romantic confession wouldn't be as easy, that they would have to go through the awkwardness just like everyone else.

She had been so happy that night, when he had been worried about her keeping the Time-Turner. She had still been rather high on adrenaline and the discovery of her own feelings, and had nearly blurted them out. But he had sounded drugged and grumbly, so she had put it off. Which was good, because as much as he cared for her, and as much as he...well, lusted, he wasn't ready for any type of commitment. He was still denying it to himself, trying to keep everything the same, as children growing up often do. It wasn't exactly a bad thing, and she knew that he hadn't meant for it to hurt her, as it would this coming year. But things couldn't stay the same forever, and even Ron would be forced to admit it, and begin to change himself. And like all changes, this one had a catalyst. She closed her eyes, and released a weary breath.

"Viktor."


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Here we are in fourth year! Those of you who thought that I wrote this fic to cover fourth and sixth year, give yourselves half a cookie, because you are partially right. Some people apologize for covering these events so much; I do not. These are significant times in both characters' lives, and they deserve screentime. Please remember that these are two teenagers going through all this for the first time, and their thoughts and emotions will be portrayed accordingly. Yes, sometimes they will overreact and think/say stupid, dramatic things. But didn't we all? Think back to your first love. Go on, do it. Done cringing? Me too. So as you read, cut them some slack, and just be thankful that that time of your life is behind you.

The Yule Ball doesn't occur until the next chapter. But it will be the main event, and there is going to be a third bonus chapter to go along with it (No, not Ball coverage. Two chapters of that is sufficient.) I had planned to post this on the 24th to celebrate Rupert Grint's birthday, but I think several of you would have reached through the internet to smack me, so here it is early.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RUPERT! YOU BEAUTIFUL BOY, YOU SEXY, SEXY MAN!

Hermione paced around her room, looking for anything she might have forgotten to pack. Which was unlikely, as she had been packed for a week. But it was something to focus on other than her jumbled nerves, so for once she ignored logic. She had been looking forward to this for months, and nine o'clock couldn't come fast enough. Finally, finally, she was getting to go to the Burrow! When she had gotten the letter from Ron inviting her, she had let out a scream that would have been utterly embarrassing, had she not been home alone at the time. As it was, she had nearly frightened poor Pig, snatching him off the windowsill and dancing around with him in a circle. Harry had told her so much of his times there, and she had always been just the tiniest bit jealous.

Ron, on the other hand, had downplayed his home in his most recent letters, making it sound as if he lived in a pile of sticks and leaves in the middle of nowhere. He had been so discouraging that she had almost thought that he had regretted asking her. But Ron had always been funny about things like that, so she had decided to ignore it. And now the World Cup took up most of his attention, so he may not even notice that she was there at all.

Ron snorted. Hardly. He had been out of his mind with excitement over the game, true, but even that wasn't enough to make him forget that Hermione was making her first visit. Having his two best friends over, and going with them to the most anticipated match of the year, had made him feel like it was going to be the best summer ever. And as a matter of fact, the game was the only thing keeping him from being completely sick with nerves. Between being worried that his home wouldn't meet her standards, to thinking of all the ways his siblings could possibly embarrass him, he had been a bit of a mess.

"Hermione, come downstairs! Ron and his father are here to pick you up!" her mother called from the foot of the stairs.

Hermione darted to the door, pausing only to pause at the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair, eyeing herself critically, wondering if she had time to fight it into submission. "Forget it. You don't have minutes, much less the years it would actually take," she muttered to herself.

Quickly, she descended the steps and entered the living room, where Mr. Weasley was having an animated conversation about egg beaters with her father, while Ron smiled nervously at her mother, who was asking him about his summer. Seeing her come into view, he looked at her with an expression of relief.

"Hey, Hermione! Ready to go?"

She smiled brightly, trying not to blush. It wasn't always easy to hide her feelings for him, but it was worse after she hadn't seen him in a while. After a day or two it would be better, but right now she had to watch herself. "Yes, I just need to get my trunk."

"I got it. Mum will skin me alive if she sees that I let you carry it yourself," he went over to where she had placed her trunk the night before, and heaved it up.

The muscles of his forearms flexed, and she caught herself staring. While Ron didn't possess the physique of a bodybuilder, having to do chores without magic around his house had toned him a bit, giving some definition to his lean frame. She was distracted when her parents came over to hug her goodbye, her father telling her to have a good time. "But not too good," her mother whispered into her ear, then pulling away with a twinkle in her eye that told Hermione that her admiration hadn't gone unnoticed.

Ron checked out his younger form, but he couldn't see the appeal. Tall and gawky, with overly large hands and feet, nothing to make anyone hot and bothered. But if Hermione found his looks pleasing, who was he to argue? He made a mental note to do some lifting around the house. Training had given him a better (though still thin and not overly developed) body, and he was curious to see what kind of reaction he could get.

Eager to get out from under her mother's knowing gaze, she followed Ron and Mr. Weasley, who had already gone through with her trunk. Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, she said clearly, "The Burrow!" and with a flash of green, she was pulled into the Floo network.

A few minutes later, she landed with a thump, staggering out of a strange fireplace. She blinked the smoke out of her eyes, looking around curiously. The first thing that hit her was not the sight, but the smell. There was, along with the fading scent of breakfast, an aroma of baking that Hermione suspected was a permanent feature. No wonder Ron was always hungry, if his mother's cooking smelled like this! It gave a warm, comfortable feeling to the house, and she found that Harry had been right when he had said that you became instantly at ease there.

The room she was in was large and curved, attesting to the fact that the original part of the dwelling had been circular. The furniture was done in autumn colors, browns and reds and oranges, that, while worn and somewhat faded, were still clean and presentable. There was an old wicker basket filled with balls of yarn, while a pair of knitting needles hovered over it, clicking along rapidly. There were photos covering the walls, an entire flock of gingers, both familiar and unknown. In one, a small Ron was clutching a broom, his wide grin showing off the fact that both front teeth were missing.

"Hermione, you're here! It's good to see that Ron didn't lose you!"

Hermione turned at the sound of Ginny's voice, and was immediately hugged by the younger girl, while Ron rolled his eyes behind her. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gin. It's not like I make a habit of losing people, and anyway, Hermione's smart enough to get here by herself."

Ginny shrugged, putting a hand on one hip. "You lost Harry when we went to Diagon Alley that one time."

Ron flushed, but before he could retort, Mrs. Weasley hurried into the room. "I thought I heard you arrive, Hermione! Welcome to the Burrow! You'll be sharing Ginny's room while you're here. Ron, take Hermione's trunk up, and then show her around. Just stay away from your father's shed; he's been messing about with a new addition to his Muggle collection, and is likely to blow something up. I swear, between that man and the twins, it's a wonder this house hasn't fallen around our ears!"

Hermione made polite responses, as Ron, grumbling, bent down to lift her trunk from where he had set it. The denim stretched tightly over his bum, and she couldn't stop staring. Dear Merlin, they needed to get to Hogwarts quickly, where school robes kept such distractions to a minimum. Although, she really should enjoy the opportunity while it presented itself...

"...and of course, I know from Ron how much you love a good rump."

Hermione startled guiltily, stunned that she had let herself get caught, and mortified that Ron was going to find out what a perv she was. "What?" she asked weakly, trying to buy time, feeling sick at the smug grin Ginny was giving her.

"I was saying, Ron has told me that roast is one of your favorites, and we're having some for dinner tonight. Are you alright, dear? You look a tad pale."

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley, just dizzy from the Floo. Ginny, why don't you show me where your room is?" she asked pointedly, before Ginny could comment.

Ginny led her to the stairs, which Ron was already climbing. She gestured for Hermione to go ahead of her, whispering, "I think you'll enjoy the view much better than I would."

"Shut up, Ginny!" she hissed.

"What are you two whispering about?" Ron grunted from the weight of her trunk.

"Nothing, Hermione's just excited about getting some of that famous Weasley rump." Ginny answered slyly.

"You'll love it, Hermione! It's so firm, but still really tender and juicy," Ron enthused.

"Yes, Hermione can't wait to sink her teeth into it, can you, Hermione?"

"I'm sure I'll love your mother's cooking," she said stiffly, wondering if she could get away with pushing Ginny out of one of the windows. Not a high one. Just enough to give her something else to talk about.

"Hmm. I imagine you'd love anything made by Mum."

Hermione growled. "Not everything, I assure you."

Ron leaned into the railing behind them, breathless with laughter. "Hermione, you sly thing! Never imagined you to be an arse woman!" Forget flexing his arms; he would be dropping things a lot more often instead.

They went up several flights of steps, before Ron kicked a door open and entered, dropping her trunk heavily against a wall. "Here you go. There's not enough room for another bed, but Ginny's is pretty big. Hope you don't mind sharing too much."

"Alright, Ron. You trot upstairs while Hermione unpacks, alright? I'll send her up when she's done."

Not wanting to be cornered, Hermione protested. "Thanks, but I'll unpack later. Ron was supposed to show me around, and I want to see if his walls are as blindingly orange as I've been led to believe."

Ron, who had begun to look a bit put out at being sent off, perked up, and headed for the door, with her right behind him. They went up another flight of stairs, a narrow hall leading to a door with his name on it. Opening it, Hermione discovered that no one had been exaggerating about the walls. How did he sleep in here? How did he do anything? The walls were loud enough, but the posters of Quidditch players swooping around just made it worse. She supposed that it was typical of a boy's room, though, and didn't have the heart to say too much. He already looked like a puppy waiting to be kicked, so she kept her comments to a minimum, at least until he started to show her other parts of the house and outside.

The garden was large, and Hermione, who had grown up in town, enjoyed the spacious feel of all the land around the house. There were fields to one side, and a short ways away, woods to another. closer to the house were several outbuildings, including a chicken coop and a small barn, where two cows were kept. Ron explained that Mrs. Weasley made her own butter and cream, and every once and awhile they raised a calf for the meat.

She had assumed that there would be a horrid smell, having all of those animals, but that wasn't the case. Under Mrs. Weasley's rule, everything was kept clean, the stalls shovelled out on a regular basis, and fresh hay laid. Of course, there were also Charms involved with this, as there was with the growing of the hay, which helped run things more smoothly than would be managed by Muggle means alone.

They ended the tour at the large pond, sitting on the dock and dangling their feet into the water.

"Well, it's not much, but it's home. What did you think?" he asked, staring out at the water, not looking her in the eyes.

She thought a moment. What did she think? It was a wonderful place! Everything had a bright, cheerful feel to it, and she had felt welcome straight away. As a child that had often been shut out of things outside of her parents, that was saying a lot. There was magic running through the place, and she found the quirky architecture to be charming. The sun cast a warm light on everything around them, and the air smelled strongly of fresh mown grass, water from the pond, and faintly of animals.

"I think the place is very you, Ron," she finally settled on, unsure exactly what to say without making it sound like she was ready to move in herself.

His jaw tightened. "What does that mean, exactly?"

She waved her hands around at everything, trying to explain. "It's just, very Weasley, you know? It's the kind of place I always imagined your family would live."

Ron's shoulders slumped, and he gave a sickly half smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Look, I have to go make sure the chickens have enough water. You go ahead and go on in, alright?" without waiting for an answer, he stood and strode off, leaving her to walk up the path back to the house.

Ginny was on the front steps, shelling a bucket of peas. Seeing Hermione's perplexed look, she scanned around for Ron.

"He went to check the chickens," Hermione said to her unasked question. What had gotten into Ron? The day had been going so well, and she had enjoyed the time alone with him.

His sister raised her eyebrows. "Without being asked? That's a first. Anyway, now that you've seen the place, what did you think?"

Hermione sat down on the stair next to her, taking a handfull of peas. "I love it! It's very Weasley."

Ginny paused in mid-motion. "And is that a good thing?" she asked carefully.

"Of course it is! For the last few years, Harry has told me how amazing this place is, that it's just like all of you. He was right, so what's so bad about saying so?"

Ginny looked quite pleased at the mention of Harry, and fumbled with her peas, something that Hermione didn't miss. She knew that the other girl had a paralyzing crush on her other best friend, and decided that they should have a talk later.

"Well, thanks, but if that's what you said to Ron, he probably didn't take it that way." At Hermione's confused look, she hurried to continue. "Look, we're poor. That's no big secret, but people can be nasty about it, and Ron's...sensitive about it. And I know he loves us, when he's not being a prat, but it isn't easy for him. He's the youngest of six brothers, and has a little sister. Sometimes, that means he gets lost in the shuffle, even though it's not on purpose. So 'Weasley' probably isn't that great of an adjective in his opinion."

Hermione plucked dejectedly at the hulls, her earlier happiness somewhat dulled. Why had she put it like that to him? Why didn't she just come out and say that it was a wonderful place, and that she loved everything about it? Because that was what she had meant. That was how she felt about his family, even if the four youngest made her want to throttle them sometimes. For her, 'Weasley' was synonymous with happiness and fun. And, of course, him. She knew her attraction to him played no small part in that, and she had probably just screwed things up. They had been doing so well, laughing and talking. How was she ever going to get him to see her as something more than a friend if she didn't stop stepping off into it with her big mouth? She needed to learn to shut up more; she was rubbish at compliments, and just ended up making him upset when she tried. With a sigh, she hoped things would be better by the time Harry arrived in the morning.

Ron felt bad. Ginny was right. He had taken her wrong. When most people mentioned Weasleys, they weren't being complementary, and he had gotten used to that. Of course, she never would have meant anything like that, but he had been young and stupid and nervous, and her opinion had begun to matter to him terribly.

The sun flashed brightly, and when his vision cleared, they were back by the pond again, only this time Hermione was alone with Harry, Hermione leaning back on her hands, while Harry stretched out on his stomach, splashing one hand in the water. Ron looked around for himself, and was momentarily confused, until a thought from Hermione reminded him that he had gone inside to bring out a snack for the three of them. Well, mostly for him, but he would share.

Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth from the last rays of the setting sun. She was still full from dinner, and had no idea where the boys were going to put the snack that Ron left to get, but she had no doubt that it would be polished off quickly. They would be leaving for Hogwarts in three days, and had been squeezing in as much relaxation time as possible, with Ginny joining them as much as her awkwardness around Harry would allow. Tonight, she had gone in early, saying that she needed to pack. Hermione sighed drowsily. This last week and a half had been wonderful, marred only by the nastiness at the World Cup. There had been no further news, which was worrisome, but she suspected something would come of it while they were at school. After all, didn't it always?

"So."

She opened her eyes at Harry's voice, and answered amiably, "So."

"I haven't gotten much chance to talk to you alone, so while Ron's inside, tell me what you think. Quick!"

"Think? About what?" she asked, puzzled.

"About the Burrow! Isn't it as great as I told you it would be?"

Twisting around, she lay on her stomach beside him, eyes alight. "It's amazing! First of all, the building alone! I mean, how does it stand up? It has to be magic. It's so tall and crooked, and even has a ghoul living in the attic, like something out of the stories I read when I was little."

"Yeah, even though I haven't really seen it. Heard it, and certainly smelled it though. But speaking of fairy stories, what about the gnomes? Not like out of the Disney films, are they?"

"No, but just the fact that they're real, living magical creatures is enough for me. I've known about magic for years now, but I still get excited when I see something new. I suppose you think that's silly."

Harry looked over his shoulder in the direction of the house, as if to make sure they were alone. "Tell anyone this and I'll deny it, but the first time I saw a unicorn, I nearly screamed like a six year old girl getting a pink pony for her birthday. And that was even with everything that was going on at the time!"

Hermione laughed. "But seriously, this is a marvelous place. It's so alive, not anything like what I'm used to at home. I really love it here, and I hope I get to come back again."

He grinned. "I'm sure Ron loved to hear that. He couldn't believe I liked the place so well, so maybe he'll believe you."

Her smile trembled, before leaving her entirely. She swirled her fingers in the water, not looking at him. "Not likely. Once again, I think I've managed to offend him. Honestly, Harry, I think I'm only qualified for nagging, because anything else I say always comes out wrong."

"It couldn't have been too bad. You two haven't had a fight since I got here, and I haven't noticed him acting any differently."

"When he asked me what I thought of the Burrow, I told him I thought it was very Weasley," she confessed.

Harry gave a small wince. "Ah. Yeah, that may not have been the best thing to say to Ron."

"But you know what I meant!" she wailed, splashing him as she waved her hands for emphasis.

He rolled out of the way of the droplets. "Hey, no need to tell me! I'm on team Weasley too, official jumper and everything! But Ron...well, lots of people use his name as a kind of insult. On the other hand, whenever you try to point out how great his family is, he takes it to mean the rest of them, and leaves himself out. You never really know which way he's going to take it, and I gave up trying to understand ages ago."

Ron couldn't blame him. It had always confused him, as well. He loved his family, that had never been in doubt. But he had no desire to grow up to be dirt poor and treated as a joke. On the flip side of the knut, His siblings were always doing something or other that was amazing. Bill was cool and dashing as a Curse Breaker, Charlie...well, you only had to say the word 'dragons' to see how great that was. Percy was brilliant, even if he ruined the effect by being an obnoxious prat. The twins created fabulous things, from fireworks to trick sweets, and had even made a thriving business off of it. Ginny was as popular as the rest of them, and a top notch Quidditch player. Beside them, Ron felt pathetically average at the best of times.

Hermione frowned down at the ripples in the pond. She couldn't let it pass as easily as Harry seemed to be able to. She wanted to understand Ron better than she did. Not in a creepy, stalkerish way, but enough so that she could quit inadvertently hitting his sore points. She had thought about talking to him about it, but since Harry thought he was alright, maybe she should let it pass without drawing any more attention. And in a few days, they would be back in their normal routine; she would nag, they would complain and goof off, panic when the deadline drew near, and beg her to help. She would chastise them and grumble, but would end up helping anyway. Then the cycle would begin again, as certain as the rising and setting of the sun.

"Besides, he's too busy trying to figure out what the big surprise is that everyone keeps mentioning. What do you think it's going to be?"

She allowed herself to be distracted by the change in subject. "I don't know. As long as it isn't anything dangerous, I don't really care that much, either."

Rolling his eyes, Harry seemed to find her response typical. "Well, it doesn't have anything to do with me, so maybe we can just enjoy this year for once, yeah?"

"Yeah right. I think you just jinxed any chance of that happening," came Ron's muffled voice from behind them.

Harry and Hermione sat up abruptly, laughing at the image he presented. He was balancing a pie, several plates, two packets of biscuits, and several forks sticking out of his front pocket, topped off by a bag of crisps dangling from his teeth. Judging by the crumbs around his mouth, Hermione suspected he had been helping himself before he joined them, and she gave a look of mock disapproval. He smiled, shrugging sheepishly. She found the expression adorable, and realized she would probably let him get away with far too much if he ever knew how much it affected her. But as he sat down next to her, she had to admit that it was a feeling she enjoyed, as well. She loved the bubbly feeling she got whenever they were close, and had found herself seeking it out more and more. This year was going to be good, she could sense it. She didn't know how yet, but she was going to do something to make her dreams of a relationship a reality. All she needed was one really good opportunity; something conducive to romance. She doubted that it was anywhere on the syllabus, so she would just have to keep an eye out. Right now, though, she would just enjoy the feel of his arm brushing up against hers, the skin tingling at the contact.

While gratified at her interest, Ron knew that it would only make things harder on her. When Hermione made up her mind about something, she put her whole heart into it, building up her expectations and working to meet her goal. Which was a great trait for things like school, and later on her job, but it didn't work so well when other people were involved. It was the same way she was with the house-elves; she got so passionate about it, she couldn't see why anyone else wouldn't jump on it as well. And then, when things didn't go according to her plans, she got terribly, terribly hurt. And here she was now, getting her hopes up over him, and he was just a fourteen year old boy who hadn't even worked out his own feelings yet, much less what to do about them.

The water of the pond stretched and elongated, growing from the Weasley's pond into the lake by the school. Hermione was walking towards it and Harry, away from where she had just been speaking with Ron.

Hermione wrapped her robes more tightly about her, fighting off the chill in the air. She had just left Ron on a small balcony on one of the towers (which, oddly enough, could only be accessed on Thursdays), and had decided to see if she could talk some sense into Harry. It was hard being caught in the middle and going back and forth, on top of lessons and figuring out what to do about the elves, and this time she didn't even have a Time-Turner to help.

Harry had struck up his usual Byronic attitude by a tree, staring moodily out at the waving tentacles of the Giant Squid. She had her work cut out for her, and was holding out no great hope that the boys would fall weeping into each others arms by sunset. Her suspicions were confirmed when he barely looked up at her when she dropped down beside him, nudging him over so she could share the tree.

"So, what did you come all the way out here for? You're not usually the type to hang about lying cheaters," he half snarled.

Hermione bit back a sharp retort, merely raising an eyebrow. She had just been through a similar experience with Ron, and understood that both were snapping at her as a stand-in for each other, and didn't intend to hurt her feelings. Which is what she told herself when the urge to smack them became hard to resist.

Running a hand through his fringe, Harry sighed, looking rather shamefaced. "Sorry, Hermione. It's just that everything's so fucked up right now, and the whole mess with Ron..."

"Yes, Harry? Do tell me what it's like to have a major falling out with Ron," she said dryly, thinking back on last year.

Harry gave a short bark of a laugh, the first she'd heard from him in a long time. "I guess that was a pretty stupid thing to say to you, of all people. How do you stand it? He makes you so mad, you just...just..."

"Want to kill him in a variety of inventive ways, but aren't sure what to do with the body? I understand. What makes it worse is at the same time, you miss him terribly and want nothing more than for the whole business to be over and done with."

Her words scored a direct hit, and Harry flushed, scowling. "I don't miss that stupid git in the least."

"Oh, yes you do. Because no matter how mad he makes you, in the end Ron is Ron, and without him nothing feels quite right."

The angry tension seemed to leave his body, and his shoulders slumped. "We've never really had a fight like this before. Hermione, how can he believe I'd put my name into the Goblet? Or that if I did, I wouldn't have done the same for him?"

Hermione gave an impatient huff. "Disregarding the sheer stupidity of even thinking of entering your names, you have to know that he doesn't really believe that."

Harry snorted. "Well, then he's doing a damn fine job of acting like it, isn't he?"

"I told you before, you're always the one getting attention! You know how hard that is for Ron. His brothers make some sort of name for themselves first, and then he gets a famous best friend. He knows you haven't done anything wrong, but right now, he needs to stay mad at you."

Harry looked at her as if she had announced she was going to join the Quidditch team. "And you came up with that bit of logic how?"

Hermione tried to explain it as best as she could. "Because it's easier to be mad at you over cheating than it is to admit he's jealous. He knows it's stupid and wrong, but if you had actually done it, then his feelings would be justifiable. Give him some time, and he'll come around. You're his friend, Harry. He maybe be stubborn and short-tempered, but he'll come through in the end."

"Maybe. Just don't expect me to make the first move. He's been a complete arse, and I won't have anything to do with him until he says he was wrong."

"Big surprise there. I just wish the two of you would hurry up. This isn't easy for me either, you know."

Harry shot her a curious look. "What do you mean?"

When she answered, her voice was soft and weary. "Because you're both my friends, and I hate seeing you like this. And you know I enjoy spending time with each one of you, but not this way; not with you both mad, and things feeling like they're broken. I want the three of us to be together, even if we aren't with each other."

He gave her a weak smile. "Just remember that the next time you two get into it. It isn't easy being in my position, is it?"

She smiled back. "Hopefully, Ron and I won't have as big a fight as we did last year ever again. I'm sure we've worked out the worst of things between us."

Startled, she looked down to where Harry had fallen to his side, laughing. "Oh, That's rich! That's about as likely as one of Trelawney's predictions!"

Ron watched as she began punching Harry in the arm, even as she tried not to laugh herself. It was amazing how she could have so much insight into some aspects of his character, and be completely at sea over others. Then again, the same could be said about him concerning her; he supposed it was impossible to know absolutely everything about another person, especially at that age. At fourteen and fifteen, while their characters were fairly set, they were still growing and finding their way as people. Shifts and adjustments in mental attitudes and ideals were made, while teachings and beliefs were challenged and reevaluated. And when it came to love, well...that had confused men and women throughout the ages. But Hermione was trying, which was more than he could say of himself at the time. Concerns over motheaten dress robes, Harry and his problems, and his own insecurity (and of course, the mysterious creature known as the female), were higher up on his lists of things to worry about than matters as frightening and life-altering as love.

But love was a very important issue to Hermione right now. And, as the walls of Hogwarts solidified around him, it was causing her a great deal of pain.

Hermione strode down the hall, heedless of the other students scurrying out of her way, fearful of being clipped by her lethally weighed down bookbag. She was furious to the point of tears, but she held them from falling. Unsurprisingly, the source of her inner turmoil was the same as ever; Ron. Why had she fallen for such a-an insensitive, shallow, unfeeling pig? She should have seen this coming when The other schools had arrived, honestly, the way he had practically filled the Great Hall with drool over that snippy, stuck up Veela was enough to make anyone sick. She had kept her meal down, but she knew her eyes had gone greener than Harry's. And another day, he had offered her food! Ron, the boy who growled like a bulldog if you leaned too close to his plate! All for a pretty face and swishy...skirt. She had been prepared for him to be obsessed with Krum, seeing as how he had idolized him at the World Cup, but with his attention being divided between the two of them and Harry, she was feeling decidedly left out. He didn't even have the decency to pretend to be interested in S.P.E.W., and was constantly belittling her efforts.

Yet it wasn't until last night that the final blow came, she thought darkly as she slammed into the library, dropping her bag on a corner table, bending low so her hair shielded her face. How could he say those things, and say them so easily? Did looks really count for more than substance in his books? The discovery hurt, perhaps more than it should have. Alright, she knew she wasn't...well, she wasn't very attractive. In fact, she considered herself to be downright plain, though not nearly as bad now that her teeth were fixed (not that he had even noticed that). But she had hoped...she gave a short, bitter laugh. How foolish of her. Of course Ron, who had always had to make do with the unwanted or second hand, would want a girl as close to the idea of female perfection as he could get. And that wasn't her, no, not even close. Hadn't he as good as said as much?

The thought rocked Ron back on his heels. That had never been what he was thinking! Yeah, he had wanted a pretty girl, and it was for the ego boost it would give him, but it had never been a matter of her not living up to what he had wanted. He had been suppressing any feelings he might have had for her, and instinctively knew that if he even considered her, he would be lost, and any illusion that friendship was the most he wanted would be shattered. He had been struggling with his own self confidence, and had no idea that in doing so, he was shredding hers, which was in short supply already.

She was interrupted from her downward spiralling mood by a shadow falling across the table, and the sound of a throat being cleared. Looking up in irritation, she was surprised to find Viktor Krum standing in front of her. What on earth could he possibly want? And how had he eluded his gaggle of giggling fan girls?

Ron eyed his long ago Nemesis with distaste. It was amazing how fast hero worship had turned into complete loathing, but that's exactly what would happen soon for his younger self. Although he was pleased to note that Hermione wasn't showing any sign of attraction. Of course, she had once mentioned that he wasn't very good looking, but he had taken that as spite over the way his fans had broken her concentration in the library. But she had meant it; She was interested in him physically, and Krum was at the other end of the spectrum. Shortish, broad, and dark, he just wasn't what she was looking for, even if what she was looking for was being an arse at the time.

"Yes, can I help you?" she tried to keep her tone polite. After all, none of this was his fault, and they were supposed to be forming ties of goodwill with the guest schools.

"Ah, I am not troubling you, I hope? But this is the first time I haff seen you when I could be sure uff speaking vith you alone."

Well, this was curious. She was no great fan of Quidditch, and she wasn't one of his usual followers, so what could he have to say to her that required privacy? "No, you're not troubling me at all. Is there something you wanted to ask me about? Something to do with the library, perhaps. I've noticed you in here quite often."

Hearing that seemed to please him, if the bright smile he gave her was any indication. It was an odd expression on his face, and she tried to recall if she had ever seen him wear anything besides a scowl.

"Yes, vell...I must be honest. I haff come to this place to see you. At least, after the first time. But it has been hard to vork up the courage to talk vith you, yes? You see, I am unused to talking much vith vomen. This may seem sudden, but I vould very much like...that is to say, vould you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Ball?"

Hermione's first reaction was anger, and hurt. That he would go to the trouble to tease her like this was cruel. Being undesirable to Ron was bad enough, but to be made a joke of by someone who was practically a stranger...but then, she paused. He looked hopeful, yet uncomfortable, as if he wasn't sure of himself. Could he be telling the truth? From what she had seen and heard, he was kept on an awfully tight leash. Rumor had it that he had never even been linked to anyone romantically. His handlers made sure his focus was kept strictly on Quidditch, and he had little to no personal life. So, in theory, that would explain his nervousness, especially given his age. Which left only one question.

"Why me?" she asked guardedly, "I'm sure any of the other girls would be glad to be your date. You don't have to...settle...for someone who isn't pretty."

Viktor cocked his head to the side, as if he was having trouble translating what she was saying. "Vhat person has told you that you vhere not beautiful? You are a lovely voman, vith the brains to match, and I haff seen you show great fire. Vhy vould I not vish you to come vith me? But I understand if you do not feel the same; do not feel that you must spare my feelings."

They were wonderful words. Words that made, her, for the first time, feel beautiful. Words that weren't from the person she most wanted to hear them from. But that wasn't going to happen, was it? Oh, she hadn't expected him to get down on one knee and proclaim undying love and devotion to her. Even if he had just asked as a friend, it would have been a start, something she could build on. But he had given her nothing; not even the smallest sign that he could ever see her in that light.

Viktor had given her hope. There was no love here, no breathless anticipation, no yearning for kisses and caresses. But someday, when she was older, she would at least have this one night to look back upon, the knowledge that she was wanted as a woman, not as some sort of tutor or problem solver. Someone actually wanted Homely Hermione, and she wouldn't have to live a life alone with only her ninety-six cats named Crookshanks. Briefly, she considered turning him down. After all, she was in love with Ron. But Ron didn't want her, did he. Fine. She had no desire to go to the ball alone, as an object of ridicule and pity. For once, she wanted to be the pretty girl. Was it so bad to want to have one fairytale night? She didn't think so.

"Yes. Yes, I would love to go to the Ball with you."

Ron felt his heart break a little as he watched the soft, hesitant smile spread across her face, her cheeks flushing. He had dreamed of similar scenes so often, only with him as the male lead. But he could no longer bring himself to hate Krum. In the past, he had always seen him as some experienced international playboy swooping in to steal Hermione, but that was far from the mark. Krum had truly been kept fairly isolated, and who could blame him for his interest in Hermione?

But that wasn't what had dissolved the thick knot of hatred in his chest. No, that had been the sharp, twisting pain in Hermione's heart that had lessened at his invitation. She was a fifteen year old girl that believed herself to be totally devoid of any kind of charms, a fact unwittingly enforced by the boy she loved. She knew she had worth, of course; and it wasn't that she needed someone else to validate her. But she had wanted to feel special, as a woman to a man, and for that she needed a man. At that time, Ron had still been a boy. Krum could come to her as an emotional equal, and treat her the way she had wanted; as a woman, as someone's choice of a partner. After all, everyone wants to be wanted by the person they love. But he was years away from being the kind of man she needed. That wasn't his fault, and he had never meant for any of that to hurt her. It was just beyond his capabilities at the time. He was still at a point in his life where seeing beyond himself wasn't something that came naturally, and the thoughts of other people's emotional needs was an almost foreign concept.

And while it was true that Hermione had a small, sharp feeling of wanting him to see what he had missed, that wasn't the reason she went with Krum. Ron was who she wanted, but she needed to experience things that girls her age normally did. Krum could give that to her. She still hurt, but she had lost the sort of hopeless despair she had been feeling. And for that reason, Ron felt himself warm a bit to the Quidditch player. He hadn't been the object of her fancies, as he had feared, or the model of the expectations she had in a boyfriend. He had merely been a stand in until Ron was able to reach the stage that a relationship was possible, one night of glamour for her to do all of the feminine things that she usually didn't bother with.

How could he blame her for that? All she wanted was one night of compliments and dancing, a night of being charming instead of studious, of being sought after for her smiles instead of her ability to proofread an essay. It was natural, it was innocent, it was...it was not going to go well. Ron winced, feeling sick. He hadn't thought of his own actions during the Ball in years, but now he was going to have to relive them from her point of view, and the prospect wasn't a cheerful one. What was it he had said all those years ago...the words came back, along with the nasty implications they could have. A look of pain crossed his face.

"Fucking Merlin, Hermione...damn it, why did I ever say that?"


	17. Chapter 17

Ron pressed the weight of his body into his cupboard door, holding it firmly until it clicked closed on the mass of junk he had just shoved inside. Wiping his brow, he turned to survey the progress he had made with cleaning. He could see his rug for the first time in months (had it always been maroon and brown?), and the layers of dirt on his window had been scrubbed away. The frog tank (sans frog) had fresh water, and the candle wax had been scraped off of his night table. It wasn't anything you'd find in one of Mum's magazines, but at least he was reasonably sure it was clean enough. Alright then, that was it for the room. Checking his watch, he saw that he had ten minutes before he and his dad had to leave to pick up Hermione.

He was already wearing the longest pair of jeans he had, so he tugged the ratty blue T-shirt he was wearing over his head and tossed it behind the bed. From his dresser, he pulled a green one with small blue and brown stripes, and decided it would do. He crammed his feet into his new trainers (which were already snug) and looked in the mirror. His hair looked like someone had vomited carrots on his head, and his freckles seemed to be breeding. Oh good, he looked relatively decent today. Completely ignoring the fact that he had just tried to make himself look nice for Hermione, he rushed down the stairs, thankful that the twins were still holed up in their room.

Hermione followed, thinking to herself that people were always so concerned over young girls' self images, when boys had it just as bad. She had always known that Ron didn't think much of himself, but it was hard to feel it firsthand, knowing that he didn't see himself as she did. She had made it clear how fit she thought he was, hadn't she? While not nearly as needy as he had been as a teenager, he still perked up at any attention she gave him. But she had always felt a bit shy with expressing her more...physical appreciation of him, afraid she only ended up looking ridiculous. Perhaps she should loosen up a bit. She would give that more consideration, and pay closer attention to this aspect as the years progressed.

The Grangers' house was the same as the last time he had seen it, and her parents were as friendly as ever. Still, he didn't want to stay too long; if they realized just what a prat he was, they might not let her come. He was relieved when she came down the stairs (though that was tempered by the effect the sight of her legs in those denim shorts had on him); he wasn't exactly sure how to answer the questions her mother was asking. How much of what went on at school had Hermione told them? He had never thought to ask her before. For the love of Merlin, what did she have in this trunk? It felt like she had stolen the entire collection of the Hogwarts' library. Then again, he supposed he should just be thankful that she wasn't bringing Crookshanks-oh. She was. Well, they got on better now, but he didn't want to come across as a pushover, so he would insist that the animal stay out of his room.

Hermione grinned. Pushover, indeed! She knew for a fact that Ron snuck Crookshanks a fat salmon every so often, and she had caught them curled up together on the sofa for a nap on more than one occasion. She let him keep the illusion of gruffness, but it just made her love his marshmallow center all the more. Of course, sometimes the gruffness wasn't an illusion, but she was learning to take the prat with the sweet.

Why was he the one stuck lifting her rock filled trunk again? Didn't she believe in equality for women? It was on the tip of his tongue to say, but he was up against not only Hermione, but Mum and Ginny as well, and knew his odds of survival would be slim. Instead, he bent down to heave up the cause of his soon-to-be-ruptured- disc, feeling suddenly and inexplicably self conscious in the process. Shaking it off, he staggered up the stairs, wishing, not for the first time, that his house wasn't so bloody tall. He couldn't make out what the girls were saying behind him, and he had the paranoid feeling it was about him. Happily, he discovered the subject was dinner; hopefully she wouldn't think it was creepy that he had filled Mum in on her favorite foods.

Dumping her trunk (he hoped for the final time) in Ginny's room, he was about to ask Hermione up to his, when Ginny began to push him out, monopolizing Hermione's attention. He didn't like that. Not at all. She was his friend, wasn't she? Before he could get too upset, Hermione herself declared that she wanted to go upstairs, a fact he failed to notice pleased him to an almost stupid degree. His nervousness mounted the stairs with him almost like a third person; with each step, he was tempted to turn around and make some excuse to put her off. But she was going to be here until it was time to board the Hogwarts Express, not counting the time they would be camping, so he decided to just get it over with.

He took a quick look around to make sure he hadn't missed anything, and nearly tripped over his own feet in his mad dash to the bed. While he was gone, him mum had apparently decided to do some laundry, and she had left a stack of fresh pants on his bed. Snatching up the pile of bedraggled boxers, he shoved them into a drawer where they belonged, his ears steaming. Fortunately, Hermione was still too blinded by his walls to notice. Bless those walls. He had picked the color when he was six; if she thought they were bright now, she should've seen them when they were fresh!

A thud came from the attic, and Hermione jumped. "What was that?"

Ron shrugged. "The ghoul. He likes to rattle around every once and awhile."

Casting a dubious eye at the ceiling, she sat down on the bed, smirking up at him when she noticed the Chudley Cannons logo on his quilt.

"Hey, I didn't laugh at the flowers you had on yours!" he protested.

She laughed. "Yes you did! But it's better than what the twins told me; they tried to convince me that you had unicorn patterned sheets."

Ron plopped on the bed. It seemed it was his brothers' mission in life to make sure he was left with no masculine pride whatsoever.

"Are those apple trees out there?" Hermione asked, peering out the window.

"Yeah, we got apples, peaches, plums, and apricots. Even a few cherries. Mum makes all her own jams and stuff."

"That's amazing! Does she do it the Muggle way, or with magic?"

He rolled his eyes. "Like I'd know what the Muggle way is?"

Hermione sniffed. "Of course. I forgot who I was talking to; for moment, I imagined you actually helped her."

"Help? Hermione, who do you think picks the bloody fruit? It sure as hell isn't the gnomes."

"Pick the fruit?" she asked in confusion. Don't you just...I don't know, wait for it to fall?"

He laughed so hard he fell into her, knocking her onto her side, with him along with her. "Wait for them to...oh, you city people! Next you'll ask how the cow manages to aim the milk into the bottles!"

"Shut up!" she cried, slapping at his arms, "It isn't like I've ever been anywhere to see how things like that work!"

Propping himself up on one arm to grin down at her, he got that lurching feeling in his stomach that had been popping up since last year. Suddenly uncomfortable, he slid off the bed, biting the inside of his cheek. "Wanna have a look around, then? The place isn't anything fancy, but-"

"Yes! And Harry said you have chickens, too! This will be my first time seeing any with feathers. And still alive."

"Come on then."

He led the way down, his nerves calming with each step they took away from his room. Hearing a muffled curse from one of the rooms they passed, he leaned close to whisper, "That's the twins' room. Best to stay away from there, especially with the mood they're in right now. One minute they're your best friend, the next they're tearing your head off."

"Why, what's wrong with them?"

"Beats me; they hardly tell me anything anymore. Oh, and before I forget, don't eat anything they offer you, either. They're making all sorts of weird stuff, and they consider anyone fair game as test subjects."

"Sounds like you've had an exciting summer."

"Trust me, you don't want to know. I don't want to know, and I lived through it."

He showed her around the rest of the house, rushing through rooms with pictures to minimize his embarrassment. He took things slower outside, starting to become a bit more confident at all the interest she was showing. She trailed along happily, asking questions and cooing over the animals, and he thought everything was working out. Things were going so well, that he hated to go back in, sure one of his family members would say or do something to spoil it, so instead he sat on the end of the dock by the pond, thinking they could stay there till Mum called them in to dinner.

Gathering his courage, he asked her what she thought of what she had seen.

And immediately wished he hadn't.

Weasley. Yeah, he guessed that was a fairly accurate description. Weird, cheap, funny looking...what had he been expecting? and why the hell did it matter so much? He didn't know, but it did, and right now it was hard to be with her. So, muttering something about chickens, he walked off before she could see that he was upset. His footsteps took him not to the chicken coop, but the orchard, where he kicked at some of the green apples that had fallen from the trees before they had had a chance to ripen. The walk had cooled him down, and he knew he had probably overreacted. Hermione wasn't the type to set out to say something deliberately nasty (well, when they weren't fighting), and had probably meant to say something vague without having to come out and say the Burrow was a boil on the backend of nowhere. But again, why did he care what she thought? She was just Hermione. His mind flashed to her face from a few hours earlier, laughing up at him, her hair spread all over his bed. He gave himself a shake. He had been out in the sun for too long. That, or his brothers had found a way to slip him one of those mood altering sweets they had been messing with. Wouldn't be the first time. After all, what did he have to be depressed about? In two days he would be going to the biggest Quidditch match of the year, and he would get to see Viktor Krum in action. Krum! with that happy prospect, he set off towards the house, the desire to impress Hermione forgotten, at least for now.

Hermione watched him thoughtfully. He had really tried hard, in his own way. He wanted some positive attention from her, even if it was a sort of reflected glory from his home. But Ron was still at the age where he thought things had to be grand to be impressive. And she had always assumed that his feelings for her had come over him all at once, but that was neither true, or even very realistic. His feelings were there, and getting stronger all the time. But it wasn't something he had any experience in, or even any interest up till recently. It came on him in flashes, in surges of hormones and affection. But there was also fear there; fear of change, fear of the unknown. Ron had always found it easier to ignore things rather than deal with them, until they got so bad he was overwhelmed. And that was exactly what he was setting himself up for now, without realizing it. But she wasn't the only thing he was having difficulties with, as the next scene proved.

Ron lay in his cot, his head full of mixed feelings. The day had been bloody amazing, even better than he had dreamed. It was his first time travelling by Port-Key, and while weird, it made him feel as if he was somehow more experienced; it may not have been very far, but to him it still counted as travel. The tents were a surprise as well. He had heard of them, but his family had never been able to swing one. It came at a good time, since it would have been far less impressive to ask Harry and Hermione camp out the Muggle way. Not that he ever had himself, but he had heard the experience left something to be desired, and he had no wish to test that assumption.

Saving his pocket money had been hard, since it meant the sacrifice of chocolate, which was a blow to his sweet tooth, but it had been worth it. The Krum figure (no matter what Ginny and the twins called it, it wasn't a doll.) had instantly become one of his prize possessions, and he still thought Krum was spectacular, even if his team had lost. As a Cannon's fan, he knew the importance of being faithful through a slump, and it would take a lot more than one loss to give up on his idol.

Hermione chuckled. Ron was faithful to a fault, but when he was done with someone, he was done. even now, whenever the Bulgarian Quidditch team had a setback, she could count on Ron to go about with a faint, pleased smile. He never said anything, but his quiet smugness made her roll her eyes. But she couldn't call him on it, otherwise he might ask why purple was such an underrepresented color in her wardrobe. Or, more specifically, a certain shade of purple.

And the game itself! He would never forget that, not as long as he lived. He had committed every move to memory, and couldn't wait to sneak out on one of the brooms to practice. There was sure to be an opening on the Gryffindor team before the end of his seventh year, and he meant to at least throw his hat in the ring. It had been so fun, he had even forgotten that Malfoy was around; the little bell end hadn't been able to ruin his day for once. The only really scary part had been with the Veelas; you felt invincible when you were under their spell, but once you came out of it, you felt a right fool. Hermione's scathing expression whenever it was mentioned was enough to tell him that he probably didn't want to remember whatever it was he had done.

Hermione. That brought him to the first hitch in his day. Things had been perfectly normal up until they had joined up with the Diggory's, and then she and Ginny had changed. They had begun whispering and giggling together, shooting looks at Cedric that he couldn't quite comprehend, but he knew he didn't like. It was odd enough seeing his sister and his friend acting so...unlike themselves. And the way Cedric had smiled back, like some sort of gormless fool, had made his teeth clench. He hadn't realized how much he disliked him for beating Harry last year until today.

Yes, she and Ginny had been admiring Cedric. He was awfully cute, and it wasn't as if either of them was in a relationship, or that the boys they were interested in were even aware of them. Neither of them had been serious about him for a minute, but he had been nice to look at, and it had been refreshing to have another girl to experience those kinds of things with.

Harry was actually the second thing that had bothered him today. Not that he had done anything wrong. It wasn't even something that would bother anyone else, and it was likely stupid that it bothered him. He had appreciated the offer of the Omnioculars, because they really were something he wouldn't normally get a chance to own. And while his inability to turn them down had been something he wasn't proud of, it was the easy way Harry had brushed everything off and paid for the lot that troubled him most. Everything seemed to come so easily to Harry, and he couldn't help but think how unfair it was. Then he would remember about his parents, the wretched life he had with the Dursleys, and the whole You-Know-Who business, and he became ashamed of himself. It's just...it was hard sometimes, being so far under his friend's level. The only thing that had made it any easier had been the fact that Hermione had taken a pair too, and didn't seem to think they were taking advantage of Harry. And then, like some miracle, he had been able to pay with the Leprechaun gold. It had been as good as paying for himself, or very nearly. He wondered if that was how Harry felt all the time; poor one minute, then bam! You could buy whatever you liked. He supposed, glumly, that this was as close as he would ever get to finding out.

Irritated with himself, he turned over on his side and shoved his head under the pillow, determined to sleep his negative thoughts away. Harry couldn't help it, and it wasn't like he had ever done anything on purpose to make things go his way. And when he had hit a lucky streak, he had always tried to make sure Ron had gotten something out of it, hadn't he? Because Harry was a good friend, and if he was half as good he would stop whining and get over it. He would just do something extra nice for Christmas to make up for it. Somehow.

There it was, money again. While he had never been what you would call overly obsessed or bitter, his family's financial state had bothered him, and she could see how it played a part in the fight he was to have with Harry. It was just one more area he felt he fell short, and it was something that winning the Tournament could have helped, at least in his eyes. Some people might have called that greedy, but what was wrong with wanting to be able to pay your own way, and maybe be able to treat your friends? Nothing. If anything, she had always admired his refusal to take advantage of the generosity of others. Many people would have happily used being poor as an excuse to let other people do things for them, but that had never been Ron's way.

Anger.

Betrayal.

Hurt.

Successive punches of intense emotions had Hermione doubled over, trying to untangle her feelings from Ron's, which wasn't easy, since it was very much like being caught in a high windstorm. Obviously, they had come to the point of the fight with Harry, and she could tell she was in for a bumpy ride, though hopefully a short one.

Ron stalked up the stairs of one of the smaller towers, wanting to be alone. He was in a foul mood, and everyone seemed to be setting him off. It was all, 'Harry this' and 'Harry that,' and he was sick of it. There wasn't anything to talk about, in his opinion. The usual would happen; Harry would pull some daring stunts, win the Tournament, and everyone would love him. That's basically what had happened every year, so why should this year be any different? Only this time, he would get rich, and wouldn't even have to sit end of year exams.

"Because it's always so bloody easy for him. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Wins. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Falls in Shit and Comes Up Smelling Like Roses. Harry-"

"Ron Weasley, the Boy Who Talks to Himself."

Ron spun from where he had been leaning over the railing to find that Hermione had come up behind him. He had thought he would be alone here, since he had never seen anyone but the three of them here.

"What are you doing here? Thought you would be off with the Four-Eyed Hero." Ron said sulkily.

Hermione slapped him none too gently on the arm. "Don't be like that! You know I've tried my best to split my time evenly between the two of you."

"No one asked you to," he mumbled, looking away with a shrug.

"No, no one did. I do it because you're both my friends and I want to spend time with you, and since you're both being stubborn prats, I have to do it one at a time instead of together."

He felt himself softening, but he wanted the distraction of a fight. "I guess you've come up here to try to get me to apologize again. Well, you can save your breath, because it's not going to happen."

Maybe that was a bit harsh, but there was a part of him that believed that was all she was there for. She had been trying to get him to talk to Harry, and he had found himself wondering if she really wanted to spend time with him at all, or if she just wanted to make things easier for Harry.

Instead of blowing up like he had thought she would, she merely rested her elbows on the stone rail, rubbing her temples, looking suddenly very tired. Ron felt the stirrings of guilt, but said nothing.

"Just tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Do you honestly believe Harry put his name in the Goblet?"

Ron opened his mouth a few times, trying to say that of course he did, that all the evidence proved it, that Harry wasn't as perfect as she thought...but the words wouldn't come, because deep down, he didn't truly believe it. It was just...well, there was no pretty way to put it. He was jealous of Harry. The money, the fame, the dress robes that didn't look like an old woman's curtains. It had been piling up on him lately, and the prestige of being a Champion while he was left in the dust again was just too much. And with everyone else believing that Harry had done it, it was easy to let himself pretend to think so, too. Harry had always been his friend, and he had always tried his best not to feel this way towards him, but the opportunity to do so without anyone finding out how stupid he was too much to resist. As long as he could be mad, the less time he had to spend focusing on his own shortcomings. He could never tell Hermione that, however. She would be disgusted with him, and then he'd be short two friends.

"I...no," he finally said, meeting her eyes for the first time.

She gave a small smile. "I didn't think so."

They stood side by side in companionable silence for a while, and Ron realized two things; one, she wasn't going to say anymore about Harry, and two, he really hadn't wanted to be alone at all. They stayed like that for a good fifteen minutes, until both of them noticed a short, unmistakable figure going in the direction of the lake. Only one person had hair that bad.

"I should probably go down and see how he's doing." Hermione said with a sigh.

Ron's mood, which had begun to brightened, was hit with such a downpour that he nearly looked up at the sky to see if it was raining.

"You don't have to go right now. It won't kill him to wait an hour. Or two."

She shook her head. "You can see how upset he looks from here."

Ron glanced down, then traded a knowing look with her. They both knew his moods well, and needed to only see a fraction of his expression to read it. "You know he's probably going to take it out on you," he warned her, partially because it was true, and partially in the hopes of convincing her to stay.

"Well, if you came with me, you could-"

"No."

"Fine. But Ron, Harry is your friend, and he needs you right now. I'm the only one that really talks to him anymore, but I know that he misses you, just like you miss him."

"I do not!" he protested with a scowl. Though that wasn't true. When Hermione was with Harry, he usually hung around his brothers and Lee, and while that was alright, it just wasn't the same. Especially with the funny way they had been acting lately.

But right now, the only thing he was aware of was the fact that he had been right; Hermione only cared about Harry's feelings. It hurt, because he needed her right now, but just like everything else in his life, she went to Harry.

"Oh yes you do. Don't try to tell me any different; I went through the same thing last year. I know you aren't ready yet, but...try to make up soon, alright? I know you want to, even if you can't because of some strange reasons only understood by boys."

He gave a grunt that could be taken either way, but that seemed to be enough to satisfy her, and she turned to go. Ron looked out over the grounds, feeling lonelier than he than he had been before. But moments later she returned, pulling a small bundle out from under her robes and thrusting it into his hands.

"Here. You left breakfast early this morning, and I know you didn't get nearly enough to eat. I made these up for you; sorry I forgot to give them to you sooner."

She was gone before he had finished untying the large white cloth, revealing four bacon sandwiches. He stared at them a moment. She had noticed, and she had taken not only the time to make them, but had gone through the trouble of looking for him as well. He picked up a sandwich, smiling goofily as he took a large bite.

Maybe someone did think about him, after all.

Hermione could have laughed that off as Ron being easily pleased by food, but she didn't. The act had really touched him, and he had needed the reassurance. At the time, she thought he was doing better than Harry, since he had his brothers and the other boys, but she had been wrong. While he did enjoy spending time with them, she and Harry were his best friends, and he needed as much support from her as Harry did. But Ron didn't talk about his own needs, partially because he didn't know how, but mainly because he believed them to be unimportant, and assumed others believed that as well.

Seeing this actually made her a little proud of the last fight they had had. He had come out and said that he wanted her focus to be more on him when he needed her, which was something he wouldn't have done years ago. And she knew he didn't mean that he wanted her attention for himself, or to not care about Harry. That was ridiculous. Ron cared about Harry himself, and knew that she would too, as his friend. All he was asking was that he be put first in the appropriate situation, which was perfectly reasonable. Next time he was confiding his worries, she would try to encourage him without using any kind of comparison to Harry, even if it was in Ron's favor. They were in a relationship, and that meant that the other came first. Of course she would still be concerned for Harry and would still talk about him, and if he was in danger, there would be no question of voicing her worry to Ron. But she needed to handle things in a way that showed Ron that his issues were important to her, and that she wasn't brushing him off. He had done the same with her whenever she had complained about work, and he deserved to be treated in the same way. They were equals and partners, and marriage meant that you took care of the other person, looking after their wellbeing.

The cold stone had softened to warm carpet beneath her feet, and she found herself standing between two chairs in the Common Room, Ron in one, Harry in the other. She could just see the tips of hair belonging to her younger self as she marched around the bend in the stairs to the girls' dorm, and Ron was blinking in surprise.

"Do you know what's got her Kneazel in a knot?"

Harry shrugged in a distracted manner. "I don't know, but I think something may have gotten lost in translation there. And you probably could've been a bit more tactful."

"Tactful? Why'd I need to be tactful? She made it sound like I was insulting her sister or something!"

"I hear you. Maybe her planets are out of alignment or something. Anyway, I'm going up too. Maybe I'll be able to think of something to do about this ball mess."

Ron listened to Harry's footsteps fade away, then he leaned back in the chair, sprawling his legs and tossing a small cushion up in the air. He replayed the conversation, but couldn't understand what had gotten her all defensive. So he wanted to go to the Ball with a pretty girl. So what? Isn't that what everyone wanted? At least, that's how he understood it. Everyone dressed up in their best clothes, snagged the best looking partner they could find, and tried not to look like a loser.

Well, he was already behind. He was a loser. At least compared to most people. As for clothes, he would do better to wear Mum's best tablecloth. Not only was it far less frilly, but it wouldn't clash near as badly with his hair. All that left him was finding a date that he wouldn't be laughed out of the school for. Going alone wasn't even an option. He could hear the snide remarks Malfoy would make right now. Even if he didn't drop out from embarrassment, then expulsion for murdering another student was guaranteed. (Unless he got Mad-Eye on his side. Good ol' Mad-Eye. First rate professor right there. Hogwarts could use a dozen more just like him.)

And it wasn't as if he was planning on marrying the girl, or even dating her seriously! It was just one lousy dance! It wasn't like a girl with any sense would go out with him; the best he could hope for was a mildly attractive airhead. Seamus had gotten to Lavender already, the wanker, and she was possibly one of the dimmest girls in his year. There was what's-her-face...Parti? Parvo? Parvati. (Why could he never get her name right on the first go? He had only known her since first year, for fuck's sake.) She would be alright too.

Deciding that Harry had the right of it, he trailed upstairs to bed, falling asleep before he could make up his mind what to do next.

Hermione wanted to scream. Or throw something. Or both. Girls in their year had been limited, but he hadn't even considered her! But then, his criteria included 'stupid enough to be seen with him,' and for Ron, stupid and Hermione had no business even being in the same room together. So yes, he had been shallow, but he hadn't been looking for someone to drool over all evening. All he had wanted was a girl who didn't make him look stupid, or, barring that, one that at least allowed him to blend in with everyone else. It was stupid and juvenile and hurtful, but he was fourteen years old, for the love of Merlin! Not exactly the age of judgement and wisdom. Or taste, for that matter, but she was trying not to be catty over his consideration of Lavender. Right now he was considering anything in a skirt, and probably would have taken Harry if he had been in drag. Besides, he hadn't been the least bit enthusiastic over the thought of Lavender anyway.

Outside, the darkness rapidly lightened as the sun rose higher and higher, and around her the Common Room sped into fast forward, until once again she was stalking off from the boys, only this time Ginny was there as well.

"What did I say this time?" he moaned, looking at his sister and best friend beseechingly.

Harry answered tentatively, like he did when he was asked a surprise question in class that he wasn't sure of. "Uh...maybe it was for laughing at Neville?"

Ron couldn't understand this. Of course he had laughed. It wasn't that he didn't like Neville; he was one of the nicest blokes in Gryffindor, as well as being one of the easiest to get on with. But he wasn't the stuff of a young girl's dreams, even Ron could see that. In fact, he figured the two of them were roughly on the same level, with him not treading on the girl's feet every other step the only thing making him a more attractive prospect.

He wasn't stupid; he knew any girl that would go with him was more than likely only doing so to get close to Harry, which was another reason he wasn't keen on getting too attached to anyone in particular. He had seen the way they had started to moon over Harry, and were polite to him since they knew he was Harry's friend. That didn't mean he was eager to spend the evening with a girl making cow eyes at Harry with him in the middle. But he had solved that, hadn't he? It had worked fine for Fred, so where had he gone wrong? His brother had made it look so slick and easy; approach friend, casually toss out an invite, and that was all there was to it.

"Oh, Ron, you sweet idiot," moaned Hermione. How on earth had he thought that would be a good idea?

But instead of accepting like Angelina had, she had lied to him. Of course it had been a lie. She said last year that she would tell him about anything important, and getting a date certainly fell under that heading. She didn't have to be ashamed; it wasn't like he was doing so hot himself.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Ginny snapped angrily.

Ron wished he could see her ears under her hair. He had an uneasy suspicion they were pink, and he shuffled back a step as his danger senses tingled.

"Get what?"

"Oh, for the love of...are all boys so blind and stupid, or have you cornered the market? You're in for a surprise, brother mine, and I don't think it's going to be a happy one."

"You're going to have to be a bit clearer."

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she turned to Harry, who looked as if he was doing a complicated maths formula to figure out the distance to the nearest exit. He probably was.

"Harry, let Ron borrow your glasses. He's too farsighted for his own good, and he's missing what's right in front of his face."

Before either boy could say a word, she was storming off in the direction Hermione had taken, and Ron heard her mutter, "Not that they seem to be doing you a damn bit of good either."

Harry was off as well, leaving Ron standing there, totally at sea. What had just happened? What had he missed? Who had, in fact, killed Cock Robin? The world was a mad, mad place, and he wasn't sure he wanted it to make sense. Hermione could probably tell him, but she was currently part of the problem. That, at least, he could fix. He would wear her down over the next few days, and she would go with him, or maybe Harry. Because she didn't have a date. There was no way. At all. He would know. So why did he have the feeling in the pit of his stomach that said he was missing something vitally important?

Stomachache was an understatement. His instincts were screaming warnings at him, but he didn't, or couldn't, understand. He was trying to sell the lie to himself that she wasn't going with anyone, but he hadn't entirely bought it. The thought made him nervous and uneasy, and she could feel the tension building within him. Every word, every action over the next few days was like laying wood for a fire, ready to spark to life his temper, along with something else, and the resulting conflagration wasn't going to be pretty, and someone was going to get burnt.

And the Yule Ball was going to be the perfect match to set it alight.


	18. Chapter 18

Welcome, friends, to the Yule Ball special! Here we have two chapters of hormone-ridden angst with our favorite couple, with a tiny bonus third chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far; it always makes my day to hear from you! The next update will still be set in fourth year, so don't worry if things (particularly on the Krum front) don't seem wrapped up this time.

IMPORTANT: Remember, you are reading about two teenagers! Their feelings at times may be over the top, and their reactions overblown. At that age, not only do you say things you don't mean, but think them as well.

Special thanks to HalfASlug for betaing this, despite being injured for at least the first chapter. If I discover who poured salt on her, I shall be quite cross.

The days before the Ball seemed to pass at a frantic pace to Hermione, who was juggling her end of term work and keeping her date a secret. Harry had been blessedly quiet on the subject, but Ron couldn't seem to let it alone. Several times a day he would ask her who she was going with, and a few times he had inserted it so slyly into the conversation that she had almost let it slip. It wasn't that she was trying to be especially coy, and she had good reasons. The first was the fact that she was going with Viktor Krum. If word got out, she knew his followers would tear her to pieces, and she had no desire to spend her days watching over her shoulder for an incoming Hex.

The second, stronger reason was Ron. The plain fact of the matter was she didn't want to see how shocked and disbelieving he would be. She could imagine him going on and on about how Viktor could have got any girl he wanted, and having to hear that was more than she could deal with. She knew he wouldn't mean anything bad by it, but the fact that he couldn't see her as a girl, much less a desirable girl, still stung. Instead, she would just let him find out at the Ball, and by the time she saw him, he would have gotten over his surprise. Ron would just see it as a chance to get close to Viktor anyway; if anything, he was most likely going to be jealous of her, and would gladly go in her place. And if his dress robes were as lacey as she remembered, he could probably manage it.

Ron grimaced at the memory of those robes. They had been properly shredded and burned, with the appropriate curses muttered over them. He had always wondered why she had never just come out and told him, maybe rubbed it in his face a little. Though he couldn't deny that he probably would have said something like she feared. It wouldn't have been on purpose, but his large foot would have slipped right into his even larger mouth.

And she had to admit, hurt played a part in keeping quiet as well. Asking her as some sort of-of last resort or something, then acting as if it was ridiculous that anyone would have her! It had been tempting to point out that he didn't exactly have girls queuing up to go with him, but she had managed to bite that back before she could start a fight to rival last year's. It always surprised her how a boy who could be so caring one moment could be so callous the next. For example, his total disregard of her had her in tears at one point, but then, when that two-legged ferret Malfoy had Hexed her, he had been right at her side to see what was wrong, and the concern on his face could be nothing other than genuine. Of course, afterwards it had taken him ages to notice the change in her teeth, so it was like being on an emotional see-saw. Up she would go at the slightest hint of interest, and then down she would plummet at his next thoughtless action.

It was exhausting; while Viktor was rather bland, and least he never made her feel as if her heart was being twisted out of shape. The only one who knew her secret was Ginny; she had needed to tell someone, and Ginny would be able to understand perfectly, given her own situation with Harry. She had hoped she had given good advice there, but she had felt that someone should help the younger girl. Ginny was strong and confident, vivacious and outgoing. Except when it came to Harry. Whenever he was around, she would freeze up, her responses becoming infrequent and wooden. It was painful to watch, and one night while she had been at the Burrow, Hermione had finally broached the subject. Ginny confirmed that she had strong feelings for Harry, and was frustrated with herself for becoming a mess when she tried to get close to him. Harry, of course, was completely oblivious.

Hermione had suggested that Ginny go ahead and go with some of the boys that had asked her out. Ginny had balked at first; why see someone else, when it was Harry that she loved? Hermione had pointed out that that was the reason; if she focused her attentions on someone else, she might be able to loosen up and be more natural with Harry, once she had some experience in the had reluctantly agreed, and Hermione thought it was progress that she was going to the Ball with Neville, who was a nice boy and completely safe. He had no romantic interest in Ginny, so wasn't likely to put any pressure on her. She would have gone with him herself if she wasn't going with Viktor. Neville had been a perfect gentleman; he had made it clear that he was asking as a friend, without it coming across like the idea of a real date would be ludicrous.

She shivered in the cold, pulling her wand from her pocket long enough to cast a Warming Charm. The boys were having a snowball fight, and while she would normally join in, she didn't want to get hot and sweaty before she needed to change, knowing the showers would be packed with other girls getting ready for the night. Instead, she watched from a distance safe enough from any errant projectiles as Ron and Harry battled it out with Fred and George. It was good to see Harry having such a good time; now that he and Ron were speaking again, he had lost some of the bleakness that had been eating him up. But most of her attention was on Ron; his hair flopping in his eyes as he darted from tree to tree, his laughter as he scored a hit on one of his brothers. She could feel her lips turning up in a smile, the sight of him warming her in a way her Charm could not. With a sigh, she glanced away. Why couldn't things be simple? This falling in love business was all wrong; wouldn't it be much better if you could just rationally choose someone you were compatible with, and once it was established that you were a good fit and no one would get hurt, then you could fall in love? That way sounded much more sensible to her. Waiting had never been one of her strong points, but it seemed as if she was doomed to do a lot of it where Ron was concerned.

At five, she decided she should go in, if she wanted any hope of getting her hair under control, so she said her goodbyes and made her way inside, Ron's final attempt at finding out who her date was ringing in her ears. She was hit with an urge to turn around and yell at him; that it was supposed to be him, that she had always wanted it to be him, if he would ever take the time to notice her. But he hadn't, so she didn't, instead tramping down the snow harder than necessary as she crossed the grounds.

Pandemonium reigned in the girls' dorms. Shrieks and squeals echoed down the corridors, as girls raced back and forth between each other's rooms and the showers. Everyone was in various stages of dress, and the air was already heavy with the clashing scents of perfumes, lotions, and hair products. Eyes watering, she slid into her own room, which was empty at the moment. It wouldn't stay that way for long, so she rushed about, setting herself up at the prime spot in front of the room's large mirror. She laid out several brushes and combs, along with a few bottles of Sleekeasy's. The stuff had been guaranteed to work on even the most unruly hair, and she intended to test that claim tonight. Deciding to do her hair and makeup before she put on her dress to reduce the possibility of spilling anything on it, she sat down with an air of determination.

Ron watched as she did battle with her hair, thankful that his own, though a laughable color, was easier to tame. It was hard not to laugh, as every time she managed to smooth it down, a random curl would pop up. She kept giving little screams of frustration, and when Parvati and Lavender came by to pick up their clothes before heading to one of their sixth year friend's room, they nearly got their heads taken off when they asked if she was having a hard time.

Once her hair was firmly in place and she was relatively sure it would stay up, she was able to concentrate on her makeup, glad that her mother had given her pointers over the summer. It felt odd to be trying so hard over something she usually didn't bother with, but satisfying too. Talent agents were never going to knock down her door with modeling offers, but she supposed she cleaned up well enough. And she was determined to look her best tonight; She knew that other girls would be ready to pick her apart when they saw she was with Viktor, and she had no plans to give them anything to work with. And no matter how exciting the prospect of tonight was, there was a part of her heart that was still sad. She should be getting dressed up for Ron; instead, she was going with a man who was more of an experiment and confidence boost than a date, and Ron was going with another girl. The thought made her slightly sick, before she considered how uninterested he seemed to be.

When she had heard Harry telling Ron that he had gotten them dates, she had wanted to cry; Ron had gotten his pretty girl after all, and now he would probably have a magical night with her, fall in love, get married and make dozens of ginger babies. But instead of looking excited, he had only seemed relieved that he wouldn't end up looking like a loser, and had promptly lost interest in the subject; in fact, he was paying more attention to who she might be going with than he did the girl who was going with him. She hoped that was a good sign.

Ron choked. Marriage and babies had been the farthest thing from his mind! Hell, he hadn't even been looking for a steady girl! It had just been one less thing to get made fun of for, and he hadn't really cared who the girl was. Poor Padma. He really had been an arse to her. Even before he had seen Hermione that night, he had been focused on her and who she might be with. He had never really given the other girl any proper consideration at all; even now, he couldn't remember what she had looked like that night, and he always forgot that she had actually been his first date.

She was just applying the last coat of lipgloss when the door opened, and Ginny stuck her head in.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. The others are getting ready with a bunch of girls in another room. Which is good, because Lavender would be sure to try to pry the name of my date out of me."

Ginny grinned, coming all the way into the room, shutting the door behind her. "And that would mean the entire school would know under fifteen minutes. Where's your dress? Unless you plan on doing the casual look."

Hermione rolled her eyes, going to the cupboard where her dress robes were hanging. She pulled it out, glad her mother had convinced her to go with this one. Her original choice had been a sober black piece, which she realized now would have made her look like a fifty year old widow.

"I was just getting ready to put it on. You came just in time, since I'll need help getting the zipper up."

"I can do that. I had actually come to see if you needed any help with your hair, but it looks like you managed by yourself. It looks amazing!"

"It should, after all the gunk I had to slather on it. Your hair, on the other hand is naturally perfect, and I'm sure every boy there will want to dance with you tonight."

Ginny gave a weak smile as Hermione changed behind one of the beds, the curtains blocking her from view. "I wouldn't bet on that, but thanks. How's it coming back there?"

Hermione smoothed the skirts, and stepped around the foot of the bed. "What do you think?" she asked nervously.

Ginny came closer, a wide smile breaking out on her face. "Hermione, you look gorgeous! Oh, he's going to absolutely drop his teeth when he sees you!"

The complement both pleased and embarrassed her, and her cheeks were pink from more than the blush she had applied. "Don't be silly. I'm sure Viktor has seen plenty of-"

"Not him, Ron! I know my brother, and he's going to need a bucket to catch all the drool. This will definitely make him kick himself for not asking you sooner."

Hermione frowned. "I seriously doubt it. His tastes seem to lean more toward snooty French girls."

With a dismissive wave of her hand, Ginny moved behind her to finish zipping the back. "Oh please. First of all, every boy within a mile is being stupid over her, but that's only because she's part Veela. Second, Ron's scared spitless of her, and wouldn't know what to do with her if he had her."

"I'm sure he could figure it out. Besides, even if not her, he still has a date for tonight."

"A date that won't be able to look past those hideous dress robes he's stuck with. Honestly, those were the best ones available, and they could be fixed up to look halfway decent. I'm surprised he hasn't asked me for help; he knows I fix up my own clothes."

Hermione looked up from where she had been sliding her feet into her heels. "Ginny, are you telling me you could have helped him, and you never said anything?"

Her friend gave her a wicked smile that would have had the twins shuddering. "Well, I would have, if he had asked the right girl. But since he didn't, I wasn't particularly motivated."

"Ginny, that's horrible!"

"I'd find it easier to believe that if you weren't giggling. Besides, it's like I said; he won't care about anything else once he sees you."

Setting down the small bottle of perfume her parents had given her, Hermione turned to Ginny. "You do know that this date tonight...it's with Viktor, but I don't want you to think..."

"That you're cheating on my brother? Of course not! Look, I know you wanted him to ask, but since he didn't, there's nothing wrong with going with someone else. I'm only sorry you picked the brother that has all the charm and consideration of a warthog."

"That's not fair, Ginny. I don't want some slick charmer, and anyway Ron can be quite sweet when..."

"When he's not being an insensitive git. I know. He has a good heart, if you're willing to fight through the layer of pratishness. And who knows? Maybe seeing you with someone else tonight will finally get him to wake up and make a move."

"Do you really think so?"

Ginny patted her arm as both girls walked to the door. "Knowing Ron, probably not. But a girl has to dream, doesn't she?"

Ron glared at his sister. He had forgotten that Mum had taught her things that could have helped him, and it had never occurred to him to ask. But what irritated him more than that (and more than the insults, since they were mild by her standards) was the comment she had just made to Hermione. Yes, she had briefly thought that something like that might happen, but then she had put it out of her mind as unlikely, and had resolved to enjoy her evening for what it was. Ginny's words had made her think of it again, and there was a part of her that was hoping that he would give her the tiniest sign of interest. That maybe, if she really did look pretty enough tonight, he might decide that she was worth his time. What was going to happen would have been bad enough, but hope always made disappointment so much worse. He knew that from experience; in fact, he had fought against hope so long just for that very reason.

She was as beautiful as he remembered her being as she glided down the stairs and out of the Gryffindor Common Room, and Krum seemed to think so too, by the way his eyes lit up when he met her at the top of the main stairs.

Her knees were weak with nerves, and she was thankful that she hadn't worn the shoes with the higher heel. These were difficult enough, since she only got to wear this type of shoe in the winter, and she was still going to have to dance. The thought of all those people watching made her stomach roil. Hopefully, the first dance wouldn't be very long, and she would get through it without any mishap. She smiled brightly up at Viktor, who lifted her hand and placed a small kiss on the knuckles.

"You look stunning tonight, Herm-own-ninny. Are you ready to go down?"

Oh dear. He still couldn't seem to get her name right. It was fine for a short time, but she didn't know how long she could handle being referred to as 'ninny.'

"You look nice yourself, and I'm ready to go if you are."

He offered her his arm, and Hermione took it, silently praying that if she tripped, she wouldn't take him down with her. As they passed through the crowd of students that were milling about, double-takes were given so hard that Hermione thought some might be in danger of whiplash. The looks of stunned disbelief on people's faces told her that her efforts had paid off; it would be flattering, if they didn't look so surprised. She knew she had a reputation as a plain little swot, but was it really so shocking that she could look nice?

They had joined Cedric and Fleur, along with their partners, before slipping out one of the side doors to make an entrance with the other Durmstrang students. It was cold outside, and her clothing wasn't well suited to it, so she was glad that they weren't out long. They entered at the front of the group, and a few minutes later, she noticed Harry. She almost called out, but his eyes seemed to slide right over her, and she realized with a start that he didn't recognize her. Charming. One of her best friends didn't even know her without her nose in a book and ink on her fingers.

But a few seconds later she saw his green eyes flicker with recognition, and she greeted him and Parvati cheerfully, trying to act as if she did this sort of thing all the time. Parvati looked like she was going to choke on her own tongue, but Hermione was distracted by the group of girls sending her murderous glares. Her hand itched for her wand, but she had had to leave it in her room since she had no place to keep it; her only consolation was that the others were unarmed as well.

And she would never forget the looks on Pany's and Draco's faces; that moment when, after desperately searching for a nasty comment, they came up dry. Her sweet moment of triumph was short lived, however, when she saw who was coming up behind him. It was Ron, but he never spared her a glance. He just kept moving forward at a brisk pace, the muscle in his jaw pulsing ominously. Padma had to hurry to keep up with him, and Hermione wondered if he even noticed that he was in danger of leaving her behind.

However, she wasn't allowed to worry about that for long, because Viktor was steering her up to the main table, where he pulled out her chair for her before taking his seat beside her. She felt awkward all of a sudden. While she had gone to nice restaurants and events with her parents, and she was used to at least some level of sophistication, this was slightly beyond her. Always before she had been on the fringe of things, never having to offer more than a polite response. Now she was expected to be contributing to the conversation, and her words could have a serious effect on the relations between the schools if she wasn't careful. Either of the other two headmasters were liable to take offense where none was meant, but she couldn't stay silent and appear rude.

It didn't help that Viktor seemed to be a man of few words; under Karkaroff's watchful eye, he seemed to have been struck mute. Hermione saw that it would be up to her to get things moving, and she seized her chance when the older man's attention was drawn away from their end of the table. She avoided Quidditch, because she was hopeless with the terms, and Viktor had seemed weary whenever someone had brought up the subject. S.P.E.W., while dear to her heart, was probably too contentious to bring up; her own classmates were less than receptive, and Viktor came from a more...repressed area. Desperately, she tossed out a comment about the differences in climates and how he was coping with them. He seized upon it gratefully, and launched into a fairly interesting description of life at his school.

Hermione, always fascinated to learn about other cultures, listened with rapt attention. The conversation carried them through the meal, though Hermione paid little attention to the food. Viktor would never be mistaken for a sparkling conversationalist, but the subject was interesting, and he seemed to hang on her every word, something that she was unused to, but quite liked.

Soon enough, it was time for the opening dance, and Hermione hoped her palm wasn't sweating too badly as he led her to the floor, where they took their positions with the other champions. Harry looked as if he would rather be facing another Horntail, and she would have found it funny if she didn't suspect she was wearing the same expression. The music started, and she put the hand that Viktor wasn't holding on his shoulder, while his free hand rested on her waist. As they began to move, she inwardly blessed her parents for those six years of dance lessons that she used to bemoan as a waste of time. With each step she became more confident that she would make it without stepping on his feet, and she began to actually enjoy herself. Much of the pressure was removed when other students began to trickle onto the floor, and she discovered that she liked dancing much more than she had as a child. It was also more tiring than she had remembered, and after a few dances, she had worked up quite a thirst. Viktor was attentive enough to notice.

"If you vait here, I will be bringing us back something to drink. Vould you be vanting punch, or a butterbeer? It might be a few minutes, as the tables look rather crowded."

"A butterbeer would be lovely, thanks. Don't rush; my feet could use the rest."

She drifted off to the back wall to wait for him, watching the other students as they danced.

"Look Fred, the lovely Miss Granger is free. It seems she's out-danced our scowling Bulgarian friend."

Hermione turned at George's voice, finding him with his brother, along with their dates. "Don't you two start. Viktor's been perfectly nice, and I fully intend to enjoy the rest of my evening without you making fun of me."

They raised their hands defensively. "Peace! Our dates have threatened us into good behaviour. Besides, who's taking the mickey? You do look good; even that git Malfoy gave you a good once over."

Narrowing her eyes, she saw that the older boys seemed genuine, and she let herself relax. "Thanks. I suppose I'm just tired of people looking at me like a Muggle coming across a unicorn. Have you seen Ginny? She looked great tonight too."

Fred snickered into his bottle of butterbeer. "Yeah, all the Weasley's are in fine form tonight. Except poor Ron. When I saw him when he was getting ready, I thought he was going to use all of that extra lace to hang himself, didn't you, George?"

"I dunno; I think the look on his face when he saw Hermione come in with Krum was funnier. Thought he was going to piss himself for a minute!"

Hermione glared at the giggling twins, whose dates were rolling their eyes. "Don't you dare start on him! He feels bad enough about those robes as it is without you making it worse, and the fact that I got to meet one of his favorite Quidditch stars when he hasn't has probably made things worse."

The twins exchanged an odd look that she couldn't decipher. "Yeeeah. I'm sure that's what his problem was. Why don't you go talk to him? Last we saw, he didn't look like he was having too much fun."

"Speaking of not having fun, how about the two of you stop yammering poor Hermione's ears off and come dance?" Angelina asked.

Fred bowed. "My lady has spoken. See you later, Hermione!"

She waved, then decided to take George's advice and look for Ron. She hadn't seen him dancing, which had come as a surprise, since she figured he would want to show off the fact that he was with Padma. But unless she was very much mistaken, that was Padma over there, being twirled around by a boy from Beauxbatons. She finally spotted Ron along with Harry, both slumped in their seats and looking utterly miserable. It was horrible of her, but a part of her was pleased to see that he wasn't getting too friendly with Padma. Maybe this would show him that prettiness wasn't the only thing to look for in a girl. But he wouldn't want to hear that, so, guilty for enjoying his discomfort, she went over to see if she could cheer him up a bit.

And that was probably the biggest mistake she had made all night.

She had tried to be pleasant, really she had. She knew this wasn't the kind of event where Ron would feel comfortable, and she knew the shame of his dress robes compounded that. But he had gotten what he wanted, a pretty girl to take to the Ball, and it wasn't her fault that that had turned sour too. Then he started making cutting remarks about Viktor, which she couldn't understand. Why did he care if Viktor was interested in her? He certainly wasn't. And it wasn't as if she had sought the Quidditch star out. So why was he making her feel sneaky and clandestine? Her temper was flaring, but she still tried to reign it in, until he accused her of helping Viktor against Harry, saying that was why he was seeing her in the first place. When she heard that, it was like a blow to her head, leaving her dizzy and sick to her stomach.

It hurt. It hurt so much. To be told that no one could possibly want you unless they were using you was bad enough, but to be told that by the boy you're in love with...and then to imply that she would do something like that to Harry, as if she would betray her best friend for someone she hardly knew! Her magical night was cracking down the middle like one of Professor Trelawney's crystal balls, the harsh reality crushing her temporary fantasies. It was too much for her to take, so she left to try to salvage what she could of her night.

Ron slumped after her, unable to stand the sight of his younger self. He had never been very good with words, especially when trying to express his feelings, and tonight was probably one of the worst blunders her had ever made. But in his desperation to hold onto something that was slipping away, something he hadn't known until that moment that he wanted, he had tried to say anything he could think of to discredit his rival. He had hoped to turn her against him, maybe even make her feel a little guilty; but he had never meant to imply that she was someone who could never be loved, or that she was some sort of desperate slag that would sell out a friend for some attention. But jealousy and bitterness had been strong in him that year, and as always when he was hurt, he had lashed out at those closest to him. Watching now, he was surprised that Hermione hadn't written him off and chosen Krum instead. Because while Krum was a bit quiet and boring, and had no hope of keeping up with her when she went on a tear, he was at least polite, and his words didn't twist her like a knife.

Viktor had returned with the drinks, and she took hers, hoping her smile wasn't too forced. She sipped at the cold beverage, hoping it would help cool her anger.

"Herm-own-ninny? Did something happen? Vould you prefer to sit the next dance out?"

She set her glass on a nearby table, with perhaps more force than necessary. Oh, she was going to dance alright. There was no way she was going to let Ron ruin her night completely, leaving her sulking in a chair like him!

"Nothing happened. I was talking to a friend, and they said something a bit irritating, is all. But the music is lovely, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste, don't you think?"

"If someone has upset you, I vould be happy to have vords vith them..."

"No, that's alright. It was nothing important, anyway. Please, let's dance? I was having such a nice time before."

Viktor glared around, as if he could discover who had upset her just by looking at them. But he must have decided to let it go, because he allowed her to take his hand and lead him back to the dancefloor, where Ginny shot her a questioning look over Neville's shoulder. Hermione pretended not to see it. All she wanted to do was dance and forget; forget she was in love with a cruel, heartless pig of a boy, a boy who obviously didn't know her at all. She let the music pour over her as song after song played, and she danced as she had never danced before, twirling, spinning, and dipping. The evening was winding down when Viktor danced them over to one of the side doors, which opened onto a small garden with an arbour, the full moon the only light shining down.

She was nervous, because she suspected she knew what was coming. Though inexperienced, she was smart enough to know what it meant when a man led you out into the dark. While exciting, she wasn't sure if she was ready. After all, they had only known each other a short time, only had a few conversations in the library. But she was curious as well, and when would she get another chance? Never, if it was left up to Ron. The hurt of his words decided her, and she allowed Viktor to place his hands on her upper arms, drawing her closer.

"Herm-own-ninny, I...I vould like...ah. How to say this? In my country, I am being kept very busy, vith very little personal time. Once, there vas a girl I began to become close to, but nothing much came of it. But you...you are very different from other girls, so easy to talk to. And now, I vould like, I vould very much like to..."

"Yes," she said, just one word before she lost her nerve, as she tilted her head up and let her eyes fall closed.

She felt lips upon hers, just the slightest peck before he pulled away, and the sensation gave her a start. Then he kissed her again, but this time longer. It was a soft kiss, and fairly chaste; there was no tongue, but it wasn't the peck of before, either. Her lips moved under his, and then it was over, and they both took a step back, unsure what to say. Hermione, as always in a new situation, was busy analyzing what had happened. It had been far from unpleasant, though nothing like she had been led to believe, and it was a pale shadow to how she felt when she imagined what it would be like to...well. It was interesting, but she had thought kisses, especially first kisses, were supposed to taste sweet; this one was slightly sour from the wine he had been drinking earlier, and there was bitterness from the knowledge that this wasn't who she wanted to kiss. Her first kiss, and it was tainted because she knew a major part of it had only been done to prove something to herself and others, not because she felt any real love for the man she was with.

A few feet away, Ron stood nonplussed. That was it? That was what had been ate at him for years? Sure, it was more than any of the kisses she had ever given Harry, but in light of their first kiss, it was so pale as to be almost nothing. And it wasn't even out of love or attraction, but born from hurt and curiosity, much like his first kiss had been. More like his first several hundred kisses had been, he thought guiltily. All because he hadn't been mature enough to let this go. And she had at least been kind enough not to do it right in front of him, and she certainly hadn't carried on for months just to rub his face in it, as he had her. Sure, there had been some part of her that had felt like she was getting a bit of her own back, but after what he had said, he couldn't really blame her.

Someone laughed loudly, and they jumped, before nervously laughing themselves.

"Ve...Should be getting back inside. It is too cold out here for you, and Karkaroff vill be looking for me."

"It is a bit cold, although I'm sure you're used to it. But I wouldn't want you to get in trouble, so we probably should go in."

She held his hand as they rejoined the crowed, and once again, Ginny was looking at her, this time knowingly, with a wink. But Hermione didn't want to think about it, and she made sure to stay on opposite sides of the room for the final two dances. It wasn't long before Viktor's headmaster was giving him pointed looks, and their goodbyes were rushed under his watchful gaze.

"I vill be seeing you in the library, I hope?" he asked, after kissing her hand.

"I'm sure you will. I spend most of my time in their, as anyone would tell you."

"Yes, vhen you are not vith your...friend. He is your friend, correct?"

Hermione blushed, thinking of Ron's accusations. "My very best friend. We've been friends since first year, you know. We're very close."

The answer seemed to displease him somehow. "I see. Vell. I am sure ve vill be getting to know each other better as vell. Goodnight, Herm-own-ninny."

She watched him go, before turning to the stairs that would lead to Gryffindor tower. Spotting a familiar head of red hair, she quickened her pace. She wasn't done with him. No, she had several things she wanted to say, and she was going to say them. She stalked up the tower, her fury mounting with every step. What gave him the right to comment on her love life? She had given him every chance to be the one to ask her, but nooo, she hadn't been good enough!

By the time she had gotten to the Common Room, she was in a right state, and wasted no time in walking up behind him, and giving him a good hard shove to his shoulder. When he turned, his eyes darkened, and his lips pulled down into a scowl.

"You're back awful early. What's wrong, did darling Vicky leave you in the lurch?" he snarled.

She backed off, taking up her usual fighting stance; legs set shoulder width apart, hands on hips and bent slightly forward.

"He only left because Karkaroff made him. For your information, we had a wonderful night. A far sight better than yours, or had it been your intention to spend it in a chair?"

"I had a date! And it was someone from Hogwarts too; I didn't have to get off with the enemy, unlike some people!"

"Viktor is not an enemy! And I recall you making a fool of yourself over a certain Veela, you hypocrite. But she wouldn't have you, would she? And the one you did manage to get to go with you certainly didn't stick around long. What was wrong, did she not like the way you were upholstered?"

She knew that was hitting too low, but she was too hurt to care. Why couldn't he see that this was all his fault? She had wanted nothing more than to go with him, and wouldn't have cared if he had been wearing a wedding dress; but he had turned his nose up and cut her at every turn, and now she was hurting and feeling guilty for trying to enjoy herself with Viktor. She didn't dare mention the kiss. Somehow she knew that whatever he said about that would be beyond horrid, and she didn't know if her heart could take it.

They continued to hurl insults, hands waving, eyes flashing. Her hair was coming loose and frizzing out, but she couldn't be bothered, not even by the stares they were receiving. All she was aware of was his voice; like the rest of his family, he had a thick, Devon accent, something she usually found rather comforting, and even exciting when it rumbled in anger. But now it was harsh and ugly, and she just wanted everything to stop. She hated the Ball, and she hated boys. She wanted to go to sleep and find that this had all been a dream. But it wasn't; it was very real, and the realest thing was the one fact that had stuck in her head. He didn't want her. She wasn't good enough, would never be good enough. She wasn't even good enough for anyone else to want, in his opinion, if he had to keep coming up with reasons why they would be interested in her. Even if he didn't love her, as her friend, shouldn't he have been happy for her? It didn't seem like he could.

Ron was choking on the pain that was bubbling up within her. He wanted to yell, to tell her that that wasn't true, had never been true. He did want her, and that was why he couldn't be happy when someone else got her. He didn't want to be her friend, but any chance of something more was slipping away, and he didn't know how to hold onto it. His attempts were clumsy, and in his desperation to hold her he was crushing her instead. The hurt that she was feeling was running through him, enhanced by his own pain and regret, and it began to loop, speeding up and intensifying. The world flashed and pulsed, and his body was being pulled, the last thing he saw was her tearstained face, her eyes angry and full of emotion. A beeping noise filled his head, growing louder and louder, and then the darkness swallowed him whole.


	19. Chapter 19

Ron stared dolefully down at the laces of his trainers while he waited for Harry to get dressed. It was the day of the ball, and he was no closer to worming out Hermione's secret than he had been since he started. It was beyond frustrating; she would natter on endlessly about things like school and spew, but try to steer her onto a subject he was actually interested in, and she clammed right up. His curiosity had been set alight the moment he had learned she was going with someone, and he had devoted every spare second to wearing her down. But it was like trying to wear away rock with a trickle of water; with time it was possible, but tedious and not likely to happen in his lifetime.

He didn't even know why it mattered so much, but somehow it did. When he had asked her, he had been confident she would say yes. Grudgingly, and with grumbled mutterings about how their time could be better spent revising, but agreeing all the same. Then, not only had she refused, but she had claimed that she was going with someone else. How could she? It didn't make any sense. The only blokes she was around on a regular basis were him and Harry, so they should've seen if someone else had asked. Harry hadn't, of that he was sure. His brothers had dates, so they couldn't have done it to spite him. Seamus and Dean had dates, so that let them out, and Ginny was going with Neville. He frowned. Neville. For some reason, the thought that he had asked Hermione suddenly bothered him.

Alright, so that was every boy in Gryffindor that she had any real contact with. With a small gasp of horror, he was struck with the suspicion that she was seeing someone from another house. That was ridiculous. Hermione wouldn't go with someone she barely knew; he just wasn't looking hard enough. Part of the reason he was so eager to know was because he had to know who she had chosen over him. Fine, so maybe going with a friend wasn't the most exciting thing, but that wasn't something Hermione really cared about. Plus, she was always going on about how important friendship was, so whoever this other fellow was must be pretty impressive. And it wasn't totally a matter of ego, he assured himself. All this secrecy was too close to how things were last year, and he didn't relish the idea of being shut out again.

If he hadn't gone about it in such a boneheaded manner, she really would have been fine with going as friends. It would have been a good starting point to plant the idea of something more, and at least they could have had fun. And she should have known that keeping things a secret would have bothered him. He had told her once that it made him feel left out and nervous, as if he were being slowly shut out from people's lives. Since then, she had done her best to be more open, and it had seemed to really help his confidence.

"What did those shoes ever do to you?"

Ron snapped his head up to look at Harry, who was staring at him with a bemused expression. "Huh?"

"I asked why you were glaring at your feet. Don't tell me they've grown again."

"'Course not." he lied. They actually had. "I was just wondering who Hermione's going to the ball with. You don't suppose it could be someone from Ravenclaw, do you?"

Harry rolled his eyes with a groan as Ron stood to follow him from the room, tugging his beanie onto his head. "Can't you let that drop? The twins are threatening to smuggle some Firewhiskey in to take a shot whenever you ask."

"I'm not that bad!"

"Not that bad? Ron, you ask so often, I think Hermione's afraid that she'll find you there waiting the next time she lifts the toilet lid."

"Come on, you can't tell me you're not curious."

"Yeah, but I can wait till tonight to find out. Why does it matter so much, anyway? You have your own date."

Ron was unable to find an answer. All he knew was that he had been plagued by a mounting sense of wrongness that wouldn't go away. As for his date, the thought didn't make him as happy as he thought it would. Sure, he was actually going to go with a pretty girl, but...he just couldn't seem to get excited about it. In fact, he had even forgotten a few times. He blamed Hermione; if she would just tell him, he would be able to focus on his unusual good luck.

That was very Ron. His first reaction whenever he was uncomfortable or upset was to blame someone else. Sometimes it had merit, and sometimes it was ridiculous. It was always something of a process for him to work things around where he could see his own part in it. In this case, though, it was definitely a mix of his own slowness and her unwillingness to be the wallflower.

The air outside was biting cold, and even the sun did little to warm him. The twins were already there, and Ron had no doubt that they had already cached away a supply of snowballs. Which was fine; he had anticipated that, and had several piles cunningly hidden himself. Hermione was sitting on a bench out of the line of fire, and he waved at her, which caused his brothers to snicker.

"Go on, Ronnie. You won't be good for anything but a target until you get it out of your system."

Ron glared at Fred, and then at Harry, the traitor, who was laughing as well. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Hey, Hermione!"

Even from this distance he could see her eyes narrow and her lips press into a tight, thin line. Uh-oh. Looks like Harry had been right. "Are you going to be warm enough over there?"

The look of surprise on everyone's face was gratifying. Hermione pulled out her wand, waving it to show that she could warm up with magic. He smiled smugly at the twins, who looked disappointed.

"Not cool, little brother. If you're not going to amuse us, we might as well go inside."

Taking a lesson from Ginny, Ron smiled innocently. "Have the two of you been writing to Mum? I had a letter from her asking what the two of you have been up to."

His brothers shifted nervously, and Ron knew he had hit on something. They had been acting fishy for months, and he knew from experience that attention from their mum was the last thing they wanted.

"And just what did you write back, you dirty little grass?" George asked with a threatening look.

"I said the two of you have been really busy, and it looked like you were doing a lot of revising." Ron answered quickly, before things turned ugly. He just wanted a snowball fight, not an out and out war.

"Revising? Really?"

He shrugged. "Not bloody likely, but from a distance, it looked like you could be."

The twins beamed, clapping him on the shoulders. "Atta boy, Ronniekins! For the next three hours, that earns you the spot of favorite brother. Of course, we're still going to slaughter you. Now, for teams-" Fred was interrupted by a snowball smacking him right in the face. He wiped it away, spitting snow. "We haven't started yet, you specky git!"

Harry toed the snow, his eyes large with false contrition. "Oh. Well, I don't have siblings, you see, so that isn't the kind of thing I'd know. So sorry."

George snorted. "Right. Ron, you take mister Puppy Eyes over there, and I'm with Fred. On the count of twenty, come out throwing!"

Ron grabbed their sleeves before they could run off. "Wait a minute, let's have some ground rules. No rocks, sticks, or anything other than snow. No sticking it down someone's trousers, and no turning it to ice or water. And absolutely no yellow snow allowed!"

"Damn, he remembered. Fine, you've got your rules. Now get moving!"

Harry looked at him curiously as they jogged to a small stand of trees. "Yellow snow?"

"Don't ask. Please, please don't ask."

They were out for hours, and Ron was able to forget things like Balls and dress robes, girls and secretive friends. His brothers were in a good mood, which had been rare of late, and he was enjoying spending time with them without getting his head bitten off. Even the cold had stopped bothering him after a while, and all in all, it was a good day. Until about five o'clock when Hermione said she was going in to get ready. Was she serious? Who took that long to get dressed? Even if she was taking a shower, that was still too much time.

"Three hours? Who the hell takes three hours to put on a set of dress robes?"

Fred gave a low whistle. "Sounds like she's pulling out all the stops. She must be serious about this guy, whoever it is."

Somehow, that was the last thing Ron wanted to hear. "Yeah right. Hermione's not interested in that kind of thing."

"You really have a lot to learn, brother of mine. Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. Let's keep going; I still owe you one for that last hit!"

Ron got back in the game, but his heart was no longer in it. He kept trying to picture Hermione giggling over boys like other girls, but the vision just wouldn't come. But what if Fred was right? What if she got herself a boyfriend? Where would that leave him? HIm and Harry. No, it couldn't be true. Though he tried to convince himself, the doubt kept gnawing at him. Part of him couldn't wait for tonight, when everything would be out in the open and settled. The other part of him never wanted it to come; something told him that he wasn't going to like whatever it was he was going to learn.

That was an understatement. In a way, he had been more upset than during the whole Scabbers ordeal, though it wasn't dragged out as long. He had looked so wounded and betrayed that it had hurt to look at him; at least, until he had struck out at her. Seeing it from his point of view was proving to be an experience. Already, he was working himself up, even though he didn't know why. It was as if his subconscious could see what was coming, while he continued to fight against the realization. She dreaded what was coming up next; it had been bad enough to live through it, and she could tell that it was going to be at least as hard from this side of things. It hadn't even started yet, and she was already chewing her lips raw. Which was odd, because technically she wasn't really here, but even her usual voracious curiosity couldn't distract her from Ron.

The boys stayed until the sun was setting, when they were forced to go in to get ready. Hermione followed as Ron slowly made his way back to the tower, in no hurry to change his clothes.

Ron stared at his trunk with trepidation. Every few minutes, he would reach out to open it, only to pull back. What was in there was worse than any Boggart, and he shuddered at the mere thought of what was awaiting him. Many people would have the hope that they had magically improved since the last time they saw them; Ron, however, had been raised around magic long enough to know that it rarely worked that way, and never for him. Everyone else was already mostly dressed, and he watched in envy as they moved about the room in their flashy robes. Even the plainest among them would be an improvement over his. Now he wished that he was better at Transfiguring things, as that was the only thing he could think of that would begin to help.

"Hurry up, Ron. Just bite the bullet and get them out already." Harry called from over by his bed.

"Bite the whatsit?"

"Nothing. I just meant that you should get it over with, or we'll be late."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going."

He shot a glare at Harry's back. It was easy for him to say. His robes looked great, not a frill in sight. Ron shook his head. Thoughts like that were what started their stupid fight in the first place, and he really didn't ever want to be on the outs with Harry like that ever again. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the lid of his trunk and dug to the bottom, where he had shoved the wretched things. The wrinkles they now sported did nothing to enhance them, even after he had shaken them out the best he could. His lip curled in distaste as he held them to his nose; their smell hadn't improved either. Reluctantly, he pulled them on. The best that could be said about them was that they were the right length, covering his painfully tight dress shoes.

The room went silent as, one by one, the other boys caught a look at him. The expression on his face must have been enough to warn them off from taking the piss, which he was greatly thankful for, until the door opened and the two people he wanted to see the least swaggered through. The twins stopped short, the grins melting off of their faces.

"Sweet fucking Circe, Ron! What the hell are you wearing?" George said in awe.

"Wow, Ginny said they were bad, but she didn't say that it looks like Mum's good tablecloth and all the doilies in the house got together for an orgy!"

Ron let out a noise between a groan and a whimper. That was it; he wasn't going downstairs. He was going to make a noose out of the excess lace and hang himself.

Fred circled him, examining him from all angles like one would a newly discovered species, albeit a repulsive one. "At least get rid of the stench. Unless that's your cologne. Then you deserve it for spraying it on willingly."

"No, that was a bonus that came with the robes. I don't think Mum managed to wash them."

His brother flicked his wand, performing some sort of Freshening Charm. "There. Now you're only offensive to one of the senses. Want us to see if we can temporarily blind your bird for the night?"

Oh, that was tempting. While they were at it, they could just blind the entire castle, and he wouldn't have anything to worry about. Until Mum heard about it and came up to murder everyone. And with his luck, she'd end up burying him in the things.

"Thanks, but no. Maybe if I..."

Sticking his tongue out in concentration, he used a Severing Charm to remove as much of the lace as he could. If he had to go as some form of household linen, then it was at least going to be a bachelor tablecloth.

Hermione winced sympathetically. Those robes were just as atrocious as she remembered, and they would have been a severe blow to someone who possessed self-confidence in spades, which Ron certainly didn't. Ron was at his most touchy when his confidence was low and he felt like he was coming in last place; he might have reacted badly if she had gone with any boy, but picking an international Quidditch star absolutely guaranteed that it would be more than he could handle.

They moved to the main stairs, where he waited with Harry. The twins had already gone ahead with their dates, and Ron was trying to blend into the conveniently placed tacky painting behind him. He shifted his weight from the right foot to the left, and then back again, his fingers plucking at a stray thread on his cuff that he had missed. His eyes were trained on the top of the stairs, where he was sure Hermione would be appearing soon. He was so close to finding out who she was with that he couldn't focus on anything else, and when Harry led Padma over, he barely acknowledged her. But Hermione never appeared, and he eventually had to move along to the Great Hall. The crowd began to whisper and mutter as the main doors opened and the students from Durmstrang came through. Ron shoved between two fifth years, standing on his toes to catch a glimpse of Krum. His robes were probably going to be among the fanciest there, and Ron was sure that he was bringing the prettiest girl at Hogwarts; maybe even Fleur. And there he was at the head of the group, in disappointingly sober robes. Ron turned his attention to the girl on Krum's arm, but instead of the pale blond he was expecting, he saw that it was...

No.

No, it was impossible, and he refused to believe it.

But as they came closer, there was no mistaking that it was Hermione. She looked...she looked amazing. More than amazing. She had done something with her hair, and he didn't think he had ever seen her in makeup. There was a glow about her that seemed to radiate from head to foot, dimming those around her.

And it all made Ron sick.

It wasn't like being punched in the stomach; with six siblings, he knew that feeling well enough. And it wasn't the sharp pain followed by the deep ache of a broken bone, like he had had last year. It was some sort of horrible mixture of the two, only much, much worse, with an overlying tone of the fight he had earlier in the year with Harry.

Hermione sucked in a mouthful of air, trying to get her breath. This was some of the strongest, most painful emotion she had ever felt from Ron. Though slightly different from his perspective, she was far from unfamiliar with this sensation. It was almost exactly how she had felt in sixth year when she first saw Lavender kissing Ron, and recalling how poorly she had reacted then, she now completely understood why Ron had behaved as he did. They were both wrong in their choice of actions, though at least Ron hadn't attacked her with magic, a thought that shamed her still. All he used were words, which were more than painful enough.

Speaking of Harry, he didn't even seem to notice anything amiss. Fat lot of good those glasses did. He just kept moving forward, and Ron followed in his wake, staring straight ahead so the stinging in his eyes wouldn't turn to tears. Harry went up to sit at the head table, and Ron veered off to one of the lower ones, sitting in the corner. He was momentarily shocked and hopeful when there was a rustle of feminine dress robes by his side, until he saw that it was Padma. Grunting at her comment, he stared quietly down at the table, for once having absolutely no interest in whatever was on the menu. He managed to string together a few items along with everyone else, but when his plate arrived, he only poked at it. Conversation swirled around him, the subject only irritating him further. Who the hell cared what kind of gunk Hermione had poured in her hair?

He stared fixedly up at the head table, leaning back so he had a clear shot of Hermione. The sight made his heart ache all over again, because she was laughing. He jabbed his fork viciously into his piece of meat. How dare that jumped-up broom humper make her laugh? That laugh was supposed to be for him! Hermione didn't laugh at every little thing, and it was always a source of pride that he was the one who could make her laugh until tears leaked out of her eyes when he really tried. And now he was having to watch her up there, acting like she was only supposed to with him, and to a lesser extent, Harry.

"Ron? Ron, that cow was already dead. There's really no need in killing it all over again."

"Huh? Oh. Shit."

He had looked down to see what Ginny was talking about, and found that he had tenderized his steak into a sort of meat paste. Dropping his fork, he pushed his food away untouched. Ginny's eyes were boring into his skull, but he avoided looking at her. He was suffering enough without his nosey little sister wanting to know why he was skipping what should've been a bang up dinner. There was movement from up front, and the tables were cleared away to make room for dancing. Ron skulked at the edges to watch, Padma sighing loudly at his side as he found a seat. He had planned to watch Harry, so he could give him a hard time later, but that was now the furthest thing from his mind. It wasn't long before Harry dropped into the chair beside him, not looking too happy himself. Well at least they could be miserable together.

Padma asked if he wanted to dance, but he brushed her off. How could he dance without Hermione? It took him a moment to realize she had meant for him to dance with her, but the idea had no appeal. He was too busy watching Hermione twirl around the room with the Bulgarian Baboon. His hands looked obscenely large on her waist, and Ron's teeth grit impossibly hard as he tried to picture how it would feel if he were touching her instead. But it was probably just as well; the dancing they were doing was nothing like what he was used to at weddings and other Weasley family get togethers, and he would end up looking like a clumsy sod beside her. He hadn't even known she could dance. Apparently there were a lot of things he hadn't known, including the fact that he wanted to know, about so many things he had never thought to ask.

The lights shone brightly on the highlights in her hair as she spun across the room, dancing further and further away from him. He was such a fool. It was just like him to realize how much he wanted something as it slipped right through his grasp. How had it taken this long to see it? Hermione was an amazing witch; brilliant and driven, courageous and caring. As for her looks...well, he had eyed her up a few times over the last year, as much as he had tried to ignore it. There was no ignoring it now; she was fit as fuck, and he narrowed his eyes at some of the looks she was getting. He growled under his breath, and turned his attention back to the dancers. Hermione was no longer there. He scanned the room, only to have her come up from his right, smiling and breathless.

She seemed so damn happy, as if she wasn't ripping him apart from the inside out. Instead of playing it cool, the poison burbled up within him, spilling out in his words. He searched desperately for any reason that he could think of to make Krum look bad. Believing that he and Hermione were serious about one another was more than he could bear, and he spun up a story to account for their sudden attraction. Like most things in his life, it didn't go as planned; instead of seeing her night with Vicky as a mistake, she just got angrier and angrier, and it almost looked like she was hurt. Which was ridiculous, because he was the one being hurt. Everything was going great for her. It all ended with her giving a strangled noise suspiciously like a sob before stalking off, leaving him with Harry, who was regarding the ceiling with far more interest than it deserved.

One of the best things about Harry, in Ron's opinion, was that he never pressed you to talk about things. Which was good, because he didn't know where to start, even if he was able to admit what was wrong. Just when he thought the night couldn't get any worse, Percy slipped up on them, like salt attracted to a citric acid covered wound. The lace from his robes would have come in handy right about now; he could either use it to garrott Percy, or stuff his mouth with it. Never the easiest to deal with among his siblings, Percy had reached new levels of pompousness this last year that Ron had previously thought impossible to attain. It was with great relief that he and Harry managed to sneak away into the gardens, away from his brother, the noise, and, most importantly, the sight of Hermione dancing with someone else.

It was cold out, but Ron had always found that anger and embarrassment did a better job of keeping you warm than any Charm, and he had enough of both to spare. He had gone outside for a distraction, and he had certainly found that. Snape and Karkaroff getting suspiciously cozy would have been interesting enough, but what had blown his mind was stumbling onto Hagrid and his...lady friend. Seriously, even Hagrid had found someone? What was so wrong with him, then? He bathed regularly. He didn't have hair like a bear pelt. He didn't keep pets that were likely to cost you and your nearest and dearest your lives. (Alright, one, but the rat hardly counted.) And then, to top it off, finding out Hagrid was half giant!

And he could tell by the look on Harry's face that he just didn't get it, and that Hermione probably wouldn't either. It was shaping up to be the whole Lupin argument of last year. Since he spent most of his time with them in the Magical world, Ron often forgot that they had been raised the Muggle way, and there were things they didn't understand, and usually took wrong. Hermione had lectured him about the way he had treated Lupin in the Shrieking Shack, and it had taken some explaining to get her to see his point. Werewolves were a difficult subject to deal with at the best of times. They didn't really have a set nature; it really depended on the personality of the individual. You could either have a kindly, downtrodden type like Lupin, or a homicidal monster like Greyback. And that was what was the most frightening thing about them. You never knew what you were going to get, until sometimes it was too late. Even the decent ones could be dangerous when they lost themselves. They would regret it all the next day, but that didn't do you much good when you were nothing but a pile of bones.

When he had freaked out that night, he was just going with the facts as he knew them. One, there was a murderous maniac bent on his best friend's death, and two, a man they thought they could trust appeared to now be on the side of the enemy. And he was a werewolf. Did he mention he was siding with someone who wanted to kill them? And it was the full moon. So yes, he had been justifiably worried. As he pointed out to Harry and Hermione, neither one of them had rushed to Lupin to embrace him like a long lost uncle, and why was that, hmm? Because they were just as afraid as he was! Once things had gotten sorted out, he was just fine with their Professor, and had been disappointed that he wouldn't be staying.

Giants, however, were another matter entirely. They were just plain cruel. Wizards had tried for centuries to see if they couldn't discover a peaceful line of giants, but had always met with failure, and usually a very unpleasant death as well. And it wasn't only animosity between races. Giants couldn't even stand to be around one another, and murder was an almost daily occurrence, which was one of the reasons they were dying out. Even Hagrid had admitted his mum had been no prize.

It wasn't even the fact that he was part giant that was troubling Ron. You only had to meet Hagrid to know he was one of the biggest softies to walk the earth. Anyone who went to tears over Hippogriffs and sang lullabies to dragons couldn't be what you would consider a typical giant. But people like Malfoy would use the information to cause problems for Hagrid; he would surely go running off to daddy as soon as he heard, and there would be a big stir at the Ministry. Things would've been fine if Hagrid had kept his mouth shut, but there he was, babbling along as happy as a three year old with a toy broom. Madame Olympe had much more sense; deny everything, no matter how obvious a lie it was. She would stay safe, but the truth about Hagrid would be all over the castle within a week if he kept going on like this. He just hoped Dumbledore would be able to keep things under control, because he didn't think Hagrid could take another stay in Azkaban.

When he put it like that, it made perfect sense. When she was young, she had naively believed that if you treated others well, you would be treated well in return, and that everyone would appreciate your efforts on their behalf. Sadly, that wasn't always the case. Centaurs were a good example; you could try and try all you liked, but they still looked down on you with disdain and suspicion, and could be quite dangerous with little to no provocation. But at this time, she was more upset with Ron's attitude towards house elves, which she considered to be blatantly racist, an ugly trait in an otherwise likable boy. Oh, he hated to see them treated badly, and he bore them no ill will. He didn't even really think they weren't as good as humans. And, of course, there was the matter of it being something that was traditional in his world and rarely, if ever, questioned. He had taken her disgust as something personal, when it wasn't.

And Ron...Ron didn't like thinking about the larger issues unless he had to. Once he was behind a cause he would fight for it with his last breath; it just took a while to get there. And at this time in his life, he simply wasn't ready for that. If he changed his beliefs, he was the type who would do something about it, and he wasn't comfortable or mature enough to take up that kind of responsibility. So it wasn't really a case of racism, per se, but more a lack of maturity and a case of moral laziness, which could happen to the best of people, and often did. Even Harry had been less than supportive of S.P.E.W., and that was even after knowing how terribly Dobby had been treated.

All too soon, they had to go back inside, and the thoughts that had distracted him for the past hour or so fled in the face of his remembered hurt. He could feel the negativity building up again, and it wasn't long before he took advantage of Harry's inattention to leave. It was slow going wading through the throng of students who were reluctant for the night to end, but he finally made it to the Common Room, which was almost as loud as it was downstairs. Everyone was talking about what a great time they had, but he wasn't listening. The room finally thinned out a little, and he stood in the middle, unable to decide whether to wait in front of the fire for Harry, or to go on up. His decision was made for him, when someone gave him a hard shove to the back.

It was Hermione, and by the look of her, she was spoiling for a fight. That suited him just fine; he was all keyed up, and a flaming row sounded like just the thing. They snapped back and forth, and he was hardly aware of what was being said. All that was important was that her attention was finally on him, and he would take what he could get, even if it was negative. Negative it certainly was, but by the tears dancing at the corner of her eyes, he wasn't doing too shabbily in that department either. The guilt for that would come later, but right now, he wanted her to hurt the same way he did. If he had been smart, he would've played up his night with Padma to make her jealous, but who was he kidding? No way she would want to trade places with the other girl.

Yet that was exactly what she had wanted. She had wanted to be the one he asked, the one he ate with and danced with. Even if they hadn't danced, they could have sat to one side with bottles of Butterbeer, cracking wise about Malfoy and Pansy, maybe even had a good laugh about his robes. They could have teased Harry about his nervousness, and he possibly would have seen that she was interesting as a girl. It was so frustrating to watch, and she had tears in her eyes from the shared emotions. In the end, they had each only ever wanted the same thing; to be wanted. They just wouldn't get to the point of admitting it for another three years.

Her hair had tumbled down around her face in all it's frizzy glory, and she stood there the picture of a Gryffindor lion. She would be stunning if it wasn't for the fact that she looked like she wanted to rip him to shreds or cry. Or worse, both. It wasn't until she had turned to run up to her room that he noticed that they had had a rather large audience, and that Harry had showed up to catch the end of it. Her final comment about asking her next time had struck him like a slap, and he was only able to splutter a feeble response to Harry, hoping his friend wouldn't catch on. There was a funny look in his eye, but Ron attributed that to the light glinting off of his glasses.

Slithering up after Harry to escape the snickers from the rest of the room, Ron quietly got ready to change for the night. The first things to go were the dress robes; he set them aside, having plans for them later when he had some privacy. That left him in his trousers and one of Bill's old shirts, and it wasn't until then that he realized he had misplaced his tie. It was most likely draped over the backs of one of the seats downstairs; he was forever taking his ties off without realizing it. Since it was the only decent thing about his whole outfit, he supposed he had better go down to get it.

Thankfully, the room had cleared out, with only four people remaining. It was the twins, saying goodnight as Katie and Angelina went upstairs. Ron tiptoed to the group of chairs where he had spotted his tie, hoping they would miss him when they turned to go to the boys' dorm. But really, when had he ever been that lucky? As one, they moved across the room towards him, and Ron found himself wondering just how it was that they managed to pull off second hand robes while not looking stupid. He supposed the fact that theirs were basic black had a lot to do with it, in addition to their charisma.

"Hey, Ron! Just wanted to thank you for providing a perfect cap to our night; we had dinner, dancing, and thanks to you, a show!"

Ron rolled his eyes at George. Great. just what he needed. "Do you think the two of you could manage to find humor in something other than my pain? At least for tonight? In the morning you can be your usual prickish selves."

The twins raised their eyebrows at each other. "My my, I do believe our Ronniekins has got himself worked up. So tell us, what has your knickers in a knot? It wouldn't have anything to do with Gorgeous Granger, would it?"

"...Shut up."

"Yup, that witty comeback says it all. Why didn't you just ask her yourself in the first place?"

"I did!" Ron said, waving his tie around like a thin flag of distress. "I asked just like you did Angelina; you heard me!"

Fred raised his hands. "Whoa, I asked her pretty casual like, sure, but not right after I had acted like I just discovered she was a girl, and not like it was a choice between a stale ham and cheese or a corned beef sandwich!"

"I never did any of that, either!"

"Ron, when that gob of yours flaps around in the breeze, do you actually listen to what comes out of it? You know, being a Weasley male is usually dangerous, given our tendency to pop out babies if we so much as hold a girl's hand. But not you; you're your very own form of birth-control. I can only imagine what you said to Hermione earlier to set her off like you did."

"I just said that she shouldn't be taken in by Krum, that he was probably using her to find out stuff about Harry and the next Challenge."

His brothers facepalmed at the exact same moment, releasing identical groans. "Well George, It's obvious Mum isn't going to be getting any grandchildren out of young Ron. We'll each have to have an extra one to pick up his slack."

"What? What did I say wrong?"

"If you can't figure it out by yourself, then there's no help for you. "Come on, Fred. We were going to work on you-know-what before we went to bed, remember?"

Ron knew better than to even ask what they were plotting, and at this point, he didn't even care. It pissed him off that they knew where he had gone wrong and couldn't be arsed to tell him. he stomped back upstairs, his tie clenched in his fist. The rest of his roommates had already turned in for the night, so he didn't even get the satisfaction of slamming the door. Movement from his bedside table caught his eye, and he angrily snatched up the figure of Krum that was marching in small circles, letting his tie slip to the floor. He sat on his bed, glaring at it with a hatred unlike any he had ever felt before.

He had always thought he could count on Quidditch. Even when the rest of his life was going rotten, it was the one thing that stayed the same, that he could find a little joy in. But now it had betrayed him in the most hurtful ways possible, and by one of his top idols. He wondered how he had never noticed the devious, sly nature of Krum before. The man was an obvious womanizer, and he wouldn't be surprised if he had sympathies in the direction of the Death Eaters. Why wasn't it as obvious to Hermione? Was she really blinded by the fame? Or was it the looks? Or the talent...or the money...

Whatever it was, it was clearly too late for him. Who would settle for lowly Ron Weasley after having all that? He thought back to how she had looked when he had first seen her tonight, more beautiful than he had ever thought possible. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine what it would have been like if she had gone with her instead, how they would have looked dancing together, what he would have said to her. But no matter how he pictured it, he came off small and shabby, unfit to be with her. No, Hermione deserved someone on her level, and she had obviously realized it too.

A small popping sound made him look down, and he saw that he had twisted the arm right off of the figure of Krum. Disgusted, he threw it away, regretting that he had ever wasted his money on the toy. He wondered, briefly, if Krum and Hermione would be announcing that they were an item tomorrow; he didn't think he would be able to stomach it. Before he faced them, he was going to have to come to terms with the fact that he had lost. He had lost any chance he had ever had with Hermione, before he had even started. He didn't know which hurt most; the fact that she would never know how he felt, or the fact that she wouldn't care even if she did. Everything that he suddenly knew he wanted, everything he knew he would never have flashed through his mind; holding hands, trips into Hogsmeade with just the two of them, those private jokes that couples had, snogging...it was too much. If there was anything he had to offer her, anything that would make her give him a second glance...but there was nothing. Nothing at all, just like him.

Slowly, silently, without bothering to change into his pajamas, Ron turned into his pillow and cried, harder than he had since he was a child.

Hermione sobbed along with him, he body shaking with the force. Why? Why had he always felt like he was worthless, or that she would think of him in such a manner? Had she really been so horrible that he couldn't see through to her true feelings? She hated this, all the pain he was feeling, being the cause of it; she was so full of her own emotions and his as well that she felt like she would explode. It was sadly funny; Ron had once said that that was what would happen if a person felt too much, and he was right. She hadn't realized he had been speaking from experience, but that was exactly what had happened. It had all been too much for him to take, and it had spilled over into his words and actions.

She tried to stop crying, but she couldn't; she wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to tell him that what he was feeling was about as far away from the truth that he could get. In her desperation to help, she had forgotten that this had happened in the past, and everything was alright now. She struggled and fought, her only thought to make things right. Her breath became shallow, and there was a ringing in her ears. Colors blurred together faster and faster until there was nothing but blackness, and the sensation of falling, pulling her away from Ron.


	20. Chapter 20

Ron and Hermione both jerked into consciousness at the same time, their bodies trembling and twitching. Breath came in jagged bursts, rasping on each inhale as sweat trickled down their temples. Slowly, they turned their heads to face each other, eyes foggy with confusion; the abrupt change from the past to the present was difficult to process. Tears were in their eyes, but any words they may have wished to speak were lodged in dry throats. Suddenly, the high-pitched beeping sound ceased.

"There we are. Are the two of you experiencing any symptoms I need to know about? You seemed to be having difficulties, which triggered the alarm."

The two of them squinted up at the speaker, who was standing at the foot of the bed. It was Dr. Fletcher, her form blurred from the bright light behind her. Hermione sat up, Rubbing her head. Her mouth felt like Crookshanks had climbed in and shed all his fur all over her tongue.

"I think it was Ron. He seemed very upset, and it became hard to stay within the memory. Everything went black, and the next thing I knew, I was here."

Ron raised an eyebrow, sure he had misheard. "No, that was you. You freaked out, and we were pulled back here."

Hermione glared at him, angrily brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "No, it was most definitely you! I don't know what part you were at, but for me it was the Yule Ball. You kept getting more and more worked up, thinking all of these ridiculous things-"

"Ridiculous? Me? You were the one that had it all wrong! I never meant half of the things you thought I did, but once you make up your mind, you run with it, and you get all worked up!" Ron had struggled up onto one arm, and they were nose to nose. Both of them ignored the increasingly loud sounds of a throat being cleared.

"Oh, that's rich! Merlin Ron, I can't believe some of the things you thought about yourself. And I can't get over the fact that you believed I thought like that too! Never once did I think you were worthless!"

"Well, you sure had a funny way of showing it at the time! I swear that-"

They both winced and hissed as their ears were assaulted by a loud screech. Looking up, they watched as Dr. Fletcher calmly dropped the whistle that hung from a cord around her neck back underneath her cardigan. "Now that I have your attention, I think I can see the problem. I thought you were here to resolve your issues, not to play the blame game like a pair of small children."

Sheepishly, they cast their eyes at the duvet, like children being chastised for sneaking sweets. It was embarrassing to be called out like that, especially when she was right.

"Of course, I can understand where you're coming from, Ron. Is she always this accusing and shrewish?"

Her words had Ron's head snapping up, his face twisting in anger at the slight against Hermione. "Now, you just listen here! I don't care if you are a healer or a doctor or whatever you call yourself; you're out of order talking about Hermione like that! Sure, she can get a bit sharp, but I don't always take things seriously enough unless they're shoved in my face, and sometimes I miss them altogether. I can be a right arse, but Hermione only pushes me because she knows I can be better than that."

As he wound down, he felt her take his hand and give it a small squeeze, and he glanced down to see the corners of her lips turned up.

Dr. Fletcher nodded. "I see. You're a very patient person, Hermione, to deal with his selfishness and disregard for your feelings."

It was Hermione's turn to flare up, and Ron could practically feel the power crackling off of her body. "Excuse me? Ron is not selfish, and he happens to care very much about my feelings! He has always been there for his friends and given a hundred percent, and he's tried to put me first. I can be overbearing, and I don't always make my feelings clear, and I can send him the wrong signals. Sometimes I push too far, and Ron has to stand up for himself and call me on it! So don't act like you know what goes on between us, because you don't!"

The icy expression cleared from Dr. Fletcher's face, and the smile she gave them was much warmer. "Do you see that? How you both reacted to what I said, when each of you thought I was attacking the other? You immediately forgot your fight, and came to the other person's defense. Not only that, but you showed an understanding for the person's motives and actions. This is what you need to work on; you both provide a united front to outside forces, but you seem to lose the ability to focus on the important things when it's just the two of you. And isn't that why you're here?"

Hermione and Ron both nodded slowly; they realized they had just been played, but they could see what she was saying.

"You know, many couples come here with the idea that they're going to go over all their past issues and assign the blame, and see who comes out looking better. Blame is not the issue here; discord is very rarely cut and dry. One person may start something, but the other person's reaction may be just as bad. Sometimes, there isn't even a real problem, only the perception there is based on some type of misunderstanding. The point of this therapy is to learn more about the inner workings of the other person so you can better understand where they are coming from, and also to look inside yourself to see where your own words and actions can be adjusted so that discord and misunderstandings happen less often. Surely, you've seen evidence of this already?"

They had. Not only seeing, but experiencing the thoughts and feelings that the other had gone through was proving to be an eye opening experience. For every positive aspect that had been strengthened, there was a corresponding fact that had been taken for granted as true, that either turned out to be downright false, or otherwise so skewed that it almost turned into something else altogether.

"Ron, I've seen so much that...that it's still hard to process. The things you were thinking a lot of the time, especially the night of the Yule Ball...I never-" Hermione began.

Ron interrupted, his voice hoarse. "I know. I saw. It's just that I was so messed up, you know? I saw things that weren't there, and I missed some important things that I should've seen. But you were wrong about some things too. I'm not blaming you or anything like that! I just mean that it went both ways."

"So, if the two of you are feeling better, would you like to begin again? I have to warn you, it would be better if you stayed under this time, and I'll set up some Calming Charms to make that easier. But I prefer to immerse you as few times as possible in one session, since the effects can be quite mentally and emotionally exhausting. Although I suppose we could schedule another session, though I would recommend against it."

Hermione and Ron shared an uneasy look. "Doctor, just how many times would you say we were going to have to do this? We're only at our fourth year of school so far."

"Sessions do vary from couple to couple. Given the way time passes far more quickly inside the memories than in the outside world, you would expect this portion to be done without much hassle. But a major problem that occurs is reluctance on the part of one or both parties; I've had couples fight the memories so hard, that several sessions are necessary. Fortunately, in addition to the two of you being young and healthy, with fairly clear memories, neither of you is trying to block the other out. Taking all factors into consideration, I see no reason why you can't finish the memory portion of this therapy in one session."

"But we could choose to stop now, and come back later?"

Dr. Fletcher removed her glasses, polishing one lens on the hem of her shirt. "Yes, but as I said, I would advise against it. Tell me. The memories you've experienced just now, are they the strongest negative point in your relationship? And, if not, knowing that worse is to come, would you be able to bring yourselves to come back again?"

"Hermione, let's go ahead and do it all now. I know it's going to be bad, but...I'd be a mess if we left, having it hanging over my head, knowing we have to come back. Actually, I'm not sure I could. I don't give a damn about who was wrong or right, and I know we're both going to see things we'd rather not, relive things we'd rather forget. But it all turned out alright in the end, right? She said before we started that we have something special, and to hold onto it when things got hard. If you think you can manage, I'd like to give it a try."

His words, and the determination behind them, were all the proof Hermione needed to know they were doing the right thing. As well as she knew Ron, she was learning so much more, and, while some of that was painful, there was much of it that was wonderful as well. All of the reasons and more that she had fallen in love with him for were being rediscovered, and she was learning more about herself as well. Her strengths and weaknesses, as seen through his eyes, were going to help her be a better person and a better partner. And he was right; as much as she was dreading some of the upcoming times, things had turned out fine in the end, and she would get to see more of the good times as well.

Giving him a large smile, she pulled him back down onto the pillows, giving him a sound kiss on the lips before settling into place. "I'm ready; Let's do this."

"Good choice. Now, just relax. Remember; you're doing this together. Memories are the past, and they can't change what you've made for yourselves now."

She tapped her wand against the blue patches at their temples, and their eyelids slipped shut as they were dropped back into the past, like starting up a film that had been paused.

Dr. Fletcher smiled. Before they had lost consciousness, their hands had become clasped together once again. "Those two are going to be fine. Not just fine; I might go so far as to say wonderful."

She checked the Charms on the room once more, and walked to the door, her smile turning wicked. "And with as explosive as they are, the make up sex has to be simply brilliant!"


	21. Chapter 21

AN: Here is the end of fourth year, finally! I'm very sorry for the delay. First, my health took a fairly drastic turn for the worse, and then my beta lost her wifi. I then discovered that anything from this site was being sent to my spam folder. Thank you for being patient, and I hope it was worth it!

IMPORTANT: I welcome all reviews, but I will be deleting verbally abusive messages. A difference of opinion is fine; I welcome discussion on any points you would like to talk about. Personal attacks, however, are an entirely different matter. I take every bit of feedback into consideration, but it is impossible to make every reader happy. This doesn't mean I should be told I'm a worthless human being. For those who have been supportive, I thank you! Please continue to read and enjoy. See you all in year 5, the Year of Eye Sex!

Ron landed in the darkness, stumbling into the post of Hermione's bed. He had hoped they had skipped to happier times, but could tell from Hermione's thoughts that it was still the same night. She was lying on her back, dried tear tracks on her cheeks, and her nose slightly clogged from crying. Her temper had settled, although she was still upset. Padma and Lavender had been sympathetic after her public fight with Ron, but even though she was on good terms with her roommates, she didn't feel close enough to really talk about her emotions. Ron could tell she wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon, and, thinking about it, he remembered that they were due for the second part of their night.

Hermione gave a large sniff, throwing the blankets off. She was overly warm from all the crying, and she wanted to go down for some air. Quietly, so as not to wake the other girls, she shrugged into her dressing gown and tiptoed out the door. Even with the fire going in the Common Room, it was still cooler than it had been in the dorm. Having it all to herself, she stretched out on the sofa, trying not to think as she watched the flames flicker and dance. It didn't do any good though, because her thoughts kept returning to Ron. His words kept repeating on an endless loop in her head, and she couldn't banish the hateful way he had looked at her from her mind. Granted, she had said some harsh things in the heat of the moment herself, but this wasn't like their fight last year. It had been a blow to find out that he thought she was so unappealing, and had such low scruples that she would sell Harry out for some male attention. But even if he thought that, couldn't he at least have pretended to be happy? Wouldn't that have been the friendly thing to do? Well, no, she couldn't actually go so far as to wish for him to be dishonest, but it would be nice if he could at least learn a little tact.

And now she was torn. She wanted an apology, and to be able to move on. Unfortunately, she didn't have the luxury of being able to fight with Ron the way they had before. With everything going on with Harry, the last thing he needed was to be stuck in the middle of a war between his two best friends. Somehow, she needed to make sure Ron saw that too. She was banking on the fact that he wouldn't want to upset Harry now that they were speaking again.

She was in the middle of figuring out a way to work things out with Ron, when she heard someone stumble into the room. Sitting up, she peeked over the back of the sofa, momentarily surprised to see Ron. Until she saw him rummaging around for the box of pasties that Seamus' mum sent for him to share with everyone. Of course. They had had a huge row not three hours earlier, and now here he was, eating like it was nothing.

"Ron?"

At the sound of her voice, he spun around, his eyes wide as a chunk of pastry fell out of his mouth. "Ehmineh?"

A scathing retort was forming on the tip of her tongue, but something held her back. Ron was looking...rough. He was still in his trousers and dress shirt, but they were incredibly wrinkled, and his hair looked like he had taken styling advice from Harry. But the thing that had made her think twice was his eyes. They were pink and puffy, a sure sign that he had been crying. Of course, with his coloring, his eyes got like that whenever he sneezed, but for some reason she thought it might be more than that. Maybe he was having some regrets about how the night had turned out, and that thought was enough to soften her heart, at least a little.

He had woken up after crying himself to sleep, still upset, with a growling stomach. He had run around all day, and had skipped supper. On top of that, he was the kind of upset that made him eat everything he could get his hands on, so he had had no choice but to go downstairs. The plan had been to grab a Cornish pasty (or six. Or eight.) and go back up to wallow in his misery some more. But then Hermione had popped up, and he had nearly choked to death in surprise.

"Ron! Swallow!"

Hermione darted over to him, pounding him on the back. Her worry over him got her past her anger long enough for him to start breathing, and to get him seated on the sofa. Then, sitting next to him, everything came back, and an awkward silence fell between them. The ease that there usually was with him was missing, and they were both squeezed into opposite arms of the sofa to keep from touching. They couldn't even keep up eye contact for a full minute, and the amount of throat clearing was becoming ridiculous. They both sounded like they should be laid up in the hospital wing with bronchitis. Obviously, she needed to do something, or they would both be here until it was time to go down to breakfast.

"So." Beautiful, Hermione. A forceful opening gambit.

"So."

Oh, he was good. His counter move gave away nothing.

"You should be asleep. It's pretty late."

"Says someone who was lying in wait on the sofa for any unsuspecting victim who happened to wander down here."

"I wasn't lying in wait! I just couldn't sleep, is all. And apparently, neither could you."

"I...no, I guess not."

Hermione released a puff of air, blowing up her fringe. There were so many things that should be said, but she couldn't seem to get them out. The urge to fight things out had dimmed, her anger unable to remain hot at the odd look of defeat he was wearing. Besides, they had fought earlier, and that had gotten them nowhere. Another round was unlikely to do any good. Maybe it was best to let the whole thing go. She drew one leg up under her as she angled her body to face him, trying not to take it personally when he flinched.

"You know, tonight didn't really go how I had hoped it would," she ventured in a neutral tone.

Ron gave a snort. "Yeah, you could say that. It's not really how I had pictured it either. Well, except for the dress robes from hell. Those were everything I imagined and more."

Normally that would have had them both laughing, but now they only exchanged weak smiles.

"Ron, whatever this-this mess is between us, we can't keep it going. Merlin knows I want to ream you over the coals, but we can't act like we did last year. Harry has enough on his plate already without having to deal with us."

"I know. I mean, seriously, the opening challenge was dragons! How are they going to top that? He's got his work cut out for him. And I know we both have to be there for him. So, where does that leave us?"

"I'm trying to figure that out myself. Normally we'd just fight it out until we got over it. I guess this time, we're just going to have to skip the fighting part."

Ron stood up, but stayed leaning against the end of the sofa. "Alright. To be honest, I didn't really feel like having one of our usual rows anyway. Is that all you wanted to say, then?"

Any faint hope that she would at least get an apology out of him died. She was willing to say she was sorry about the things she had said in response, but he had started everything; it would have been nice, for once, for him to be the one to start. But that had never been Ron's way, and it had been foolish to think he would start now. She squeezed her hands together, tamping down on her irritation.

"Yes, I think that's all. Unless there's anything else you'd like to add."

"Uh, no. I think that covers it."

She watched dejectedly as he went back over to the table to gather up his snack. Why couldn't she just put aside her feelings for him? Her life would be much more pleasant. But once she started with something, she rarely, if ever, let it go, and it seemed like this would be no different. Sadly, she got up to go back to her room. She had made it to the foot of the stairs when he stopped her.

"Hermione, wait!"

Turning, she was met with Ron's pleading expression across the room. His eyes were intense, and they seemed to be begging her to understand something.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I...Hermione, I just...I...nevermind. Forget it."

They stood there for several moments, each one stuck in their own misery. Finally, she turned away. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to tell her. It hurt, although it shouldn't. No, this was far from how she had wanted her night to go. At least things wouldn't be too awkward for Harry in the morning. She would just be very, very careful around Ron, and try not to say anything that would start him up again.

He had come so close to telling her he was sorry. For a minute, everything he had felt had threatened to spill out. But what could he say? Even if he had thought he had any kind of chance with her to begin with, he couldn't believe she could even consider it after tonight. Not only had she gotten the attention of the most sought after male at school, but he had acted like an arse. No, he hadn't meant to, and yeah, it had been out of hurt. But as good as his reasons were, that still wouldn't take the hurt from the words, or make him look any better in comparison to Krum. So he had stopped, convincing himself it was for the best. If he had known that all she had wanted was an apology and for him to let her know how he felt, he would've done it in a heartbeat. But hindsight was always clearer than it was in the actual moment, and it was too easy to say what you should have done. Anyone can stand outside of a situation and judge a person's actions, but it's an entirely different matter to live through them.

The crackling of the fire was replaced by the lapping of waves, and Ron was no longer by the sofa, but one of the large rocks by the waves, which was sheltering Hermione and Harry from the wind, and the slight warmth coming from one of Hermione's jars of blue fire. It was another time that he wasn't with them; this time, he had been kept behind after a lesson to go over his Transfiguration assignments.

Hermione wrapped her arms around her knees, silently staring out at the water along with Harry. The quiet was wonderful after all the madness that was going on at school. Everyone was hounding Harry about one thing or another, and there was the looming worry about the second challenge. Of course, she was taking that more seriously than Harry, but she was used to that by now. She didn't even get any peace in the library anymore; Viktor usually found her there, and, while his company was pleasant, it wasn't how she preferred to study. Especially with the deadly looks from the other girls, who sat at the tables around them, keeping a constant eye on their prize.

When Harry had suggested they slip out here during their break, she had leapt at it. She was tired of listening to all of the rumors going around about her. Now that she thought about it, being out here alone with him would probably fan those fires higher, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The very idea was ridiculous, and the people who knew her, and the small group of people whose opinions she actually valued, knew it wasn't true.

Harry poked her in the arm. "Hey. I know that look; we came out here for a break, so stop thinking so hard."

Hermione poked him back. "That's not as easy for me as it is for you!"

"In the interest of keeping the peace, I'll pretend that I didn't hear that highly offensive remark. Well, if you can't stop thinking about it, you might as well tell me what it is."

"It's nothing, really. Just everything that's been going on lately, like those stupid rumors going around about us."

Harry's head fell back against the rock with a groan. "I have sweet, sweet dreams of feeding that Skeeter woman to the dragons, piece by venomous piece. I only feel bad when I think of what effect it would have on the dragons."

"That sounds rather lovely, actually. Just when I think things are dying down and going back to normal, she writes something else and stirs everyone up again. I have better things to do than to try to smother the gossip before it gets out of hand."

One eyebrow went up, crinkling his scar. "Really? Like what? Or do I even want to know?"

She elbowed him in the side. "My schoolwork, for one thing! And spending time with you without people thinking we're sneaking off for a snog, and learning to knit clothes for the elves- we could even be doing that right now!"

"Uh, Hermione, I don't know how to knit. And on the off chance I did want to learn, I think I'd prefer to be taught by someone with a bit more...experience."

Hermione glared at him, giving a haughty toss of her head. "I never claimed to be an expert! It's just to set them free. It's not as if I'm trying to have them mistaken for runway models-"

"No danger there, trust me."

"Harry, I'm perfectly capable of running into the castle crying, telling everyone that you've just broken my heart. So you may want to be nicer, hmm?"

He threw his hands up. "Peace! The sooner that mess dies down, the happier I'll be. Nothing personal, but the idea is just...wrong. I've always thought of us as friends, or, well..."

"Siblings?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, looking relieved. "You know, I've always been a little jealous of Ron, especially when you compare Dudley to his brothers. But then I realized that having you around is a lot like having a sister, or at least what I'd like having a sister to be like. Does that seem weird to you?"

Thoughtfully, she looked at him in silence before speaking. "No, it's not weird at all. In fact...I've never told you this, but my mum got pregnant not long after I was born. She miscarried early on, practically right after she found out."

"I'm sorry..."

"No, it's okay. They were sad, of course, but they hadn't even wrapped their minds around having one child, let alone two, and I wasn't even old enough to remember, so it's more a fact of life rather than something I'm really close to. But I've always wondered what kind of sister I would've been, or what he would have been like. What I was trying to get at was this; you're the kind of brother I would've wanted. You can get on my nerves at times, but you're a good person, and I enjoy being with you. We get things about each other, and I know I can count on you if I need to. And both of us were raised by Muggles, so we understand things that other people don't, which makes things less lonely."

"So instead of being my girlfriend, you're alright with being my honorary sister?"

"Oh Harry! That's so sweet of you!"

Her eyes were misty, and she pulled him into a hug, which he returned, albeit gingerly, as he always did with physical affection. After a minute, she pulled back, giving him a watery smile.

"I suppose that's enough soppiness for the day, right?"

"I was thinking for the year, but-"

She smacked his shoulder. "Yes, you're definitely in the annoying younger brother category."

The two of them laughed, leaning back against the rock, pleased at the way things had worked out. Hermione certainly was. The thought of Harry as her brother made her very happy. When she was little, she had thought of all the things she would teach a younger brother, how she would be a good sister and take care of him. Then as she got older, she gave up on having someone like that in her life.

But Harry filled a certain void she had; sometimes she was overbearing, but she was a protective sort of person, and Harry was someone in need of a nurturer. Romantically, they would be a washout, but as siblings, they were splendid for one another. Just like real siblings, they could rub each other the wrong way, but they cared deeply about the other, and they had a bond that wouldn't easily be broken.

Ron, of course, was another matter entirely, and she was glad he wasn't there to hear this. It might hurt his feelings to be told that she didn't consider him a brother, but there was no way that she could say he did. Thankfully, this wasn't the kind of thing Harry was likely to mention, so Ron was unlikely to find out. Now all she had to do was hope that he didn't think of her as a sister...

No danger of that. By this point, his feelings were quite unbrotherly. But seeing this was...nice. Really nice. Harry had told him, during that madness with the locket, that they were like brother and sister. And Ron believed him. It had been hard for awhile, not because he thought that Harry or Hermione would lie about it, but because of his own insecurities. Slowly, though, he had come to terms with himself, and his worry that Hermione would regret not choosing Harry had disappeared. Not to say that he didn't wonder why she was with him, but that wasn't very often, and it was only when he was feeling low. It was just that actually seeing it for himself, he could tell exactly what was between them, and it was a lot like he felt about Harry. Only without the soppy tears and crap.

When he had Hermione had discussed marriage and children, she had told him about her mother's miscarriage. At the time, he hadn't made the connection that she had looked at Harry as a surrogate brother, but it made perfect sense now that he thought about it. She may never have known her brother, or have been able to form an attachment, but it was still something she had felt was missing from her life.

The relationship between Hermione and Harry was very special, and close, but it had never threatened her feelings for Ron. Experiencing them for himself, the differences were so clear, he could almost laugh. While it would have been nice to know this then, she was probably right. Not being considered equal with Harry would have hurt his feelings, but if she had said he was like a brother too, that would have hurt as well. And even if he had been told that was how she saw Harry, he still would have twisted things around in his mind, just like he did anyway.

Realizing it was just another case of only being able to see things clearly in hindsight, he was able to focus on something else. He really was lucky. His two best friends got along so well, and one of those friends would be his wife, while the other would someday be his brother-in-law. They were close and enjoyed being together, so he never really had to make a choice. They each had one-on-one time, but Hermione never resented it, like some of his co-workers complained their girlfriends did. Things between the three of them (okay, four if you counted Ginny) were so easy; he was surrounded by people that cared about him and each other, and not many people could say that. He might never be rich, or powerful, but he was going to be happy, and that was thanks, in a large part, to the two people he was watching right now.

Blinking, he looked away. Hermione's stupid tears were in his eyes.

The sky darkened, and the air grew colder. They were still at the lake, but farther downstream, and there were a lot more people. Hermione was shivering in a blanket. Krum was hovering at her side, and Harry and Ron were off in the distance. She was cold, upset, and frustrated about something. Ron tried to think about what had happened after the second challenge to make her that way, but came up blank. Oh well. He would find out in a minute.

Her teeth were chattering from the cold, which she supposed was better than grinding in anger, which would be the case if she wasn't dripping freezing wet lake water. Oh, how she wanted to turn around, and march back to tell that French harpy what she thought about her! Alright, she had been horrified at the thought of losing her little sister. As much as Hermione disliked her, she would have supported her for that. And she was grateful to the person that rescued her sister; again, Hermione was on the same page, as it had been great of Harry to do that even when he thought it meant losing the challenge. But why, by all that was holy and profane, had she seen fit to kiss Ron? No, it hadn't been on the lips, but you never would've guessed that by his dopey expression. It wasn't like he had helped Harry. He had been just as much of a lump in the water as she had been.

Ron gave a nervous laugh. He had totally forgotten about that. At the time, he had been caught between raging hormones, and terror at how the Veela influence made him lose control. The only thing that had been in his mind went something like, 'purty gurl lipz face.' Now it was bizarre. Fleur was basically his sister, and thinking about her like that had entered into the Disturbingly Wrong category. The fact that Bill would shred him into Ron tartar had a little to do with it, and that wasn't even considering Hermione's reaction. He hadn't even realized Hermione had seen that kiss. And since she hadn't set her winged minions on him, something must have distracted her.

"Herm-own-ninny?"

Oh yeah. He had forgotten that little thing.

Hermione slowed her speed walking, realizing for the first time that she wasn't alone. Viktor was walking along at her left, watching her with an expression of concern. Or what she took to be concern. He looked at his porridge the same way, so she could be mistaken.

"Yes? Congratulations on winning, by the way."

"I thank you. But you seem worried. May I be helping you in any way?"

Aaaaaand the guilt was back, her issue with Ron temporarily forgotten. She had managed to avoid thinking about it in all the excitement, but the revelation in Dumbledore's office came back to her in full force.

"I...no, I just need to, um, go change out of these wet clothes. See you later!"

She fled before he could reply, desperate to get away so she could process this before she saw him again. This could be bad. This could be reeeeally bad. When she had first been called into the headmaster's office with Ron, she had been terrified that they were in trouble, her dreams of someday being Head Girl going up in smoke. When the challenge had been explained, she had been under the impression that she was a package deal with Ron. The sting she felt at not being included in that faded into nothingness when she realized what was going on. She was the thing that mattered the most to Viktor Krum.

That was flattering. It really was. And it would probably have most girls jumping for joy. There was even a small part of her that did. But then the questions started. Was she really that important to him? And if so, why her? Was this supposed to be a mutual thing? She was confused. Viktor was nice, in a quiet, not-much-in-common sort of way. But he wasn't in the top five things of what mattered to her. There was her parents, Ron, Harry, school, S.P.E.W...She barely even knew Viktor. Yes, they talked in the library, but mostly on light topics. She had never felt comfortable going into anything deeper. It wasn't like with Ron and Harry, or even Ginny and the twins. She couldn't picture herself arguing with him, yelling and trading insults. Their conversations were enjoyable, but that was all. There was no heat, no passion, no exciting battle of wits.

So why were they on such different pages? Unless he had some strange kink for bushy haired swots. Possible, but not likely. And she had never been what you could call flirtatious, so she couldn't have been sending those kinds of signals. All she had done was act friendly, and...go...to the...Yule Ball. Oh dear. They had never discussed what that meant. She had been so excited over the attention, she hadn't really thought beyond that night, which she realized now had been unfair. It hadn't ever crossed her mind that he was interested in anything serious with her, and she had been caught up in her feelings for Ron. So now, she had to ask herself a question. Did she want a relationship with Viktor?

On the pro side, he was mature, considerate, and dedicated to his career. On the con side, the age difference, while not huge, did create a chasm between them. He was in his last year of school, and he already had a job, while she still had three years left, and wasn't sure what she wanted to do with her life. Then there was the long distance aspect. Communication in the wizarding world was harder than it was for Muggles. Their only real option was Owl Post, and visits would be next to impossible, given their conflicting schedules. That type of thing was hard enough on strong relationships; in her opinion, it practically guaranteed failure in their situation.

Also, she had doubts about whether or not he was as serious about her as he thought he was. He had admitted he hadn't had much experience with women, and he was also tired of people trying to get close to him because he was famous. She suspected what made her attractive to him was that she was the first person who didn't care that he was a Quidditch star, and treated him like a regular person. And even in that she had been slightly misleading; she was always carefully polite with him, since he was a visitor. Somehow, she doubted he would find her as enchanting if she argued with him and nagged him like she did others.

Then there was the matter of her feelings for Ron. If he had been in Viktor's place, would she have been his most important person? As much as she wished she was, remembering the way he had acted earlier with Fleur told her, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn't. The fact that she was more upset over a hypothetical situation with Ron rather than excited over the reality with Viktor told her that it probably wouldn't work with Viktor. She had her heart set on working something out with Ron, and once she was set on something, she rarely gave up. In short, there were too many obstacles to overcome, and she wasn't emotionally invested enough to try.

Besides, as nice as the attention from Viktor made her feel about herself, it would be wrong to lead him on. She had accused Ron of using her as a fallback plan for the Yule Ball, and this would be no different. Viktor was a good person, and he deserved to find someone that was interested in him. She still wanted to be friends, but that was all. But how to tell him? Or should she? There was the possibility he had meant it in a platonic way. It would be embarrassing for both of them if she brought it up, and he had to tell her she was wrong. The only thing she could think of to do was to continue as they were, until he said something. Then she would be sure where she stood, and she could go from there.

Having a plan always made her feel better. She just wished she had a plan for Ron. The whole Ball thing had blown up in her face, and while they were alright now, they were no closer to moving in the direction she wanted than they had been in the beginning. Or maybe she should forget about a plan. She had built up a whole scenario for the Ball, and that hadn't worked out. Maybe she should take it slow, and let things develop naturally. That sounded good. She would just wait, and give Ron a little more time, not put any pressure on him.

She entered her room with a spring in her step. Not one plan, but two! How could things fail to run smoothly after that? Now all she needed to worry about was the last task for Harry.

Poor Hermione. She was so good at making plans, and it was too bad the rest of the world never let them work out. He suspected this was where the seesawing began; one of them would be ready to move forward at the same time the other would be holding back. And it was ironic that she had thought she wasn't the most important thing to him. He had been having similar thoughts about her. Merlin, being a teenager had been shit. How had they managed to survive it? It made him appreciate what they had now; sure, they still had problems, but the level of drama was not nearly as bad.

And the whole thing with Krum...okay, so she had considered being with him. Big deal. It hadn't amounted to anything in the end. Why hadn't he been able to see that before? Besides the paralyzing insecurity and inability to let things go. That last was a trait he shared with Hermione. It was both a weakness and a strength. Once they were committed to something, they stood by it to the end, but it also meant that when they were wrong, it took them forever to admit it and back down.

For years, he had always thought he would come in second to Krum, when it had actually been the other way around. She had weighed her options, and had chosen to stick with him anyway. And he hadn't exactly been at his best when she made that decision. He just wondered how many times she was going to regret it in the next couple of years.

And the next memory reminded him that Krum was still going to be an issue for him as well. The end of the year had arrived, and Hermione had another decision to make, one that he had had a vested interest in.

Hermione set Crookshanks' basket down, shushing his yowls of frustration. She would let him out once they were on the train, but there were too many people walking around the school grounds, and she was afraid he would get stepped on. There was a somber air, unusual on the last day. People were saying their goodbyes to the friends they had made from the other schools, and the death of Cedric hung heavily over them all. She hadn't slept well since it had happened, and judging the looks of Harry, neither had he. The reality of their mortality had struck home, and there was no going back now. Voldemort had returned, and things could only get worse from here.

A hand on her shoulder startled her out of her depressing thoughts. Thinking it was Harry or Ron, she opened her mouth to scold him for scaring her, but stopped when she saw that it was Viktor. She had forgotten that he had wanted to talk to her, and, with a sinking feeling, she knew what he wanted.

Not long ago, he had asked her to visit him over the summer. The way he had acted had made it impossible to mistake his intent, and she had steeled herself to turn him down. But he had noticed her hesitation, and rushed to tell her that she should think about it, and give him her answer on the last day. She had considered turning him down right then, but she wanted it to be final, without him trying to change her mind. Being friends with Harry and Ron had shown her that boys could hound you relentlessly to get their way, and she really didn't want to have to hurt his feelings more than once.

"Herm-own-ninny, can ve talk?"

"Of course. Let's just find someplace that's a little more private."

They walked a short distance from the rest of the students, ducking behind a chipped statue of a wizard peering into a cauldron. Hermione wanted to make sure they weren't by his fans, or Ron. Ron hadn't made much of a fuss about Viktor beyond some pointed muttering, but every time he saw them near each other, he gave her a betrayed, suspicious look that reminded her of Crookshanks whenever she got out his toothbrush.

Viktor took her hands in his, looking into her eyes with a serious expression. "I hope you have been thinking of your answer, Herm-my-ninny. You vould have such good times in Bulgaria, and I know my parents vould be loving to meet you. Your parents vould be velcome to come as vell."

Hermione's eyes widened. His parents? Her parents? Wasn't that moving a little fast? She was only fifteen! He was rushing in a direction she was nowhere near prepared for, and the thought was a bit frightening. She needed to go carefully here, and make sure she was clear. Gently, she removed her hands from his.

"Viktor, it was lovely of you to invite me, it really was. But I think you're asking for something that I just don't feel like I'm able to give you. You're a nice person, and I've enjoyed spending time with you, but...I simply don't have those kinds of feelings for you."

His hopeful expression turned to a scowl. "I have done something to displease you?"

"No, that's not it at all! I just-"

"Potter assured me that there vas nothing between you. Vas he lying?"

What was he talking about? He shouldn't have gone to Harry about that. He had obviously been listening to the gossip, and it irritated her that he would go behind her back, instead of asking her outright. And why hadn't Harry mentioned this?

"He wasn't lying. There's never been anything like that between Harry and I, which you would have known if you had just asked me!"

"Is there someone else, then?"

"I..." she couldn't lie to him. "Yes, I am interested in someone. We aren't together, but I've liked him for a while now."

"But if not Potter, then who?"

"...My other friend, Ron."

Viktor looked absolutely gobsmacked. "Him?"

Yeah, you great git, me!

"Yes, Ron! What's wrong with him?" Hermione asked sharply, her temper beginning to flare.

"Vell, he...he is not the type I thought vould be suiting you. Does he share your feelings?"

Hermione deflated. "No. He doesn't see me like that. At all."

"Then maybe, you could try with me?"

"No, it just wouldn't-"

Quickly, he leaned down, covering her mouth with his. This kiss was insistent, more forceful than their first. She was shocked into inaction, and by the time she had regained her senses, he had stopped.

"Can you truly tell me you felt nothing?" he asked almost pleadingly.

"I'm sorry. It was...nice, but I still don't love you like that. And be honest; do you really like me, or is it because I don't chase after you like other girls?"

"I like you very much, Herm-own-ninny. But I suppose that you might be at least partially right. I vould not vish to be forcing you into something you do not vant, so perhaps it vould be best to say my farevells now."

She laid a hand on his arm. "Viktor, please understand. I do like you, just as a friend. We did get along well, and you said yourself you didn't have many people to talk to. We could still write to each other."

He stood stoically for several moments, and she was afraid that she had offended him too much. Then he smiled, although it wasn't entirely happy.

"Alright. It vould be nice to have that, at least. And who knows? Maybe you vill change your mind."

Hermione smiled at him. There wasn't much chance in that, but he would see that for himself in time. Honestly, she was just relieved to have this over with. She had never realized how exhausting all of this emotional stuff could be. It would be nice once Viktor was gone, and things would go smoothly between her and Ron again.

Ron had been tempted to pull the ape off of Hermione, his old jealousy coming alive the instant he had realized what was going to happen. He had been worried that day that the two of them had gone off for a snog, and that she would choose to go to Bulgaria during the holiday. His mind would've been greatly set at ease if he had known that she had turned him down. But the fact that she had continued to write Krum had sent him mixed signals, and each time he had seen an envelope with his name on it, a sour taste had filled his mouth. And as if Krum wasn't enough, he was also beginning to think of Harry as a rival too, something that Hermione had unconsciously enforced.

Hermione was in a fog the rest of the day. Now that she had settled things with Viktor, her worry over Harry had taken up her thoughts. She went through the motions of conversation, but she couldn't help noticing how pale and withdrawn he was, a fact made worse with the knowledge of what he was going home to. She had been reading up on things like grief, and the effect it could have on a young person. All three of them were upset, but she and Ron would be returning to loving homes, with people that cared about them. They would be hugged, and told that they were loved. Harry, who had gone through so much worse, would receive nothing but verbal and emotional abuse.

He wouldn't be able to talk about it like he needed to, and he was already far too repressed as it was. One of the things she had read about dealt with physical affection, and how children needed it in their lives. Harry had never gotten anything like that until he came to Hogwarts, she was sure. And he didn't get much there. He always stiffened up when she would hug him, although as the months passed, he got more used to it. But then summer would come, and it would start all over again. It couldn't be good for him, and something needed to be done. She would ask Ron, but this didn't seem like something he could help with. He and Harry wrestled around and poked at each other, which was good, but Harry also needed something...softer.

The only thing she could think to do was to be more affectionate towards him herself. Hadn't they established that they felt like siblings? With the way things were going for him, he would need all the comfort he could get. And someday, he was going to want a girlfriend, and he would need to be able to show her his feelings.

Ron had never thought about it that way. He knew Harry had a horrible home life, and that it had probably messed him up to some extent, but he had thought it had more to do with their hateful words and neglect than anything. The thought of going through life without your family really touching you was strange to him. His mum had smothered her children in hugs, and his siblings were forever pounding him on the back, or ruffling his hair. Sometimes it had felt like a nuisance, but there had always been love. And he had seen himself that Hermione was always patted or hugged by her parents, although maybe not as energetically as in his family. But Weasley's were always more forceful in everything.

And how else was Harry supposed to learn about things like that, if no one ever showed him? He hadn't been much good on that front, because blokes didn't really go in for that sort of thing with each other much, but he could see that Harry needed it from somewhere. With all of the death and despair he was going to go through in the next few years, it would've been terrible if he didn't feel some love to go along with it.

Hermione pulled her trunk along after her, screwing up her courage. She was about to do something unusual, but it had to be done. Before she could change her mind, she had wrapped Harry in a hug, kissing him goodbye on the cheek. It was the briefest of pecks, but it was more than what he would be getting from the Dursleys. Whenever she was feeling down, a hug and kiss from her parents always helped, and she hoped she could do the same for Harry. She had toyed with the idea of doing the same to Ron, but decided it wouldn't be a good idea. It was a sisterly thing with Harry, and kissing Ron that way would feel like she was doing it under false pretenses. When she kissed him, she wanted it to be for real, and she didn't want him to get used to being kissed platonically by her, for fear that he might think that was all there was between them. Also, if he made a big fuss and acted disgusted, she didn't think she would be able to get back on the train next year, let alone visit over the summer.

Already looking forward to it, she moved on to where her parents were standing, ready to spend some time with them before she left. She loved them, but she couldn't wait to get to the Burrow...

That kiss had really messed with his head. He had spent weeks puzzling why she had kissed Harry and not him. Did she like Harry better? Did she like like Harry? If so, then he never stood a chance. One minute, he was sure that she wanted Harry, the next minute he had almost convinced himself that she had just forgotten him. It was that kiss, along with all of the rubbish printed in the Prophet, that started him thinking of Harry as a threat. He never hated Harry, and it had always been relatively manageable, until the locket got ahold of him. What had been a perfectly innocent kiss, given with the best of intentions, had turned into one of his worst nightmares, and had nearly caused him to do irreparable damage to his friendship with both of them.

But he couldn't resent Harry, or even fault Hermione for it. She hadn't done it with any thought to make him jealous, and seeing her reason for not kissing him as well, he could understand that. She didn't want to treat them the same because they weren't; he had just assumed that he wasn't as good as Harry, when she had only meant that she loved them in a different way. Imagining some of the heated kisses they had shared, he was perfectly content to leave the boring pecks to Harry.

So, he mused, that was the end of fourth year. Next should be their stay at Grimmauld Place, unless...was he going to see her visit to the Burrow right before they left? He had been such an awkward mess that summer, and he wondered how she could've missed it...his eyes widened. He had just remembered something else she shouldn't have been able to miss...


	22. Chapter 22

The first thing Hermione saw was herself, standing at the foot of the stairs. Ron had just called out to her, and she had turned back. He was sad and confused, desperately wishing that tonight had gone differently. He wanted to tell her what had set him off, that he hadn't wanted to be a git, that he had just been surprised and hurt. But he couldn't think of a way to say what he wanted to, so he stopped, letting her go. Hermione groaned at the thoughts running through her head. She had hoped they had moved on, but there was apparently still more for her to learn from this night.

She waited for him as he forlornly watched her younger self walk up the stairs, before he turned back to the box of pasties.

Ron held up a pasty, regarding it glumly. He was as depressed as hell; would emotional eating really solve his problems? He proceeded to bite off two thirds of it and chew. Probably not, but it would help him fake it for awhile. Plus, he needed to keep his strength up, since crying took more energy out of you than you'd think.

Hermione watched in a sort of horrified disgust. If nothing else, returning to this night gave her something else to be thankful for; the fact that Ron never dislocated his jaw to eat anymore. Except for his mother's Christmas dinner, but that was looked upon as a holiday tradition.

Four pasties later, he decided to call it a night. Quietly, he went back upstairs, stopping in the loo to wash the crumbs off. The sounds of his roommates' snores muffled the sounds of his footsteps as he crossed the room to drag his pajamas out from under his pillow. He changed into them, tossing his dirty clothes in the general direction of his trunk. Blowing out the candle on his bedside table, he crawled into bed, yanking the covers up to his chin. He was never going to get to sleep as upset as he was, and he needed to distract himself. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept returning to Hermione.

After Ron had changed, Hermione opened her eyes and sat at the foot of his bed, facing him. She had always enjoyed watching Ron when he got sleepy. His whole body relaxed, and his eyes got all droopy and fuzzy looking. Unable to resist, she shifted around to cuddle at his side, even though she knew he couldn't feel her.

She really had looked amazing tonight, even if he didn't think he could ever get used to her hair like that. Her new teeth had changed her smile, and he found himself focusing on her mouth. Her lips had looked so nice and shiny, almost...kissable. In fact, if he ignored the existence of Krum, He could almost imagine how his night should've gone. She would have met him at the top of the stairs, and gone down on his arm. People would have stopped and stared, seeing him with one of the prettiest girls at the Ball. He would have come up with a smooth way to tell her how great she looked. She would have turned that pretty pink color she did whenever she was pleased, and he would have kept up a witty conversation all through dinner. For her, he would've even used the manners his mum had tried to drill into his head.

And then, the dance. So what if it wasn't the kind he was used to? It had looked simple enough to follow. They would have swayed together, his hands resting low on her waist, hers on his shoulders. He could have felt her warmth underneath his fingers, and her body pressed tightly against his as the music played.

It had started out sweet, and even a little romantic, but Hermione felt herself heating up. Obviously, they were getting close to the imaginary kiss. This should be good; he would probably try using tongue. Boys could be so unsubtle.'

When the dance ended, he would have walked her back upstairs, somehow getting her to linger until everyone went up to the dorms. He wasn't exactly sure of the mechanics of the next part, but he thought there was a certain way you leaned into a girl to let her know you were going to kiss her. Finally, their lips would touch, and maybe she would let out a breathy sigh as his hands slid up and down her sides.

And this is where he went from wishful daydreams into one of his more adventurous fantasies. Teeth clashed, tongues slid into opposite mouths, and there was suddenly and inexplicably a distinct lack of clothes. He was so worked up, he barely noticed that his hand had made it's way into his pants, and began to stroke his cock firmly.

Hermione on the other...hand, was very aware. Like a cat, she sprang to the side; unlike a cat, her feet tangled in the drapes (how did that even happen?!), and she fell to the floor, her heels yanked over her head. She really should have seen this coming. This wouldn't be the first time she had walked in on Ron having a wank. Or was it? Whatever. The point was, she knew when he hit a high point emotionally, like after a fight, he tended to release himself. They were used to it now, but when they first started living together after she finished school, it had been hard to tell which one had been more embarrassed whenever it happened. On the floor, she whimpered, feeling his pleasure trigger her own. He was going at it in an almost furious matter, and it wasn't long before he came, her name a harsh whisper on his lips.

They both lay panting, but Hermione recovered first, and she got up to sit primly on the edge of his bed. If that had been what he felt like every time, it was no wonder that he disappeared so often after they would argue, and why she sometimes suspected that he wound her up on purpose.

Ron pushed his sweat soaked fringe off his forehead, his breathing starting to return to normal. Bloody hell, that had to be one of his best wanks ever! It was different than usual, too. Mostly, he would just imagine the pictures he had snuck a look at in his brothers' magazines, or possibly even Madam Rosmerta. He had always envisioned them like the pictures, striking sexy poses, maybe saying something dirty. It never really took much to finish him off. But this time, he had been an active participant in the fantasy, doing things he had only heard about from the older boys. The parts he wasn't one hundred percent sure of were a little blurry, but it had still been wicked. He wasn't sure if it was his new perspective, or the subject this particular night.

Before, he had always shied away from seeing Hermione in that light, fighting every dirty thought that popped into his head in connection with her. Tonight, he had let himself go, and he had expected to feel guilty. He did, on some level, but not the way he used to. He felt bad, knowing she would hate the idea, but he was also relieved; he was tired of hiding from the truth. He wanted Hermione.

And as nice as this little session had been, he knew he didn't want her just for sex. Because he hadn't imagined just sex with her, but an entire night of being together. With clothes, which was a first. He was still confused about what it all meant, exactly, but he wanted to be the one she was with, the one she smiled at, danced with...fancied. Even if he didn't know how to tell her yet, he was done with lying to himself about it. Hermione could be bossy, stubborn, and sometimes completely wrongheaded, but she was also kind, fun (when schoolwork or house elves weren't involved), and, as proven tonight, pretty. So, things were clear now. He fancied Hermione Granger, and all he had to do was figure out how to get her to see him in the same light. How hard could that be?

...He was going to need another pasty.

Shaking her head, Hermione giggled. The moment was so perfectly, typically Ron; food, frustration, and sex. Some people might be upset at the way he had come to terms with his feelings for her, and at an earlier point in her life, she would have been. But showy romanticism had never been Ron's style, and most certainly not when he was fourteen. And why should it be? Falling in love had no set rules; you didn't get to pick when, or how, or who. Ron had never been the kind of person to figure things out in a subtle manner. He needed a push, or to be told plainly, and loudly, how things stood. A lot of trouble might have been prevented if she had just said what was on her mind, but she had been young and foolish, and had picked the stupidest time to be romantically conventional.

So instead of being offended that his revelation hadn't happened in a 'beautiful' manner, she was brought to mind of something else. The way she would stumble upon him with his hand down his pants, his expression at being caught going from a slow, sheepish smile to a hopeful eyebrow waggle. His habit of rooting through (and nearly cleaning out) the pantry whenever he was nervous or upset. When they would row, and afterwards, the look in his eyes would slowly change from one fire to another, and he would pull her close, and they would lose their frustration in each other's arms. It was all here tonight, these seemingly small ways that she loved about him, and the only thing she would change about it was the hurt he felt at the thought of never being with her. Also, if she remembered correctly, he wasn't the only one to have an epiphany during masturbation.

And tonight he had accepted that she was more than just a friend, more than just a flash of thigh or outline of breasts. He wanted a relationship with her, even if his ideas about what a relationship meant were still being formed. He loved her, but there was still some growing and strengthening before he realized exactly how deeply it went. It was going to be rough, she knew, but watching Ron develop into the man he was today was proving to be a fascinating (though at times embarrassing) journey.

The pleasant post-wank high was fading, to be replaced by exasperation, masking concern. Naturally, the exasperation was directed at her.

Ron paused on the third step below the second landing, letting the section of the staircase above swing over his head. Memorizing the movements of the castle was tricky at best, and it was even harder to figure out what would happen during the hours past curfew. Twice already he had nearly walked into walls that usually weren't there during the day, and he had had to pull Hermione back from stepping into a void where the stairs had shifted to the left. Hermione herself wasn't helping a bit, her nervous chattering distracting him as he tried to navigate a path to Dumbledore's office.

"...so I know we're going to get expelled, or suspended at the very least! Which isn't really fair, since we only helped Harry study things he might need. I hear that there was some funny business about the first task being leaked, which is surely a more serious-"

"Hermione, will you just relax? I doubt we'd be called down at night like this just to be expelled, which is unlikely anyway. First, Harry would be here with us. Second, we've done stuff that's loads worse, and they haven't kicked us out yet."

She seemed to fix hopefully on his words, nodding so frantically that clouds of hair went everywhere. "That's true, isn't it? Only, why didn't they send for Harry, too? You don't think it's about him, do you? Oh no! Maybe something's wrong-"

"Hermione! Just wait a few minutes and you'll find out! Merlin, I swear I can hear your brain frying from here!"

"You're right, you're right. I just need to calm down..."

He let her lapse into silence, watching her from the corner of his eye as they continued to walk. Though she had stopped talking, she was still upset, and he was worried that she was going to chew her lower lip right off. To tell the truth, he wasn't too sure that they weren't in trouble himself. They had gotten away with a lot in the past, but their luck couldn't hold out forever. If it had run out tonight, then he needed to consider the serious matter of ways to stay one step ahead of the Howler his mum was sure to send.

After only one wrong turn into a another room (when did Hogwarts get an ice rink?), they made it to the headmaster's office, using the password 'Ginger Newts' to get in. The room was full of people, which could be good or bad. Along with Dumbledore and McGonagall, whom he had expected, there was Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Cho Chang, and a little girl that looked like a miniature Fleur, though thankfully without her...charisma. McGonagall motioned them over to two vacant seats, next to Cho and the little girl.

Once they had been seated, Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, resting his hands on his desk. "Thank you all for coming. As I'm sure some of you have been able to guess, this has to do with the second task. Before I proceed with the explanation, let me first make clear that none of you are under any obligation to go through with this, though once we have begun, it will be impossible for you to change your mind, so decide carefully.

"Now, the danger will be minimal-I'm sorry, would anyone like a sandwich? No? Anyone? Mr. Weasley?"

Ron shook his head. Even he couldn't focus on eating while the word 'danger' still hung in the air, even if it had been followed by 'minimal.'

"Hm. Surprising. Well, if you're sure...ah, yes, back to the matter at hand. The four of you have been specially selected for your closeness to the Challengers. Through a process too boring to go into now, we have come to the conclusion that you are the things that matter most to them, what they would miss the most. Therefore, you will be the hidden object which they must seek within a certain amount of time. Each of you will be placed under a Sleeping Charm, and then taken to the bottom of the lake by the mermaids. You will not be aware of anything that happens until you regain consciousness, and you should experience no discomfort at all. That being said, do you choose to participate? If so, you will be taken to the lake right away, to get you in place for tomorrow."

Ron exchanged a glance with Hermione, and they wordlessly agreed that they weren't thrilled at the idea. As flattering as being that important to Harry was, it didn't make the thought of sleeping with the fishes any easier to take. He would rather not go through with it, but Hermione showed no sign of backing down, and neither did the little kid. If he backed out now, he would look limp dicked beyond belief. There was another thing bothering him, too; he wasn't on the same level of brains as Hermione, but he could still count. If he and Hermione were there for Harry, then they were one person short, a fact that seemed to strike her as well.

"Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore? Are we missing someone? If Ron and I are here for Harry, then-"

"Pardon me, Miss Granger, but you are mistaken. Mr. Weasley is paired with Mr. Potter. You are here for Mr. Krum."

"Though I do not understand vhat the boy sees in her..." Karkaroff muttered from the corner, sending Hermione a nasty look.

Ron was terribly glad he hadn't accepted the sandwiches, because he was so sick now, he had no doubt he would have sprayed them across the room. Krum. She was here for Krum. He might as well go ahead with this, because his heart felt like it had already sunk to the bottom of the lake. He knew she still talked to Krum in the library, but to be the most important thing to him already, wasn't that moving a little too fast? He had been trying to come up with a way to win her over, but it looked like the window of opportunity had been slammed in his face.

Did it go both ways? Was Krum the most important person to her? He would give almost anything to know, and even more to be in that position himself. But who would choose him over Vicky? He wouldn't. What could Ron offer her? He had no particularly strong skills, no real hope of ever being a major success. He would most likely end up in a job like his dad, making little money, being laughed at by his peers. Whereas Krum could give her anything; a library as big as the entire Hogwarts castle, the holidays to other countries that she liked to take...and she deserved all that. As much as he hated the thought of her with someone else, he wanted her to have the nice things in life. He just wanted Krum to go die in a fire so he could be the one to give them to her, was that so much to ask?

The only thing that kept him from sinking into despair was the pale, almost stricken look on her face. She was just as surprised as he was, and he was choosing to take the fact that she wasn't looking excited about the news as a good sign. It wasn't much, but he was used to not having much to go on and making do with that.

"Oh, I-I see. Alright."

She had been even more nervous than Ron had realized. He wasn't the only one to think things were moving that fast. It was one thing for someone to be interested in her, but to become that important to them in a few short months was kind of scary, especially at that age. To her, 'most important' had an almost permanent sound to it, something she was by no means ready for.

And poor Ron! It had never, ever been a competition, but she should have known that he would have thought of it that way. And with Ron's confidence level, he would have seen almost any boy as a threat, but it must have been even worse to have to see himself in comparison to one of his idols, someone who seemed to have all the things that Ron had ever wanted in life. His spiteful attitude towards Viktor had always irked her, but she saw now that that had been the only way he could strike back. He couldn't very well go up and confront Viktor, so the only way he had to get back at him was through her. It was wrong, and it had caused friction between them, but she could see where he was coming from. At least now when they rowed, he had gotten to the point where he could plainly say what was bothering him. Recalling how she had been so seemingly indifferent about his feelings where Viktor was concerned, and how she had allowed him to misinterpret things in the hopes that he would say something, she felt even more guilty.

The group moved down to the lake, where they waited for the mermaids to surface and take them down.

Ron stood next to Hermione while they watched Cho get ready to go under. Hermione was pressed close to his side, and he didn't think her shaking was only because of the cold. He nearly jumped out of his trainers when she reached down and gripped his wrist, squeezing painfully tight. She noticed his movement, and she looked up at him, the corners of her mouth jerking in a spasm that under normal circumstances would have turned into a smile.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous. Dumbledore said this was safe, but it just doesn't feel right to go under water when I won't have any way to get back up on my own."

"You don't have anything to be nervous about. I'm sure Vick-Krum will come to your rescue as fast as he can goosestep." Why had he said that? He had had the perfect chance to say something brave and sensitive, and he had blown it!

Hermione glared at him. "If that was meant to be comforting, you might want to try again." She appeared to relent. "But if I do have to go through with this, at least I'll be with you."

He didn't know what to say to that. He had expected her to bite his head off, or come to Krum's defense. Saying that she wanted to be at the bottom of a lake with him wasn't a confession of love, but it was a step in the right direction.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad to be with you, too. If something goes wrong, I know you'll be the one to figure a way out."

"Ron, I won't even be awake. There's no way I could do anything!"

"I know that, but I also know that brain of yours. I always said you could solve problems in your sleep."

She grinned. "Thanks, but let's hope we don't have to find out."

He swallowed, feeling warm despite the cold night air. He had been feeling lower than a Flobberworm's belly, but when she smiled at him like that, he felt even taller than Hagrid. She looked more relaxed, not as afraid as she had before. If he could do that, then he surely had something to offer her, didn't he? He had learned early in life that hope was a dangerous thing, but he couldn't help the little spark that refused to die. Maybe, if he just got through this year, things would turn out alright after all.

He had made her feel better, and that was one of the things she had always thought was wonderful about Ron; yes, he could be crude and insensitive, but he could also say the right thing to lift her out of a dark mood, something that showed the caring nature that hid under the layer of teenage boy. And it meant even more, knowing that he had been able to do that even though he was hurting at the time.

Of course, Ron had other things besides his love life to worry about. His family was important to him, and there had been a problem with the twins that year. He loved them, even though they nearly drove him mad with their pranks and teasing, but during fourth year, there was a harshness, a closed off feeling that wasn't normal for them, and he had been hurt and even afraid, not of them, but because of an idea that had gotten stuck in his head.

The cold water of the lake was changed with an almost jarring swiftness, to behind the Quidditch pitch, where Ron had wandered in search of Harry, only to find his brothers in a whispered conversation.

Catching sight of his older brothers, Ron stopped. He had been looking for Harry, and was surprised to see them back here. Once again, they were without Lee, something that would have been almost unheard of in past years, but was happening frequently of late. In fact, they had been behaving oddly for a long time now, and he was unsure what to make of it. Studying their faces, he searched for any sign that they were hatching one of their pranks, for once hoping that was the case. Instead, their expressions were serious and tense, and it almost looked like they were arguing.

Things had been strained between Mum and the twins since this summer, and they had become even more secretive than usual. Any time he had tried to find out what was going on, they had shut him down, all traces of good humor gone. Bill and Charlie were a lot older, and had been away from home most of Ron's life, first with school, then their jobs. Percy was an obnoxious prat, and Ron avoided him most of the time. Fred and George, while they could be irritating, were the brothers he was closest to. They had taught him how to play Quidditch, and even though they had tried out many of their experimental tricks on him, he was also fairly sure they were responsible for the extra sweets he would find in his secret stash.

Their change in behavior worried him, even though he tried not to take it personally, since they were acting like that with everyone. But when he added that to the things Harry and Hermione said about the twins and money, Ron was afraid they were about to do something stupid. He didn't think they would break the law, and he knew they wouldn't do anything to hurt people, but they always seemed to find a way to...bend things. They might not actually break the law, but by the time they got done with it, you wouldn't be able to recognize the shape it had originally been.

What he couldn't understand was why they were suddenly so interested in money. Being poor had never really bothered them; sure, they didn't like it, but they were always concerned with having a laugh and the thrill of the next prank. They had a knack for turning a profit with their schemes, though they had never been aggressive about it. Now they were hoarding coins like misers, and Ron was trying to puzzle out why. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't ask Harry or Hermione, since this was a family matter. His parents were an absolute last resort, Bill and Charlie were too far away, Percy was an automatic and resounding NO, and Ginny shouldn't have to worry about her older brothers. That left it to him, and he was nowhere near comfortable with the idea.

Now was as good a time as any to get to the bottom of things, so he moved forward, the sound of his approach causing their heads to snap up in his direction. There was a flash of guilty shiftiness, which was comforting in a familiar way, before they switched to cold masks of suspicion, which was less so.

"What do you want?"

Right-oh, then. It wasn't going to be a warm reception. Best try the roundabout approach to see if he could thaw them.

"Hullo. I was looking for Harry."

"Well, he's not here, so you can toddle back inside now."

"I can see that, thanks. I just thought I could hang out with you, until I ran into him. We haven't really spent a lot of time together, so-"

Fred narrowed his eyes. "Isn't Ron's display of brotherly love touching, George? It warms my heart."

"Mine too. Now spit it out Ron. What do you really want?"

Under their scrutiny, Ron felt about two inches tall. "Alright, so that's not all there is to it-"

"Naturally."

"Fine, I'll come out and say it. The two of you have been acting odd for months now, and you won't tell me what's going on."

"Drop it Ron. It's none of your business."

"But if you'd just-"

Fred stepped closer, giving Ron a rough push on the shoulder. "Just shut the fuck up and leave us alone! Can't you get the hint that we don't want you here?"

Ron staggered back, staring at them in shock. Their faces were like granite, their eyes hard, mean slits. They...looked nothing like his brothers. Fred and George rarely lost their tempers. When you thought of them, you thought of their smiles, lips stretched into grins, eyes sparkling with mischief. On occasion they could be serious and sympathetic, and their rare bursts of anger where quick flares. The two people in front of him were strangers with familiar faces, and he didn't know whether to be hurt or afraid, and found himself experiencing both.

Once again, he tried to appeal to them, his voice cracking. "Look, I'm just saying, if you're in over your heads, I could help-"

George cut him off, speaking in a nasty, high-pitched baby voice. "Aw, will ickle Ronniekins wide to our wescue? Pwaise Mewlin, aw our pwoblems aw over!"

That was too much. 'Ickle Ronniekins' he could handle; they had always called him that when they were taking the mickey, and while it was annoying, he knew they didn't mean anything by it. But they weren't joking now, they were being downright mean, and he had had enough.

He threw his hands in the air, his lips pulled back in a snarl. "You know what? Fine! Just fucking fine! I was trying to help, but I don't give a damn any more! If you get yourselves thrown in Azkaban, don't expect me to care! Not that I could do much, but I could get Harry and Hermione to help, and they could come up with something. Sorry I was stupid enough to think that being your brother meant something; I'm not Bill, or Charlie, or even Percy, So I get it! You! Don't! Need! Ickle! Ronniekins!"

Each word was punctuated by a punch to their chests and arms, before he swung around and nearly ran from the castle, angry tears leaking down his face. Fred and George had gone pale, and they shouted after him, their worry causing them to once again look like the sixteen year old boys they were. But Ron didn't turn around. He was too angry, and knew it would turn into a fistfight if he stayed. Which sounded pretty good, except for the fact that it would be two on one. Sometimes he wished he was an only child like Harry or Hermione. It would be a lot easier than sticking your neck out for people and getting no thanks for it. He had half a mind to tell Mum, and let them see how they liked that.

But he wouldn't. as shitty as they were acting, they were still his brothers, and brothers don't snitch. (Unless your trousers were on fire, but in fairness, that had been an accident.) At least, whatever happened next, he could say he had tried. Not that he would get credit, of course. Bill or Charlie would've known what to do, and he wished, not for the first time, that he was more like them. He just had to face the fact that he was the useless younger brother, and they would never need him.

Hermione watched sadly, never knowing that he had tried to confront them. He had felt so alone and frustrated, and she wished she had been able to be there for him. But it had been a family matter, and one they needed to work out for themselves. The twins had always hid most of their feelings behind a laugh or a joke, both the good and the bad. It had taken years for Ron to accept that their praises had been genuine, and when they poked fun, they didn't believe what they were teasing him about. And George...George had needed someone so much after Fred died, and Ron had stepped up wonderfully. That was what Ron did; when the people he loved needed help, he was there. Sometimes his efforts were clumsy and unsuccessful, but they were from the heart. No matter how much he might fight with someone, as he had just done, that wouldn't stop him from caring, or doing the right thing when the time came. It was the same way with her, she could see. The two of them could row all they liked, but when she was upset or in trouble, it was Ron she could always turn to.

As Ron moved toward the castle, people popped up through the mist, until they were moving through a large crowd, and Hermione could see that it was the last day. She entered the castle and followed Ron to the Great Hall, where he disappeared behind a group of Hufflepuffs. When they moved, she saw him sitting at the table for breakfast, herself next to him. Harry hadn't come down yet, and they were both worried about him. Ron, however, was also worried about something else.

Ron speared up another serving of sausage while covering his plate with his other hand as three owls zoomed over the table. Today they went home, and he had a limited amount of time to plan his final attack. Ever since he had found out that Krum had invited her to visit over the summer, he had been in a panic. What if she went? What if they got on so well that she decided to transfer? Not that her parents were likely to go for that, and she would never abandon Harry, but just the thought that she would want to made him ill. Afterwards, he had gone about things in the wrong way, giving her every reason he could think of why she shouldn't go, and trying to get her to see that Krum was a git. His methods hadn't gotten the desired effect, however, and had only served to annoy her.

Swallowing his sausage, he picked up a piece of toast. He had lost enough hope that he was in the process of resigning himself to long distance letters, and the trouble they would be for his tiny owl, when Ginny had spoken up two days ago. After watching Hermione leave the room in a huff, she had turned to him in exasperation. She had said that, instead of insulting Hermione's choices and bad mouthing her friend, he should give her a reason to make her want to stay. Well, his way wasn't working, so he was thankful for a new direction, but had no idea what would be convincing. The only thing he could think of had been to say that it would be hard for her to have her books read by September if she went. But something was telling him not to use anything school related. It should be more personal, but he didn't know how to go about it.

"Ron, I know you're hungry, but don't you think you're going a little too far?" Hermione asked in an amused tone.

Ron looked at her, and followed her line of sight to his hand, which he had buttered instead of his toast. Great. What girl wouldn't find that charming? He was not only a poorly dressed ginger, but he was now high in cholesterol as well.

"Shit. My mind was on other stuff, I guess," he sighed, using a napkin to clean himself up.

"Looked like it. What were you thinking about? Are you worried about Harry, too? Because I am, but I just don't know what to do for him. He hasn't even come down to eat yet, and I know he's going to be depressed the entire trip home."

Ron was worried about Harry. After Cedric had died, he had become more withdrawn than he had ever seen him, and like Hermione, he didn't know how to help. All he could do was listen when Harry felt like talking, and to keep his mouth shut when he didn't. Harry hated to be pushed, and Ron understood that. He just hoped that Hermione would let him alone, and not get upset on the train.

But anything to do with Harry was going to have to wait for later; time was ticking down, and he needed to say what he was going to say to Hermione while they were still alone.

Just as soon as he thought of something.

"Yeah, I was worried about Harry, but I think he'll do better once we leave, and he gets his mind on something else. But what I was thinking about just now, was what is going on during summer. What do you think you'll be doing?"

Her concerned expression changed to irritation. "I'm not sure. I'm still considering my options."

Not the answer he wanted, but at least she hadn't said she was going. Then again, she hadn't said she was going with him to the Ball, either, so he was still uneasy. He was out of ideas and nearly out of time, so he decided to go with at least partial honesty.

"Oh. Well, I was thinking that maybe you could come over again this year? So that would be another option for you. To think about, that is. If you'd want to."

Hermione had paused during his rambling, and it looked like she was seriously considering it. He couldn't leave it alone, and blurted, "And this way, you'd be closer to Harry, you know? It would be good if you were here for him."

Instantly, her face darkened, and he knew that had been a mistake. Why had he even brought Harry into it? He wanted her to stay for him, damn it!

"O-or you could come over once you got back from...Bulgaria. Then you wouldn't have to choose, and-"

"I wouldn't get to spend any time with my parents if I did that, and they said I could only visit one friend over break."

Ron winced at the vicious way she stabbed her sausage. Perfect. He had been so close, and he had fucked it up. Better to withdraw for now. "Alright, it's whatever you decide. Hey, here comes Harry!"

That had been a frustrating morning for both of them. She had already decided that she wasn't going to see Viktor, but she had a bad habit of becoming contrary when someone told her not to do something, and Ron had been doing that for weeks. She hadn't even been trying to make him jealous; she just wanted him to know he couldn't boss her around. And for just a few moments she had been so excited when he asked her over, until he mentioned Harry. She loved Harry, but she wanted Ron to ask her because he wanted her to come to the Burrow.

The next hour was spent in a blur of last minute packing and goodbyes, before they boarded the train. Ron sat next to Harry, who spent most of the time looking out the window. He had thought of sitting next to Hermione, but she had put the basket holding an angry Crookshanks next to her. Just his luck; even the cat was competition. The highlight of the ride was when Hermione pulled out Rita Skeeter. She was obviously pleased with herself, and Ron couldn't blame her. Not only had she been brilliant to figure it out, but she had caught the woman all by herself, and showed no sign of letting her off easy.

Oddly, the thought of a merciless Hermione was somehow...hot, and he wondered if he needed to have his head examined. A voice in his head that sounded disturbingly like Fred or George whispered that he did, and wouldn't he love for Hermione to do the job?

"Not that head, you sodding bastard!" he hissed under his breath.

Harry shot him a strange look, and even Hermione glanced up in puzzlement.

"Um, had a dream. must've been half asleep."

That seemed to get him off the hook, for which he was thankful. The rest of the ride was uneventful, and as they pulled into the station, he found himself wishing that they had more time. Dragging his feet did no good, since the force of the crowd shoved him along, and it wasn't long before he found himself off the train, pulling his trunk along behind him while Pig fluttered in the cage he was carrying in his left hand. He could see his parents from here, and he knew he would be separated from Hermione soon, and he still didn't know what she was going to do. Part of him didn't want to; if he didn't know, he could pretend it wasn't happening.

Something bumped his shoulder, and he looked down to find Hermione, whose face was flushed, and her chin was tilted almost defiantly.

"Once you've talked to your mum, send Pig to tell me when would be the best time for me to visit. Goodbye, Ron."

Ron felt an absolutely stupid grin spread across his face, but he didn't care. She was coming! Which meant she wasn't going! He had won! Summer was going to be great; he would see if she could stay longer this year, and he would do something (to be determined at a later date) to impress her, and-and then she did something to wipe the smile right off his face.

She had hugged Harry, which wouldn't have bothered him, since she had done that before. What had him nearly swallowing his teeth was the kiss on the cheek that went along with it. Why had she done that? She...she had kissed Harry! Kissed him! Harry! Kissed! He had thought he was safe, now that he had gotten rid of Krum, and then this had to happen. Was this the first time, or had there been others? He froze in mid-step. Had the Beetle been telling at least some of the truth in all those articles? He didn't think he could stand it. Harry got everything; money, fame, glory, attention...he couldn't have Hermione too!

Immediately, he was ashamed. Harry had never done any of that on purpose, had never shown the least bit of interest in Hermione in that way. Still, he decided to see if he could get her to come earlier than Harry this time. He could get Ginny to help; she liked Hermione, and he could work her around without letting her find out how he felt.

What made him feel worse was she didn't even hug him, just went straight to her parents. Didn't he rate a hug, even as a friend? He just wanted a little love too, even if it was fake.

No. nonono! She hadn't kissed him because she had been in love with him, and a sisterly peck was not what she had in mind when she pictured kissing Ron Weasley. She had never stopped to think how he would see that! She had been worried about Harry, and in her mind, she thought it was obvious that her feelings were platonic. The last thing she had wanted was for Ron to think she was interested in Harry. And she thought she had been entirely too transparent when she had told Ron that she would visit; to her, that clearly said she was more interested in him than Viktor, and it felt like her feelings were hovering over her in glowing neon letters. Unable to face him, she had run off as soon as she had kissed Harry, hoping she would have an owl in the next couple of days, letting her know she had some sort of chance. Fifth year had been a year of dancing around, looking for signs that it was safe enough to move forward. If she hadn't played it so conservatively, they might have had a chance. But the mess with the Ball had given her a taste of what heartache felt like, and she was in no rush to experience more.

As his mum engulfed him in a hug, he made a decision; he would shape up this year and do something to knock Hermione's socks off, and make her see him as more than the third-wheel friend. This was going to be the one time the hero didn't get the girl, and he was determined that next year, he would be the one being kissed.


	23. Chapter 23

The sunlight reflected off of the surface of the water in shimmering waves, and Hermione lazily closed her eyes to block it. She was stretched out by the Weasley pond, next to Ginny, while Ron had already plunged in for a swim. The thought made her eyelids pop open, unwilling to miss the rare display of skin. Ron rarely wore less than jeans and a shirt, so seeing him topless and in swim trunks was a rare treat. She licked her lips. His skin was so pale and covered with freckles, like thick Devon cream with a sprinkling of cinnam- she let out a strangled sound at the back of her throat, her face dropping onto the striped blue and yellow towel spread under her. Had she really just thought that? Alright, Lavender and Parvati weren't allowed to read their romance novels out loud this year, as they were clearly rotting her brain.

Ron, who had been standing next to her, was now on his hands and knees, wheezing with laughter. "D-Devon cream! Oh, Merlin, my stomach! Make it stop! I'm sorry Hermione, but I won't be able to let you get away with that one. Fred would never forgive me!"

"Are you thinking impure thoughts about my brother?" asked a voice with equal parts amusement and disgust.

"O-of course not!"

"Liar. I saw the way you were drooling over the freckles at the waistband of his trunks, and you actually whimpered a little."

"Will you shut up?" Hermione hissed, glancing around nervously. She didn't know which she was more afraid of; Ron hearing, or the twins.

Ginny only shrugged, adjusting the strap on her green and white plaid bikini top. "Don't worry, they can't hear you over the screaming and splashing."

It was true. The three brothers were swinging from a rope tied to a branch, competing to see who could make the biggest splash. She frowned. It would be nice if they settled down a bit. As it was, Fred was blocking her view.

"I don't care. I don't want Ron getting the wrong idea."

This earned her an indelicate snort. "What, you mean the fact that you're completely mad about him? Trust me, you'll need the bluntness of a brick to get that through to Ron. If you're going to get anywhere with him, my advice is to just spit it out."

"No. After the mess with the Ball last year, I decided to give him awhile to see if he would come around on his own. It's not that I have a problem with the idea of a girl asking a boy out; it's just that...I want it to be something that comes from Ron as his own idea, and not feel like it's something that I bossed him into going along with. At the very least, I'd like to be confident that he saw me as a girl."

"Oh, trust me. I think it's safe to say he's got that one figured out now," Ginny muttered.

"If you're so set on it, why don't you try steering him in that direction?" Hermione asked, embarrassed to find that she was only half joking, and a bit disappointed when Ginny shook her head.

"Not a good idea. You know I like you a lot, and I think you and Ron would do well together. I want both of you to be happy, and I'd say something in a snap if I thought It would work. But the thing about older brothers is they rarely, if ever, listen to little sisters about anything. If I brought it up, it might actually make him stubborn about it. So I'll have to wait for the off chance that he comes to his brilliant sister for love advice."

"I suppose I can understand that. But are you saying that as a little sister, you don't do the same?"

Ginny's features assumed a pious expression. "Dear me, no! As a dutiful younger sister, I always listen to the words of my elders and heed their wise advice."

Hermione nearly choked at her friend's demure statement. The fact that she could lie so smoothly was testament to years spent observing the twins. Somehow, it was a skill that seemed to have skipped Ron, and she couldn't help being thankful. She was about to comment on Ginny's acting abilities, but Ginny had glanced at the sun, and had started to scoop up her things.

"I better get inside. Mum wanted me to help her get dinner ready tonight."

"I could come in too." Hermione said, sitting up and looking for her clothes.

"No, you stay out here. I have a feeling Mum will put you to work once we get to...you know. So you might as well enjoy the rest while you can get it."

Hermione nodded, sinking back down on the ground as Ginny walked back in the direction of the Burrow. With the reminder of what the rest of the summer held, the mood seemed to dim, the sun not shining quite as brightly as it did before. A different kind of darkness was coming, and she shivered with a chill that belied the summer weather. Cedric's death and the return of You-Know-Who had shaken everyone (with half a grain of sense) up. Harry was in more danger than ever before, and both she and Ron were afraid for him. Neither of them knew how they were going to keep protecting their friend, but both were determined to try. It was with great relief that they learned that Dumbledore was going to be taking a more active role, along with a great many other people, which happened to include the Weasleys.

Instead of the owl she had expected, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had shown up at her house to talk to her parents about having her over for the summer. She had told her parents a carefully worded version of what was going on, but she hadn't wanted to worry them. Mr. Weasley had implied that she would be safe under magical protection, so she had been allowed to go, albeit with some reluctance.

Her parents had known a bit more than what she thought. It had turned out that Dumbledore himself had sent a letter after she had left, explaining a bit of Harry's situation, but focusing more on the danger to Muggleborns. Without going into upsetting detail, he had told them that Hermione would be in a location that would mean she would be under almost constant watch, while also being in a position to help her friends. The Grangers, knowing from Hermione the kind of family life Harry had and her determination to do whatever she could for him, had understood that keeping her out of things was an unlikely prospect. But they trusted their daughter, and believed that she was responsible enough to make this decision. Ron knew it hadn't been easy for them, and had gotten harder over the next two years the more they had been shut out. This was the point where Hermione started distancing herself from them (some unintentionally, some to protect them, and a bit because it was natural at that age), and he knew that it was going to be hard on her.

They were spending a few days at the Burrow while preparations were being made, and Hermione had tried to put worrying out of her mind for a while, because she knew she was going to be doing plenty of it this coming year. A loud buzzing noise from a pile of clothing near her almost made her scream, but she relaxed once she realized it was some kind of alarm the twins had set. They both popped out of the pond like otters, shaking off water as they got ready to go in. The two of them were busier than ever, working on mysterious things late into the night. Hermione was happier to note that they seemed in better moods than they had last year, and things between them and Ron had gone back to normal. Which she was thankful for, because she knew that Ron had been upset, and hated to see him that way. She had, at first, made no mention of it because she didn't fully understand the dynamic of things between brothers, but as time passed and it seemed to get worse, she had decided that she should at least offer to listen, even if Ron wasn't very talkative about such things. Then matters seemed to resolve themselves, and the point had become moot.

The twins winked at her before using their new skill to Apparate back to the house, and Ron plopped down soggily next to her, causing her to shiver as their bare arms brushed. She looked away to regain her composure, totally missing the direction of Ron's gaze.

"Oh, bleeding...get your super-sized beak out of her boobs, you wanker!" Ron growled at his younger self, who had leaned far too close to be considered entirely innocent, giving himself a good gander at the cleavage on display. Which wasn't all that much, since it was a one piece, but it was more than he was used to and he hadn't been able to stop staring. At first he had been disappointed that she had worn that style, but the legs were cut surprisingly high, and the top wasn't half bad , as great as she looked, it was disconcerting to see himself eyeing her up like a side of prime beef.

When a long, bony finger poked her shoulder, Hermione looked up, finding Ron watching her with that wheedling grin that meant he was going to ask for something. She raised an eyebrow. "Well, what is it?"

"Heeerrrrmioneeeeeeee," he began, "Come on and get in the water! Look at you; you're completely dry!"

"I was enjoying the sigh-sun, but if you want to go back in, go ahead."

"But Herrrrrmiiiiiioneeeee, I want you to come with me. It's no fun alone!"

Hermione grunted as he stood and began to tug at her arm, her reluctance more of a game than any real desire to stay on her towel. She let him drag her to her feet, then braced herself. "Ron, I was perfectly happy sitting here! What exactly do you hope to accomplish?"

He pulled harder. "I'm gonna get you wet, if it's the last thing I do!"

Like most seemingly prudish people, Hermione's mind instantly went in the gutter, and she stumbled forward, her face burning. Ron didn't notice his blunder, only laughing in triumph as he leapt into the pond, yanking her in with him.

''m gonna get you wet. Well. I certainly was a silver-tongued devil.

They fell into the water, limbs tangling as he tried to pull her under. Hermione shrieked, swallowing a mouth full of water. Somehow, she was able to twist away from Ron, swimming to the surface to gasp for air.

"Just you wait until I can use my wand again," she threatened, once she could breathe.

Ron only laughed, his overly large feet propelling him around the water like some sort of aquatic mammal. "I'm sure you'll forgive me by then. Of course, with my luck you'll be mad about something else, but you'll be over this."

Pushing her hair, which now weighed about twenty pounds, behind her shoulders, Hermione let herself paddle around the pond, enjoying the coolness on her warm skin. A lone cloud passed over the sun, and reminded her of her earlier thoughts.

"Ron? What do you think Harry is going to do when he finds out about all this?"

"Do? He's gonna shit kittens, that's what he's gonna do. And who can blame him? Trapped with his wretched excuse for a family, not knowing what's happening, and then finding out that we've known about it for a month without telling him? My guess is, he'll blow up, and then after that, he'll do what he usually does in these situations."

They grimaced at each other. "Brood."

Hermione curled her toes into the muddy pond floor. "But there's really no helping it, is there? Dumbledore himself told us we couldn't tell him anything."

"Like that'll make a difference to Harry. You know how he gets when he thinks people aren't telling him something. I don't suppose there's a way we could sneak him a message?"

"You know we can't do that! We were specifically told not to, and it might put him in even more danger!"

"Yeah, I know. But at least now we can tell him that we considered it. Won't make him any happier, but it might get us a head start before the yelling begins."

"I still wish there was something practical we could do to make him understand. Can't you think of anything?"

Ron twisted his body, letting his feet come to rest on the pond floor, the water coming up to his armpits in that shallow spot. "Believe me, I've tried. But I know Harry, and I think we're just going to have to ride it out. It'll be bad for a bit, but he'll come around," he sighed, brushing his damp fringe off his forehead. "Merlin, I thought we had agreed to just relax while we were here? Somehow, you always seem to bring up the one topic no one wants to think about."

Hermione's shoulders slumped under the water. She did, didn't she? No matter how hard she tried not to, she was a natural born worrier. There was nothing they could do about Harry for now, and she could have used this time alone with Ron to...something. She wasn't sure what. Maybe if she had stopped taking on the weight of the world for a moment and had thought this through like a normal teen, she would have some idea. Why hadn't she asked Ginny for tips when she had the chance?

She was so disappointed in herself, and he hadn't even noticed at the time. He had been frustrated, and a little hurt as well. While he was just as worried about Harry as she was, there was nothing they could do, and he had at least wanted her attention for the short time they would have together. But it felt as if that even when they were alone, she could only think about other people. One of the things about Hermione that had always irritated him was her seeming inability to leave things alone when you couldn't do anything about them. They were going to have plenty of time to worry about Harry later, so a day off wouldn't hurt. Besides, Harry wasn't in any danger at the moment. Ready to tear down the walls, maybe, but that was to be expected. But he had never stopped to think that this irritated Hermione about herself, too.

"Come on, I promise we can stay up late tonight trying to come up with what we'll say to Harry, if you'll let it go for now."

"Deal. Of course, that means you have something else to worry about right now," she said with a mischievous smile.

"Huh? What's that then?"

She began swimming to the far edge of the pond. "You should be worrying what your brothers will say when I tell them I can make a bigger splash than you!"

With his longer limbs, he quickly caught up to her, sputtering as he spoke. "No way! You're...tiny!"

"My splash will still be bigger, unless you change your form. You were doing it all wrong."

"Wha-? How can you jump into a pond wrong?! All you bloody do is jump! And don't you dare say it's all in the wrist!"

For the next hour or so, the two of them splashed about in the water, perfectly content to be acting like normal fifteen year olds. Serious matters were put aside completely, and both of them were pleased with how things were going.

Which lasted until they got out.

Their clothes, along with the towels, were gone. Both of them scanned the ground, as if they would suddenly pop into view, even though they were fairly sure what had happened.

"Those prats must have Apparated behind the trees over there, and then snuck our things away while our backs were turned. I knew they had been behaving too well today," Hermione muttered, wringing some of the excess water from her hair.

Ron shrugged. He was used to their antics, and this level didn't even affect him. "Well, they had to get you back somehow. You didn't take the biscuit they offered you yesterday."

Hermione shuddered. "Ron, it was moving!"

"Not as much as the earlier ones. Looks like we'll just have to walk back like this. At least it's warm enough that we should dry pretty fast."

There was no choice but to fall in next to him as he set out towards the field they would have to cross to get back to the Burrow, her arms tightly crossed over her chest. Somehow, even though they had been messing about in the water most of the day, she felt embarrassed to be walking along in nothing but her suit. Ron didn't look like he noticed, but that might be because he kept having to hitch up his trunks every few steps, or else he would be flashing the whole countryside. She had mixed feelings about that possibility.

Ron watched as his lanky form shuffled along, clutching at the waistband which had lost the drawstring. They were hand-me-downs, of course, but unlike his regular trousers, which ended up being too short, these had belonged to the twins, who were stockier through the waist. It had been his deepest fear that he was going to blind her with his frightfully pasty white arse.

Distracted by Ron, Hermione hadn't watched where she was going, and a sharp pain in her ankle sent her toppling forward.

"Shit! Are you alright?" Ron asked, reaching down to help her up.

Hermione winced as she tried to stand, sucking in a sharp breath of pain when she put weight on her left foot. "I don't think can walk on it. What on earth did I step in, anyway?"

Ron examined where she had fallen, noticing a small hole in the tall grass. "Looks like an old gnome hole. They wander out here sometimes after we've thrown them out of the garden. D'you think you can walk if you lean on me?"

They tried it, but after a few steps, realized that it would take forever. Ron kept taking too large of a stride, and Hermione would end up nearly tripping again trying to keep pace, since she could only hop on the one leg. Ron moved around to crouch in front of her.

"Alright, I used to do this with Ginny. Still do, actually, when she leaps on me from out of nowhere. Climb on."

Hermione hesitated. The offer was tempting. Horribly, wonderfully tempting. But it was also highly embarrassing. "Um...are you sure? Maybe you could..."

"Mum would kill me if I left you out here like this. I'm no Buckbeak, but I can at least manage to get you to the house."

Biting her lip, she eased onto his back, giving a small yelp as he stood, hoisting her legs over his hips. His hands were on her bare thighs, and she was extremely aware of every inch that they covered. She gripped his shoulders, cautiously sliding her hands forward until they rested on his chest, his skin warm from the sun.

She didn't know which was redder; her face, or Ron's hair. Then the whole situation struck her as absurdly funny, and she began to giggle. "I could get used to this. Maybe you could take me between classes like this when we get back to Hogwarts."

Ron snickered as well. "Can you imagine what McGonagall would say if we did?"

"Can you imagine what Snape would say?"

"This made Ron stagger as he laughed harder. "Miss Granger, we all know you are usually on Weasley's back for one thing or another, but this is a bit excessive even for you. Weasley, fifty points from Gryffindor! Potter, detention!"

"How does Harry get detention out of that?"

"Just lucky, I guess!"

Hermione rested her forehead against the back of his head, trying to catch her breath. His hair smelled like grass, some type of herbal shampoo that his mother made, and a little bit of pond water. An idea struck her; it was daring, and slightly wicked, but she was feeling bold and wanted to give some kind of signal. Before she could change her mind, she pressed herself more tightly against him, snuggling against his back, and letting her nose give his neck a light nuzzle.

"Hermione, you scarlet woman!" Ron cackled. So she had done it on purpose!

Hm. No reaction. Not that she was over abundantly blessed in the chest area, but she thought it might do something. While it wasn't the sort of thing she would usually do, it would be nice if he didn't see her as a total prude. Because she wasn't. She just had very high, selective standards. He just happened to fit them. And having him between her thighs had done a number on her hormones, or at least that was her excuse. But he hadn't seemed to notice her obvious attempts, so that route was clearly a failure.

Oh, he had noticed, alright. Couldn't she tell by the way he had gone completely silent? If she had bothered to look down, she would have seen that he had been doing all he could not to tip forward from the sudden extra weight in the front of his trunks! He had been in a dead panic, hoping no one would see.

Giving up (at least for now), she settled in for the rest of the ride. As odd as the situation was, it was nice to be that close to him, and she might not get another excuse as good as this one for a long time. Then again, they were going to be together for a month...

Ron was confused. On one hand, he could kind of understand how that had felt like a big step to her; on the other, from his side, it had felt like she was just shifting her weight. It wasn't as if she had outright rubbed her tits against his back! If all of her attempts to get his attention during this year were as subtle as this, it was no wonder he had never clued in. And it wasn't that he was especially thick. But at that age, with his self esteem issues, he had just never assumed that that kind of attention would be directed at him, unless it was presented to him with all the delicacy of a stampeding Erumpent. Then again, if he remembered correctly, Hermione had missed her fair share of hints, too.

The contrast between the Burrow and Grimmauld place, however, was anything but unsubtle. It was dark and foreboding, with lingering traces of unmistakable malice and evil. Harry may have been uncomfortable when he arrived, but it was nothing compared to how it was before they had begun to work on it.

Hermione pushed her trunk against the wall on the side of the room she was to share with Ginny, willing the trembling in her hands to stop. She had been in this house for less than ten minutes, and she hated it already. The portrait in the hallway had gone off at her as soon as she had arrived, calling her all sorts of foul names. There was so much ancient hatred in this house, and she felt as if it was directed at her; as if there were thousands of eyes watching, judging her. She had tried to put a brave face on it, while Mrs. Weasley and Ginny snapped shut the curtains over the shrieking old woman in distaste, but she was very aware that the attitude was shared by more dangerous people than a long dead woman. Ron's hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her and hurled some choice insults of his own helped her keep steady, but she certainly wasn't relishing an extended stay here.

Then the second shock came in the form of those ghastly house-elf heads mounted on the wall. Just thinking about it brought tears to her eyes, and upon seeing it, she had let out a horrified little scream. Ron had tried to say something, but his mum and sister had hurried her upstairs to show her to her room and give her a few minutes to get settled. She had been thankful; she needed to get a grip, because she couldn't spend the summer falling to pieces at every little shock. The situation with Harry was becoming steadily more dangerous, and there was going to be much more to worry about than prejudice directed at her blood status and the wretched treatment of ill-represented magical creatures. There was also the matter of her O.W.L.s, the mere thought of which sent her into a mental frenzy.

Before she could check her trunk to make sure she had brought her notes (for the fifth time that day), the door opened, and Ron shuffled into the room, looking at her worriedly.

"You alright? I meant to warn you, but I never made it back home after Bill brought me here."

She walked over to the doorway, where she could hear voices coming from downstairs. "I'm fine. It just...startled me. But it was really no worse than some of the things Malfoy calls me, so I suppose I should be used to it."

"Don't say that!" Ron said fiercely, his extra inches making him loom over her. "No one should be called that, and you sure as hell shouldn't get used to it. You're just as good as any of the rest of us, and miles better than that old bat!"

Her lips twitched in a small smile. He would hate to hear it said, but he really was a very sweet boy. He might find her overbearing and swotty, but she knew that she could always count on him to come to her defence.

"Besides, I wasn't talking about that. I meant the...you know, on the wall..."

Finding something to distract her from her worries and fears, Hermione used one of her coping mechanisms; she got angry about something. Those poor elves! It was disgusting! And why hadn't they been taken down? People were concerned about her feelings about the racial slurs hurled at her, but no one had thought about-

"I tried to take them down, but they wouldn't budge. Bill says it's a Permanent Sticking Charm, same's holding up that bloody painting. He said it was no use, but I finally talked him into trying, since I can't use my wand yet. Of course, Bill would be better at that than me anyway. But it didn't work at all; just caught the wallpaper on fire a little bit."

When he said that, she remembered seeing fresh looking scorch marks on the wall, and the anger she had been building up died. He had known how much it would bother her, and he had gone out of his way to try to fix it.

"Thanks for trying, at least. I know you think I'm ridiculous about the whole subject of house-elfs, but-"

"Hermione, We don't always see eye to eye about that, but you know I'd never do something like this, right? I mean, that's...sick! I mean, yeah, I like the idea of someone making me a sandwich whenever I'm hungry, but you know I'm not..."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that it started with innocent things like sandwiches, and then over the years, what may have started as something mutually beneficial of at least agreed on grew gradually more and more twisted unless basic rights were agreed on, but she couldn't. It seemed oddly important to him, and he looked so upset. It suddenly struck her that he was upset as well; he usually got stubborn and contrary when the subject came up. She knew that Ron was a good person, and he would never, ever do something like that to an elf. Maybe he wasn't as zealous as she was on the subject, but that didn't mean he agreed with they way they were treated, either.

"Of course I know that. I never thought you would, and if I ever implied that, then I'm sorry. It's just a subject that gets me worked up."

Ron nodded, visibly relieved. "Hey, we should go down to the others. We need to find out everything we can so we can tell Harry when he gets here. Oh! You won't believe what I heard already. Guess who's a member of the Order?"

Hermione shrugged, puzzled. Ron's eyes were nearly popping out of his head, so it was clearly someone unexpected. "I don't know. Who?"

"Snape!"

She felt her own eyes grow to match his. "You're kidding!"

"Nope. Ol' Oil Slick himself. Harry's going to go completely 'round the twist!"

That was an understatement. On the other hand, that news might at least distract him from his anger.

"Is there a meeting tonight? Do you think they'll let us come?"

Ron shook his head. "My mum? Not a chance. But...there might be a way we could find out what's going on. But it would mean breaking the rules a bit."

That could only mean one thing. "Fred and George?"

"Yeah. If anyone can figure out a sneaky way to listen, it's my brothers. So, will you help, or are you going to listen to the grownups?"

Normally, she wouldn't even hesitate to say that of course she was going to obey, and that she would be sure to see that he did, too. But...

"We don't have much of a choice, do we? Harry's going to be mixed up in the middle of all this, you know he will. If we don't know what's going on, we won't be able to help. I had hoped they would understand that, but I suppose that we'll just have to...work around them."

Ron grinned, letting out a short laugh. "Then let's go find them. I'm sure they're upstairs hiding, trying to get out of doing any work, the lazy sods!"

He grabbed ahold of her hand, pulling her farther into the hallway and up to the next flight of stairs. Moving quickly to keep up, she glanced at their joined hands. She knew he didn't mean anything by it, but it meant a lot to her. For her, it symbolized something; that no matter what they were going to have to face, they would do it together.

And really, there was no one else she'd rather have at her side.

It still amazed him to hear her think things like that. Hermione always gave of an aura of strength and self-sufficiency, like she could handle anything that came her way. And for the most part that was true. But he hadn't realized that she had counted on him so much for support, and drew comfort from the fact that she knew he would be there to back her up.

That painting had scared him as well; he hadn't been expecting it, and had brushed up against the curtain when he had walked in. Instantly, she had started shrieking about blood-traitors right in his ear, and he had nearly pissed his pants. But he could handle that. It was when she tore into Hermione that had had him casting an eye about for the nearest pair of shears. Yet it was seeing those heads on the wall that had made him feel utterly sick. He had known it would upset Hermione, and he had been desperate to get them down for her. There was more to that, though. Whenever he looked at them, all he had been able to picture was that funny little elf he had met the year before, Dobby. The idea of cutting his head off and mounting it on the wall was unimaginable, and he didn't think he'd like to meet a person who would do such a thing. At fifteen, he had only thought of house-elves as pointy-eared butlers and housekeepers. He hadn't worked out that things could snowball into slavery and abuse in a few short generations, and that while there were some wizards that treated them well, many didn't, and others were as horrible as the Blacks and Malfoys.

Spending so much time with Hermione that summer before Harry had gotten there was something he had enjoyed, and he had felt guilty for being sorry when it ended. Reminders of the outside world, such as the upcoming school year, had done little to help. Hermione, on the other hand, was thrilled at the idea of going back to Hogwarts, for one special reason particularly. At the excitement coursing through her, Ron narrowed his eyes. This must have been the day they got the news about the prefects, and he was veeeeeery interested in what, exactly, really went on in her mind. She had said that she hadn't meant anything by her shock, but he had never quite believed her. Now he would finally see first hand why she didn't think he deserved it, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

Hermione was taking a much needed break from cleaning. She was using this time (much to the disgust of her friends) to read through this years books again, making note of anything that looked like it might show up on her O.W.L.s. This was one of the most important tests of her academic career, and she was already panicking. Ron and Harry, of course, were blissfully avoiding the whole subject, and she wished briefly that she could be as sanguine. It was best that they enjoyed it now; she was planning on putting them through their paces once they got back to Hogwarts, especially Ron. She hadn't forgotten a certain promise she had made several years ago to help him accomplish whatever he wanted to in life, and if that meant nagging him into submission so he could make better career choices, then so be it.

"Hermione, an owl just came with this. It has your name on it," Ginny said as she tossed an envelope on the desk Hermione was working at, making a speedy exit before she got roped into hitting the books.

Curiously, she picked up the cream envelope. Who would write her here? Seeing the familiar crest on the front, her hands began to shake. Could this be what she had been hoping for? Ripping open the flap, she hastily scanned the letter, mumbling the words out loud, and finishing with a little scream of joy, which she covered with one hand, giggling. It was! She had done it! A prefect! She was one step closer to being Head Girl, a position of responsibility and trust. To her, this meant two things; one, that she was fitting into this world, and wasn't the outsider she had feared she would be, and two, it was something that her parents could understand, an achievement that marked her progress in terms they were familiar with.

Ron hadn't thought of it that way. He had just thought it was typical, swotty Hermione, obsessed with knowing it all and making sure that everyone lived up to the standards she did. It hadn't occurred to him that she struggled to find something to share with her parents, or that she worried about what she would do once she left school. As much as she tried, she would have a hard time catching up on enough Muggle schooling to get the kind of job she wanted, which would have given her something to fall back on if she decided she didn't want to do something magic related. Not that she couldn't do it if she put her mind to it, but the time wasted before she could apply it would frustrate her.

Hermione smoothed out the letter, wanting to save it for her scrapbook. The badge, which had tumbled to the desk, shone up at her brightly, and she snatched it up, hardly being able to wait to put it on her uniform. She stood to go share her news with the boys, then laughed. They would already know, since they had been telling her this would happen for years now. Which made her think; who would be the prefect for the boys?

Ron leaned forward, intent on her answer. This had been an important moment for him, and had also set him back from trying for any sort of relationship with her, assuming she didn't think very highly of him.

Well of course, it could only be one person, couldn't it? Harry. He was a favorite of Dumbledore's, and had gotten special treatment before, such as being able to play Quidditch as a first year. Plus, there were other benefits as well, which she was sure Dumbledore had considered. For one, Harry was having a rough time, and this would boost his spirits, as well as going towards making up for being left out this summer. This also worked out well, as she would be able to keep an eye on him, and they would have an excuse if they were caught out late at night. Ron would have to wear the Cloak on those occasions, but since he wouldn't have to hunch down for her and Harry, he wouldn't be uncomfortable. He was going to give the two of them a hard time about being prefects, though. She knew he would try to wheedle her into leniency and special privileges, and she would have to play her expected role as the heavy and insist he wouldn't get away with anything just because they were friends. Not that that would really be a problem. For all of Ron's grumbling about the rules, and not counting the times he had had to break them for Harry, he wasn't much for causing trouble. Unlike his brothers. Merlin, keeping them in check might be a full time job!

Ron was flummoxed as he tried to keep up with her as she dashed up the stairs. When you looked at her logic, it all made sense. And even he had thought that Harry would get it, in the back of his mind. Because she was right; things like that just naturally fell to Harry, the Boy Who Lived. What had really shocked him though, was that he hadn't been left out. Hermione had just naturally assumed he would be going along with them, just as he always had. And that had been one of the things that had bothered him, the fear that the two of them would move on without him; it had been one of the reasons he had been so pleased when he was chosen. But she had even worked out the logistic of the Cloak, since he would be the only one that wouldn't have a reason to be wandering the castle like they did. It all fit together so neatly that he wondered why he hadn't thought of it before...but there was still more to come; So far he was with her about her assumption that it would be Harry. But what really mattered to him was why she had reacted the way she did, although he thought he was beginning to see part of it.

Hermione flung herself at Harry, knowing she was babbling but being unable to help it. The news was a much needed bright spot amongst all the dreariness, and she was sure Harry would be feeling better about things as well. And then what he was saying registered, and she felt her face freeze up. What? Ron was going to be the prefect? Not Harry? Surely he was joking. No, no he wasn't. all of her neatly lined up theories were jostled about, and she couldn't make any sense out of the new arrangement. Ron. As a prefect. But...Ron hated that kind of thing! There would be meetings, and extra duties, and patrols...things he avoided as much as possible. Plus, how could he be expected to admonish Fred and George? That task was unavoidable, and they wouldn't let him off easy. They were also going to give him a horrible time just for being a prefect. And Ron had always sounded disgusted by the idea as well, saying he didn't want to be anything like Percy, always making disparaging comments about how awful it would be to be a prefect.

It wasn't as if he wasn't qualified enough; his marks were fairly good, and any trouble he got into was mostly Harry related. How was he even going to take this? Was he going to think of it as another way that he was forced into his brothers' shadows? Aside from that, it was going to make things rough between the two of them, as well. She knew she would throw herself into it, and would have to constantly nag at him to get him going. Which was the last thing she wanted; she had hoped for a peaceful year with no fighting, and here was a powder keg dumped into their laps.

She had taken too long to grasp the situation, and the look he was giving her nearly broke her heart. Too late, she tried to respond appropriately, but he wasn't having any of it, and she couldn't blame him. As everyone else carried on, she slunk guiltily from the room, berating herself.

So. He had been right about what he had started to suspect. One of Hermione's biggest flaws was a certain kind of inflexibility; once she got something fixed in her head, it was almost a physical wrench to dislodge it. It took her some time to process the information that she was wrong, and to recalculate from there. It really didn't matter who had been named prefect; she would've had the exact same reaction. And her confusion was valid, as well. He had always been dismissive of prefects, writing them off as stuck-up brown-nosers. (and then he ended up in law enforcement, which he supposed was ironic.)

He had always complained about the rules, too, saying how stupid most of them were, so it was really no wonder that anyone would think he would detest the idea of being a prefect himself. And he had been worried that he wouldn't be as good at it as Bill and Charlie, that he was sure to screw something up. The part of them fighting about it was bang on, too. He would no more get comfortable in front of the fire than she would be off about something or other that was expected of them, when all he wanted to do was stare into the flames and try to let the jumble of everything he had learned in lessons that day sort themselves out. Fortunately, though they had gotten a bit shirty with one another on several occasions, it had never turned into anything serious. But the way she had reacted, and the way she had said what she had, had made him feel as if she thought he was too...stupid or lazy, or just plain not good enough for the job. But it wasn't that she thought that he wasn't suited for it, but that it wouldn't suit him, and there was a very big difference. Still, she needed to learn to control her reactions better, and not to come to such firm conclusions until she had all the information. He loved her, but he didn't want to have to explain to their kids that it wasn't that their Mum didn't believe in them, she had just expected something else.

Hermione gave a strangled moan of frustration as she slowly thunked her head against the wall, hoping no one else heard the rhythmic sound. What had she been thinking? All she had had to say was, 'You were made prefect? Well, I had thought that it might have been part of one of Dumbledore's plans to give it to Harry, but you definitely deserve it. Congratulations!' How hard would that have been? It would have honestly explained her thought process while still being supportive of his achievement. But no; as always, she got stuck in her own little logic bubble, unable to make a quick mental shift when one of her theories was disproved.

"I see you realize that that wasn't one of your most shining moments."

Ah, sympathetic Ginny. There to make her feel like less of a horrible person than she already did. She let out a gurgling noise that fully yet concisely made her feelings clear.

Ginny patted her shoulder, leaning against the wall next to her. "Let me guess. You jumped to the conclusion that Harry, because things like this always seem to happen to him, would be a prefect. Then when you found out it was Ron, you couldn't process the switch before Ron took it the wrong way."

"Yes. Merlin, Ginny! He looked so hurt and disgusted, I wanted to be sick. I think I still might, actually."

"Well, you did miss a perfect chance. You needed to go with a little less shocked disbelief and a little more, "Oh Ron, your dedication and responsibility is so sexy...it makes my cerebellum tingle!" Ginny said in a high, breathy voice, giving her eyelashes an exaggerated flutter.

"Ginny, I could never say something like that! And that things with the eyes...ugh!"

"Like it could be any worse than you just were? But seriously, a few compliments tossed his way would make Ron really happy. Unless you really do think he'd make a rotten prefect."

"Of course not! Ron could be a wonderful prefect if he wanted to; he's personable, and he gets along with people easily. He's not the type to do this as some sort of power trip, and I think students would respond well to his laidback attitude. I just know he has issues with prefects, what with two of your brothers going that route, and the twins making it seem like a bad thing."

"See, that right there would've been fine."

"I know! I try to say things like that, but then my mouth opens and nothing but awful flows out. Then I try to fix it, and it ends up even worse. I didn't mean to hurt him, but I just know that he's going to hate me!" Hermione could feel tears threatening, but she didn't care. Today could have been so happy, and she had ruined it.

"Ron is not going to hate you. He'll sulk for a little while, maybe give you the cold shoulder, but then he'll get over it. Just...try to work on the charm. I know you're not a gushy person, but you need to do something to get the message across, or Ron is never going to figure things out."

Hermione knew her friend was right, but she had no clue where to start. Flirting was a hard enough idea, but how did one go about doing so with a friend? She had put some hints out there, but had no results so far. Relationships were so different from schoolwork; with her studies, she had a clear goal, and easily followed a well thought out plan that would get her there. With Ron, she knew what she wanted, but was at a complete loss about how to go about making it a reality.

Mrs. Weasley breezed through the hall just then, muttering something about Gringotts and brooms. Hermione stepped out of her way, ducking into the toilet to splash some water on her face. Whatever tiny amount of progress she had made over the summer had surely just taken a hit, and she needed to find a way to make up for it. Because Ron deserved better; he was a wonderful person who did amazing things. She just hoped he would give her a chance to find a way to be comfortable telling him that before he found another girl who didn't share that problem.

There was no way around it; she had screwed up. She hadn't meant to, of course, and she felt horrible, as he knew since he was sharing that feeling, but she had still screwed up. And, in an odd way, he was glad to see it. Hermione had always had an air of competence about her, like she knew what she was doing every step of the way. Part of that, he had found, was carefully maintained around Harry and him; she felt that as she was usually the one trying to talk them into something for their own good, they wouldn't listen if they saw her being fallible. What she hadn't understood was that actually made it worse, and they would sometimes ignore her advice just to try to prove her wrong. But seeing her as she was now, a normal teenager confused about what to do, he felt even closer to her. He was well aware of her faults, and had been for years. This was different; just a well-meaning fuck-up that could happen to anyone, and did at one point or another. He remembered giving her the silent treatment, and taking a certain amount of satisfaction in her distress, never taking the time to wonder why she was upset at all.

This was another thing he needed to watch for. Words were powerful, and even ones with no ill intent behind them could hurt. A comment could have a perfectly innocent meaning to the speaker, but may be saying something else entirely to the person hearing it. Sometimes the person you cared about was going to hurt you without meaning to. And when that happened, you needed to tell them so they could apologize, and then trust what their intentions had been if they explained that there had been a misunderstanding. If he had just confronted her privately about it and listened to what she had to say, it might have spared him some hurt feelings. Then again, he had been painfully sensitive at that age, so maybe not.

Of course, there were other times when positive words meant nothing at all, as was the case in the scene beginning to play out before him. The dreary coldness of Grimmauld Place bled into the warmth of the Gryffindor Common Room, where the three of them were sitting in their normal seats by the fire, Harry and Hermione listening to him read a letter. His face was curled in a sneer of disgust, taking no joy in the praise being directed at him.

When Hermione had been a first year, she had admired Percy Weasley. His responsible nature and work ethic had been something she had hoped to emulate herself, and he had been helpful and supportive with all of the questions she had asked him. He had taken his role as a prefect seriously, and had helped her understand many of the new things going on around her that being raised as a Muggle hadn't prepared her for. And though she knew he could be a bit pompous and distant, she had been happy for him when he was able to get a job at the Ministry.

In some ways, she was a lot like Percy herself. On the plus side, she was intelligent and hardworking, with a great respect for authority. On the negative side, she could be stiff and unapproachable. But try as she might, she couldn't understand his recent behavior. When she had joined the Weasleys this summer, she had been appalled when Ginny and Ron had taken her upstairs to explain the odd mood of the family. Even if he didn't believe what had happened to Harry, how could he side with the Ministry over his own family? She just...okay, rules and authority were important, and so was your job. But none of that was more important than your family and doing what was morally right. It had affected his entire family; Mrs. Weasley was sad, her eyes getting misty whenever Percy was mentioned. Mr. Weasley, normally a relaxed, cheerful man, became irritable whenever he had seen his son at work. The twins were angry as well, the eye-rolling, good natured jokes they usually aimed at their older brother turning to sharp insults and loathing. Ginny and Ron were the same, but underneath it all, Hermione sensed the pain of the entire family.

As Ron read his letter, she grew even angrier. For once Ron was getting the praise he deserved, but it was tainted. The way Percy encouraged him to abandon his friend and principles disgusted her. Ron seemed to feel the same way, because he tossed the letter into the fire as if it was rubbish, and totally dismissed Percy's advice. His reaction caused a surge of emotions in her; fierce pride, admiration, and love. On the surface, Ron and his brother were polar opposites. However, they did share at least one thing in common; the desire to be respected and to make something of themselves. And there was nothing wrong with that, in and of itself.

But where Percy had abandoned everything he had been taught (along with most of his common sense) to further his ambitions, Ron had remained steadfast, even when it was the unpopular choice. Being friends with Harry had always had its dangers, but this year people had been positively awful, and both she and Ron had gotten their fair share of poor treatment. Ron had been amazing. Never once had he even suggested ditching Harry, and he had even stood up for him with the other boys, something Hermione would have given her eye teeth to see. The others had teased her about being a perfect match for Percy, and if they knew of her feelings for Ron, might think the idea odd. But Ron knew what was right and was doing his best for the cause even though he could take the easy way out, and to her, that was all the difference. Percy might have lofty ideals, but Ron had a straightforward foundation. Percy talked a good talk, but Ron lived it, without boasting about it.

'Again, Ron felt uncomfortable at the level of affection he was feeling towards himself. Hermione was practically floating off the floor with adoration, and he wondered how he had missed it back then. True, she wasn't fawning all over him, but her eyes had gone soft, and her cheeks were flushed from more than the fire. Not that he would've understood what the fuss was about. He had never given a second thought to listening to Percy. For someone that was supposed to be so smart, it had baffled Ron how his brother could miss what was right in front of his face. On top of all that, it had damaged the family. Percy was a git, but not having him around had made them feel incomplete. The rift had taken awhile to heal completely, and Percy still felt badly for it, most noticeably when Fred was mentioned. He knew his brother had forgiven him before he died, but he would always regret the time wasted those last two years. After the war, Percy had made more of an effort with his family, and was easier to get along with. He was still blustery and long-winded, but knowing he was making an effort, and that he didn't think he was better than the rest of them helped.

Ron blinked in surprise at what he was watching. Harry had been distracted by something else, and Hermione had taken the opportunity to slide closer on the sofa. He didn't remember that; the letter must have bothered him even more than he thought.

Hermione cleared her throat. None of the Weasleys wanted to talk about Percy, but she wanted to be supportive of Ron. She placed a hand on his arm, hoping that she wouldn't mess this up.

"Are you alright?" Ugh. How original was that? On the other hand, at least it was bland enough to be inoffensive.

Ron heaved a large sigh. "Well, aside from You-Know-Who coming after my best friend, the beginning of a second war, and my arse of a brother breaking my Mum's heart, I guess I'm fine- what do you think?"

"Oh, you know what I meant. It's just that you haven't heard from him in awhile, and it must feel odd. Though he did say some rather nice things, if you ignored the rubbish he was trying to sell."

Her words were met with a morose shrug. "Dunno 'bout that. It almost seemed like it was just a way for him to get the Ministry's agenda across and insult Fred and George. I mean, I know they aren't up for sainthood or anything, but he makes it sound like they'll be in Azkaban within a year."

"Not that I don't believe they could if they set their mind to it, but they aren't bent that way. They're just really, really different than Percy. Honestly, could you see them as prefects?"

That earned a twitch of his lips, flipping them from a scowl into a small smile. "I don't think Hogwarts would survive a day," the smile faded as he continued, "But Percy acts like he thinks they're worthless. Doesn't seem to have too much use for the whole family, really."

"That's not true. Percy may be behaving...poorly (she didn't want to say something too offensive; it was still his brother) at the moment, but he'll come around. And as much as you and the others grouse about it, you know you'll forgive him when he does. Some of you might not make it easy on him, but you'll forgive him."

The smile melted back into a frown. "Just because you like him better doesn't mean you have to take his si-"

"I am not taking his side!" she interrupted indignantly, crossing her arms with a huff. "And I do not like him better."

Which was perfectly true. She did admire his positive qualities, but she liked the twins just as much. They bumped heads at school because of their different views on following the rules, but they got along fine when they didn't have that between them. And though they were technically mischief makers, she was fair enough to admit that they were never purposely (Unless their victim had hurt someone they cared about) malicious. While they might be lax about the day-to-day rules, they knew right from wrong, and they were just as keen as anyone else to side with Harry, albeit via their unorthodox methods. She also admired they way they could lighten a bad situation and take people's minds off of the bad things. It could seem frivolous at times, but she couldn't deny the importance of a smile when it felt like the world around you was falling to darkness.

It was like that with the rest of the Weasleys; she didn't know Bill and Charlie well, but from what she had observed, they were good men who valued doing the right thing. And Ginny was just like her brothers. She didn't hang back and let others do the work. She did what she could, even though sometimes it went unnoticed, and she knew the right times to press the issue to make certain people see sense and to look outside their own problems. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had done an amazing job of raising them all, and instilling their values into their children with a love you could almost see. And Ron...well, Ron, to her, was the most amazing of all. Maybe she could make him see that, at least a little.

"But maybe you're right. Maybe he won't come around. I suppose I just have a hard time believing that, knowing your family. He is a Weasley, after all. I know your parents taught him better than this. Or maybe I'm just transferring what I know about you onto him; that he won't let a stupid fight get the best of doing what he knows is right. Maybe the good I try to give him credit for is just the good that I see in you."

She had tried to put as much feeling as she could into the words, hoping that he would hear the importance of her words. Something appeared to have gotten through; his eyes had popped out, his face was a cherry red, and his jaw was resting comfortably between his feet. She waited, breath held, for him to say something.

"Um, Hermione? We have a prefect meeting that we should be getting ready for."

Her body slumped back into the cushions, disappointment weighing her body down. What had she done wrong? Did he not see her feelings for him? Or did he just not want to see? She couldn't tell if she was being too vague or pathetically obvious. When it came to romantic relationships, she had so many theories and examples, but Ron never acted quite like she expected, and she didn't know what to do about it. He just seemed to brush it all off, from her concern about his problems, to what had been for her a major declaration. What did she have to do? Stand naked atop the highest tower of Hogwarts and scream out how fit and wonderful she thought he was?

"Ah, yes, I had forgotten. We should probably leave in a few minutes," she answered weakly.

Transferring her books from the table to her bag, she wondered if she would ever get it right. She always seemed to either be offending him, or not getting through to him at all. It was discouraging to think that an outright confession might be met with such little fanfare. Not that she expected rockets and promises of forever as they rode into the sunset on a gleaming white horse, but a little positive enthusiasm was desirable. Maybe that was it, though. Maybe she just wasn't desirable to him. Maybe that had been his way of saying that she needed to back down a bit. Hermione hated to give up on anything, especially something she considered so worthwhile, so she couldn't quite give in yet, not when he had just moments before given her another example of why she loved him so much. He was worth the effort, and she was going to try her hardest to make him see that, and that maybe they deserved the chance to be more to each other than just friends.

As she stood, she thought wryly to herself that she hoped it was just her bad habit of reading ahead of everyone else, and that she wasn't in a different book than he was entirely.

'Damn. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed the shift in her mood, because he had. Through all of his irritation about his brother, her words had cut right through to him, striking him dumb. The things she had said had made him oddly warm and tingly, yet at the same time, like he was going to be sick all over her shoes, which even he, with his limited experience, could tell would be a mood breaker. Along with that had been the gripping fear that he was misreading her, seeing what he wanted to see instead of what she meant. He had hoped that her words meant she saw him as someone...worthwhile, he supposed. But there had been that nagging doubt that she was just being a good friend, saying what she thought he needed to hear. He had needed to hear it; even if that was all she meant, it had still touched him, and given him a jolt to his self-esteem. Just his luck that instead of risking it, he had decided to wait for a certain moment that he thought was coming up.

That had been one of his major problems. He always thought that there was some sort of perfect moment for these things, that if he could just set it up, everything would fall into place. Life didn't work like that. Sometimes you had to take chances, even when you thought all hope was lost. That was a lesson he had learned the hard way, and one he hoped not to repeat. When there was something important to be said, you needed to say it; you might not change anything, but you might also change things for the worse by not saying anything at all. His hesitancy, coupled with Hermione's inability to clearly say what she was feeling had left them both going in circles for far longer than they needed to. If one had just been able to break the cycle, they might have avoided a lot of heartache. But he wasn't here to change the past. He was here to make sure that the past didn't repeat itself in the future. She needed to be more open about her feelings, and he needed to listen to what she said with an open mind, and not go looking for negative things that might not be there. All they had done in the end was frustrate both of them.

And that frustration was making him think. He had a theory of his own, but he wouldn't be able to test it until the next year. But he had a hunch that Hermione, in an odd way, really was too smart for her own good. That would have to wait, however, because he had bigger problems at the moment.

Because Ron Weasley was just getting ready to kiss...himself.

"And wouldn't you fucking know it, that day I didn't even remember to shave!"


	24. Chapter 24

The image in the mirror was not promising, Ron thought. He stood across the room, so he could see as much of his body in the dresser mirror as possible. From head to knobby knees, inventory was critically taken. Hair: aside from the color, he had managed to keep Mum from hacking too much off, so that wasn't too bad. Face: freckles. More than usual. They must be breeding. Upper body: pitiful. He had seen more meat on a Christmas turkey. He didn't dare try flexing; that sight might make him hide under his blankets for the rest of the day. Lower body: see upper. The only thing covering the pale white cracks amidst the plethora of freckles was the pair of blue trunks that had once belonged to George. For once, the length wasn't a problem. That had been traded for the waist. George, like Fred and Charlie, was thicker than Ron, and the drawstring was missing, so with every move they slipped dangerously low. They balanced precariously on his hipbones, and he kept tugging them up, wondering if there wasn't some sort of Charm to keep them in place.

A shout from the hallway reminded him that he needed to get a move on, so he pulled a ratty blue t shirt over his head, and grabbed the green towel that was folded on his bed before leaving his room to join his brothers downstairs. They were going for a swim in the pond, and Hermione had already left with Ginny. The thought of Hermione in a bathing suit cheered Ron, making him forget his own physical shortcomings for the moment. They were in the middle of one glorious week before they packed up and moved to where they would be staying for the rest of the summer, and he intended to enjoy every minute of it.

Hermione had always known that boys could have just as many body image problems as girls, and she had known that Ron wasn't very confident. But what she hadn't known was that he had been made even more uncomfortable with himself because he didn't think he was attractive to her. His worry over it could clearly be felt, and she wished she could tell him that he shouldn't worry. She wouldn't be a liar and say that she didn't like handsome men, but she could honestly say that while the world might not consider him traditionally good looking, she had always found him attractive. His hair color was something she always associated with warmth and liveliness, and his freckles were just...appealing for no real reason at all. Height wasn't an issue either, as she enjoyed his long limbs, and how it felt when he would wrap his arms around her and she could cuddle into his chest (not that she had really done it at the time, but the potential had been there, and she had incorporated it into her dreams). She loved the way his face would crinkle in concentration, and the adorable look of confusion he wore whenever she tried to explain Muggle customs. And his smile...well, several bad poems had been dedicated to that smile. Which was why she felt so badly that he was down on himself on her behalf. Looks weren't the most important thing to her in the first place, but she did find his to be a nice bonus. She hoped she had been able to convey that to him in the last few years.

Sunlit grass tickled his bare feet as he followed Fred and George to the pond, the two of them talking animatedly to each other about plans for some new invention or other that might help them with the Order. He thought of telling them that it wouldn't help if Mum got wind of it, then shrugged. They knew that; they were old hands at sneaking about. He was glad to see that they had returned to the way he was used to, and they were back to treating him as they always had. That is to say, part of the time they made him wish he could use his wand in new ways that would possibly be considered illegal, and other times they were on the same side. This meant that he could focus on more important things, like Hermione. Guilt pricked him at that thought, reminding him of Harry. It wasn't that he didn't worry about Harry, because he did. But Dumbledore had said he would be safe until he joined them, and Dumbledore would know, wouldn't he? He wouldn't risk Harry. Besides, there was nothing he could do; he and Hermione had been given strict orders not to tell him anything, and Mum was keeping them under close watch. Without magic, that was something impossible to even attempt to get around.

And...he really felt like he could use this time without Harry, which he even hated to think. Was he being a bad friend for wanting to spend a bit of alone time with the witch he fancied? He hoped not. He didn't not want Harry to be here, but...he wished Harry's family would pull their heads out of their collective arses and spend the summer making up for lost time. Or that Malfoy would have a sudden personality change, renounce his snotty, evil ways, and whisk Harry off on some sort of holiday as an apology for all the years he was a slimy little git. None of that was remotely likely, but as long as he was dreaming, he could go all out, couldn't he? In other words, he wished Harry was having the time of his life; just...not at the Burrow quite yet. He didn't often have chances like this, and he wanted to soak it up.

Hermione understood that. She had always felt guilty as well, thinking that she was being a bad friend to Harry for thinking of her love life when there were more serious matters to worry about. But getting perspective as an adult, she knew that wasn't the case. You could love someone and want to help them as much as possible, but that didn't mean your own life stopped or became unimportant. If you didn't take care of yourself, you ended up burning out, and in some cases resenting the person you were trying to help, which wasn't good for anyone. Ron was completely dedicated to helping Harry, and he didn't regret his choice. At the moment though, there was nothing he could do for him, so he wanted to use this time to pursue his own desires. That was normal. That was healthy. Some people wouldn't understand, and would say that Ron was selfish, but they were wrong. Hermione admired the fact that he had done so much for Harry; he put himself in constant danger, stood by Harry when others were against him, and didn't let popular opinion sway him from doing what was right, even though it meant being treated badly at times. He hadn't used Harry to climb the social ladder, and he had shared everything he had, including his family, with his friend.

So no, wanting to spend a few days alone with a girl didn't make him a bad friend. If there had been the slightest hint that Harry needed him, Ron would have gone running in a snap, and there was no reason to feel guilty for having a nice time for himself. The fact that it bothered him was another reason she was finding to love him; that even though he was so close to something he wanted, he was still concerned about doing right by his friend.

The girls were stretched out on towels by the pond, but Ron was only dimly aware that his sister was even there. Only Hermione existed, in that lovely stretchy fabric that made his imagination do acrobatic flips. How was it that she was so short, but her legs still managed to look so long? Hermione was one of those people whose skin darkened fast in the sun, and she was already a nice tan, having gotten in some swimming with her family before she came. Soft, bushy hair was pushed behind her shoulders, and his sight was drawn down the column of her neck to her...wow. They weren't like the pictures he had seen, but they were definitely, undeniably there. And if he didn't stop staring, he was going to have the same problem in points further south.

Hurriedly, he tossed his towel down a few feet away from hers, squatting in a slightly hunched position that he prayed appeared normal. He tried to follow the conversation, but it was about some people he barely knew in Ginny's year, and he quickly lost interest. Instead, he decided to join his brothers, who had already barrelled into the pond. Watching Hermione nervously from the corner of his eye, he shucked his shirt, giving his trunks an extra hitch for safety's sake. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when she didn't notice; there were no evident displays of disgust, but she wasn't exactly dragging him behind the trees for a quick snog, either.

Self-deprecation was hard to focus on during a water war with the twins, however, so he quickly became more occupied with not breathing a lung full of water than whether or not he was the stuff of female fantasy. It was a nice day, and he was enjoying the freedom to do nothing but goof off for as long as he could. Time seemed to pass far too quickly, and before he knew it, his brothers were going back inside to check on something that was brewing in their room. (he made a mental note to be extra careful at supper tonight. No eating anything that they hadn't, and he would watch closely to make sure that they didn't slip anything into a dish before they passed it to him. If all else failed, he would make an excellent food-taster.)

With a start, he saw that Ginny had gone in as well, and he was left alone with Hermione. Alone. In her bathing suit. With him. It was a perfect set up, but she was decidedly too far away. His goal this year was to do something to make her look at him differently, and he wasn't going to be able to do that if she was all the way over there. She hadn't swam at all since he had come out, and he thought that maybe if he got her to come in and have a good time, it would give her something to remember about her visit that was only about them. Knowing she wouldn't just come if he called, he went on the attack.

His tactics worked, and he was pleased that it took almost no effort at all before they were splashing about in the pond together. More than that, she was laughing, and he got to see the playful nature that she didn't show to many others. And today it was all for him; Not his family, none of their classmates or Harry, but him. They teased back and forth, and she chuckled at his clowning. It was a rare taste of the full attention that he wanted, and he knew he would replay the day over several times in his mind before he went to sleep tonight.

Things were going swimmingly, both figuratively and literally, and then, like so many other times, it was over. That tell-tale little crease between her eyes emerged, and the light-hearted mood plummeted. Everyone had some type of sport they were good at, or at least took part in. For some it was Quidditch, for others it was Wizard's Chess. Some even went in for the barmy Muggle sports. Hermione was unique; she had elevated worrying to the level of a sport, and she was world champion. Now, it wasn't worrying as most people would think of it. There was none of that whiny dithering going on. Hermione's worrying was more indepth than that. She identified a problem, and then began to catalogue all of the possibilities, trying to plan for the eventuality of each one.

Ron tried to tamp down his rising frustration, because he knew where she was coming from. He knew things weren't going to be easy when Harry found out what he had been missing. And it wasn't like he hadn't given it serious thought himself. But as far as he could see, there was nothing to do. It could go in several directions, and it was useless to try to come up with a plan until the other side made their first move. Was it really so hard for her just to be with him for a few hours without her mind wandering to someone else? He knew it wasn't a date or anything, but it was as close as he was likely to get for a while, and he had hoped to see some sort of sign that she felt the same way, at least a little. He was hurt and frustrated, and guilty for feeling that way. He knew his mum would find ways to work him to the bone in the coming weeks, and any time he could squeeze in between chores would be devoted to figuring out what to do about Harry. All he was asking for was a few hours with Hermione, when her smile was for him.

Hermione remembered that day. She could tell she had upset him, but she hadn't known why. Part of it was just their way of approaching problems. To outward appearances Ron might come across as uncaring or lazy, but that wasn't the case. Where she would start formulating plans and strategies at the first sign of trouble, Ron preferred to wait for more information, to see which direction things were heading. It was one of the reasons she could never quite beat him at chess. While her mind was logical and analytical enough, she let herself get distracted by planning for too many eventualities. Ron would study the moves, and then stick to the most likely course of action by his opponent, still keeping a close eye for any changes he would need to make. He had been right about Harry. They might know how he would react, but there were no practical ways they could prepare for it. All they could do was wait for Harry to make the first move, and then go from there. But she always had an itch to fix things, and hated it when she couldn't solve a problem.

And there was another lesson she needed to learn from Ron. Sometimes, you had to let other problems go for a little while and just focus on the moment at hand. When you didn't, you could miss out on important things. Her worrying hadn't solved anything, and had only made Ron feel as if he wasn't enough to hold her attention. She had probably done something similar lots of times, recently as well. It wasn't that Ron was being selfish and demanding that all of her attention be focused solely on him, but there were moments when he needed her, and she needed to make sure that at those times she didn't let outside things distract her.

To his surprise, Hermione had seemed to agree with him to change the subject, and soon they were swinging from the rope into the pond, where he was determined to prove that he could make the biggest splash. They teased each other easily, and he wished they could argue about stupid stuff this way more often. He was having such a good time that he hated to see it end, but he knew if they didn't go in soon, they would risk being late for supper, which was not something that his mum would let slide. The water weighed his trunks down a bit as he emerged from the pond, and he hoped they would dry quickly in the sun. He went to find his shirt, suddenly feeling exposed. It was stupid, really; they had just been wrestling around in the water, shoving each other under the surface. It wasn't like she hadn't seen him. But being in the water had made him feel more...covered, and without it, he felt like each freckle on his body was magnified a hundred times.

Only, his shirt wasn't there. Neither was his towel. And from the way Hermione's head was whipping side to side, she was having the same problem. There was only one (technically two) thing it could have been, but it was pretty mild by their standards, so he wasn't too bothered at first. Until they began walking. His self-consciousness was quickly forgotten as he watched beads of water make interesting trails down the exposed parts of her body, causing his mind to wander dangerously. He needed to stop, otherwise holding his trunks up wouldn't be a problem, and something he didn't think Hermione could fail to notice. Damn those lousy wankers! Them and their stupid pranks that-shit! Hermione was on the ground, her sharp cry of pain telling him that she was hurt.

It was those bloody garden gnomes again. He must have forgotten to warn her about keeping an eye out for stray holes. It was quickly apparent that she couldn't walk by herself, and at first, he considered running in to get his mum. He knew she had a Charm for sprained ankles, but he didn't like the idea of leaving Hermione out here alone. There hadn't been many problems with Death Eaters in this area yet, but without a wand, and not even being able to run, it wasn't a good idea to risk it. Leaning on him wasn't working very well, and he could tell that her foot was hurting every time it got bumped. He swallowed nervously. There was really only one thing to do, so he did it.

His brothers were bloody brilliant! He sang their praises internally, so grateful that he might even volunteer to test their newest invention. Covering his back and draped over his shoulders was one Hermione Granger, warm, wet, and marvellously bare. Mostly. His hands were on part of her thighs that he had only dreamed about, and they felt incredibly soft under his touch. He resisted the temptation to hold her in place with his hands cupping her bum; it honestly would've been easier, but he shouldn't get greedy. Besides, when he felt her up (if that miraculous day ever arrived) he wanted her to know that was what he was doing, and to want it herself. So he contented himself with memorizing the texture of her skin, and holding in shudders as her hands brushed across her chest. They were laughing and cracking jokes when it happened; suddenly, her whole body seemed to just sort of...squeeze around him, and he was very aware of every point that their bodies connected. The gesture brought home just how intimate their position was, with her legs straddling his waist, and his mind was assailed with images of how it would look if he were to flip her around to his chest.

His brothers were monsters. He cursed them internally, vowing to smother them in their sleep tonight. It was a struggle to keep himself calm, and fortunately, Hermione's legs kept his trunks pinned in their proper place. Her breath tickled his ear, and he bit his lip. Someday, he vowed to himself, this would be real. She would be holding him because she wanted to, moving closer not just to shift her weight, but because she wanted to be near him. He didn't know when, or how, but he was determined to make that happen. Because though she could be irritating and self-righteous, naggy and temperamental, There was something about being close to her that set things off inside him, and the more he was around her, the more he wanted those feelings. He wasn't quite sure about things when it came to love, or what you really did with a girlfriend besides snog.

But with Hermione, he wanted to find out.

The awkwardness of teenage first love was bad enough with all of the nervousness and unsurety, and the atmosphere of Grimmauld Place hadn't helped. Not only that, but Hermione was starting to realize that, while falling in love was never easy, it was easier if you didn't have siblings.

Ron finished checking the last spare room on the third floor, making sure that this was the last box he would have to carry down. Cleaning, unsurprisingly, had been his mum's first order of business, and the bedrooms were first on the list, since people would be dropping in and out. The whole place was filthy, and it was obvious that creepy elf hadn't cleaned the place in years. The dust and grime was thick enough to make you gag, but it wasn't much better when you found out what it was covering. The house was full of nasty bits of objects containing Dark magic, and Bill was kept on his toes running from room to room, checking for hidden curses. Ron, Hermione, Ginny and the twins were only let into a room to clean it once it was considered mostly safe, but even then they had to be careful. There were so many fiddly little things that could get overlooked, and some of the Curses were quite cunning. If George hadn't tossed that umbrella into a cupboard instead of reaching into it, his arm would've been sliced clean off. And, as he said afterward, he preferred to keep his gorgeous body all in one piece, thanks ever so much. After that, they were all more careful about opening things, and kept a stack of cast-off articles handy to chuck in before they risked their limbs.

Hermione had nearly spilled a poorly stoppered bottle of poison on herself, and Ron had been sure that he had heard the elf laughing about it from one of his hiding spots, though she wouldn't hear of it. He had dropped the matter, not wanting another lecture on the subject of house-elf rights; that row of heads on the wall was already giving him enough uncomfortable thoughts. He kept his eyes forward as he carried the box down, stacking it in the hall with the others. His mum and Bill would look them over one more time before tossing them out, making sure that everything was disposed of properly. There was no one around, so he leaned against the wall for a moment, putting off going back to work. The way Mum was driving him, he barely had a minute to himself until after dinner, and it didn't help that Fred and George kept disappearing, leaving him to pick up the slack.

Voices from the first floor drawing room tempted him to peek around the corner, and he was glad he did; the vision that met him was of Hermione on her knees, bum swaying in the air as she scrubbed at a spot on the floor by a glass cabinet. He was so distracted that he didn't notice the two figures sneaking up on him until hands clamped down on his shoulders and pulled him into the dining room.

Hermione was glad for the distraction. She had never been more aware of her backside than she was at that moment, and the feeling was quite odd.

"Oi! I know it might be exaggeration to say that the Weasley Super Seed is potent enough to get a girl pregnant with just a look, but there's no sense risking it!" Fred snorted out with a cheesy grin.

"Can't really blame him, can you? It was rather a nice view. Not really round, but more of a heart sha-"

"You can shut your fucking gobs about Hermione's-lower half!" Ron growled, smacking their hands away.

"Fair enough. George, what size would you say-"

"You can just shut up about her all together!" he nearly shouted, wincing over at the closed door, hoping he hadn't been heard.

Fred and George slouched against the walls in identical poses, hands stuffed in their pockets as they regarded him with annoying smirks.

"Just taking the piss, Ron. No need to get your knickers in a knot."

"Yeah, we're just happy to see you've finally woken up. Took you long enough to notice."

Ron dropped his gaze to the ornately patterned rug. "Dunno what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't. Look, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Hermione's a nice witch; a bit on the stiff side sometimes, but I've seen you bring her out of that."

"Fred's right. And going with a good girl is an excellent choice. Most would go in for the naughty type, but Fred and I have found that's a mistake."

"Huh?" Ron asked, totally lost.

"Oh, the naughty ones are nice in their own way, don't get us wrong," Fred added with a wink. "But the good ones are different, see? The others will mess about with you easy enough, but there's nothing that gets the blood going like a good girl that will break a few rules just for you. Like sneaking off to an empty classroom for a snog after curfew, for instance."

Ron had never thought of it that way. Looking back, though, he recalled how attractive Hermione was whenever she was breaking one of the rules, or doing something like punching Malfoy in the face. Then he imagined what it would be like if she was doing those things not to help Harry, but as something just for him. He could almost picture it; the way she would nervously lead him into the the room, making sure no one had seen them. Putting up a Silencing Charm, muttering the whole time how they shouldn't be doing this...they way she would tremble slightly from nerves and excitement as he leaned in to-

"Fucking Merlin! Put that thing away!"

Fred's yelp snapped him out of his daze, his ears turning red as he brought a hand up to cover the slight bulge in his trousers where a stiff one had begun to form.

"We said a snog! Leave the girl a bit of chastity; she's the good sort, remember? She might break a few little rules for you, but not obliterate them completely!" George said in mock admonishment.

Ah, there they might be wrong...it wasn't something she would do lightly, but if anyone could inspire her to commit the most irregular of extracurriculars, it was Ron. In fact, she could remember two separate occasions during his visits to her for her last year...well. Even good girls had their naughty moments. And both she and Ron had thoroughly enjoyed hers. This little conversation did do loads to explain why he looked at her like a frog that had been sat on whenever she had broken a rule this year.

"I wasn't-I wouldn't-"

"Uh-huh. Save it. Just get that under control before Mum sees, or else you can kiss summer hols with Hermione goodbye."

"Look, I don't know where you get the mental idea that I fancy Hermione, but-"

Ginny chose that moment to pop her head in, and Ron hastily bit off what he was about to say. "There you are! Ron, Hermione's been looking for you. And you lot, you'd better come help too, before Mum notices you've been slacking."

He was about to follow her from the room, when the snickering stopped him.

"Did you see him perk up when she said Hermione was looking for him? Ikkle Ronniekins has it baaaaad!"

"Isn't young love beautiful, Fred? It fills my heart with...music!"

Ron groaned, knowing what he was in for. His prank loving brothers were well known for making up embarrassing songs, as Harry had learned during the Valentine's incident of second year. He could tell by their faces that they had had this one ready, waiting for the perfect moment to spring it on him.

"He looks at her, she looks at him

And they start to feel the magic within.

While Harry's fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

They talk of the latest Quidditch game."

They sang, cavorting around him.

"Some day, you'll read," George began the chorus in a clear voice.

"Maybe in the Daily Prophet," Fred sang his bit in a slightly higher tone.

"About Ron and Hermione."

"Behind the Whomping Willow."

"Will you two shut up?" Ron whispered shrilly. The song was bad enough, but if anyone heard the names, he was done for. "Hurry up before Ginny comes after us again."

His angry march to the door was hindered by the twins jostling him from the sides.

"Lighten up, Ron. No one heard dark secret is safe with us."

Fred's attitude was flip, but Ron knew that was their way of saying that as miserable as they made him in private over this, it wouldn't get out to anyone else. As long as he was spared that humiliation, he could take the irritation.

"But seriously, you might want to get a move on, before someone else snatches her up. You never know; even one of us might have a try. She's awfully fun to wind up, and she's not too hard on the eyes, either."

He glared at George, the idea not pleasing him one little bit. His head knew that his brother didn't mean it, but just imagining the possibility gave his heart a little jab.

"Or if not us, then maybe Harry. You know how it goes; dashing hero, bright young witch."

That...that thought was even worse. Because it was something he could easily see happening. Harry was the hero, wasn't he? And the hero always got the girl. He didn't think Harry liked her that way, but that could change at any time. If that happened, he didn't have a prayer. Not wanting them to notice how depressed that had made him, he just snorted a muffled reply under his breath, shoving past them out into the hallway.

Hermione flinched. Over dinner with Ron and George one night (one of many during the year and a half after the war, since Ron liked to make sure George wasn't alone too much), George had confessed to her that he and Fred used to tease Ron that they would 'steal his girl' if he didn't hurry up. They never actually would have, but they had hoped it might motivate Ron. Ron had laughed about it, but neither of them had mentioned that Harry had ever been brought up. She knew that they hadn't meant anything by it, but it had caused Ron to look for hidden meanings between herself and Harry that just weren't there. He would take something and build it up in his mind, making himself thoroughly miserable.

Ron joined the girls in the other room and busied himself polishing the silver frame of a large mirror, making sure that he didn't look at Hermione too much. It was bad enough that Fred and George had noticed; he didn't need her to catch him staring at her like she was a Honeydukes window display. Hermione and Ginny were dusting over in one corner, while the twins moved things around on a set of shelves, to no real purpose. They worked silently for awhile, Until Ginny gave a loud sneeze as she finished up with an ancient looking phonograph. She fiddled about with it, setting the needle in the groove of the record that was already in place. Stale, dated music crackled through the air, and she turned and gave an exaggerated bow to Hermione.

"Might I have the honor of this dance?" she asked, extending her hand.

Hermione took it, matching her posh accent. "Indeed you may, Ginevra."

The two began waltzing around the room, continuing to talk like toffs as they regarded each other down the lengths of their noses, trying not to crack up.

"My dear, you dance divinely! Simply divinely!"

"Why thank you, Hermione. I took lessons since I was two, don't you know. Mummy flew me to Paris every day to an exclusive little place that was recommended to her. They take only the best sort of people."

The girls bit their lips and giggled, still twirling across the rug. Fred and George put their hands over their ears, gagging.

"Ladies, if you're going to dance, then let's dance!" said Fred, pulling his wand from his pocket and aiming it at the phonograph.

Somehow, he managed to change the music from the stuffy music that had been playing into some kind of pop music, although there were still no words. Hermione and Ginny paused at the sudden change, and then, with a shrug, switched to dancing more modernly. Fred and George began to prance along as well, each giving Ron a wicked wink as they moved closer to Hermione. Ron glared at them as they began to sing, easing back when he realized it wasn't the same one as before. They had Hermione between them, spinning her back and forth, bumping their hips into hers, and sweeping her into dips.

"I love her, and she sets me free, I'm in love with a girl named Hermione G!"

It was a catchy song, and even Ginny joined in, the three of them taking turns passing a laughing Hermione around. A part of Ron wanted to join in, but wasn't sure quite how. Instead, he sat back and enjoyed watching. It was odd, but he liked to watch Hermione with his family. They were different in many ways, but it didn't seem to matter. It was like she belonged there, and while he couldn't exactly place why that was so important, he couldn't deny that it made him happy.

Hermione knew exactly what he meant. When they had started dating after the war, one of the most beautiful sights to her had been Ron interacting with her family. There had been awkwardness at first, of course, because of the whole memory situation, but once that had died down, she had loved seeing how natural Ron looked at their dinner table. Sometimes she would catch herself losing track of the conversation as she watched them, the way Ron's head would cock in concentration as her mother would explain something to him, or the way he would wave his hands around, using them to describe something that had happened, and the way her parents would laugh at one of his clever remarks. It was hard to explain, but there was just something wonderful about the people you cared about caring for each other.

As the music wound to a stop, Fred leaned forward and whispered something into Hermione's ear. Whatever it was made her blush brightly, and she gave him a small punch in the shoulder as she let out a nervous laugh. Ron bit his lip to keep from glaring. He knew Fred had sort of a thing going with Angelina, so he wouldn't move in on Hermione, would he? The thought that she might want him to had him giving the silver frame an energetic polish, the cloth almost squeaking as it slid along the surface. He needed to step up his game; he needed something to set him apart, something that would grab her attention, get her to admire him. He wracked his brains, but he couldn't think of any skills he possessed that would do the trick. Whatever it was though, it was going to have to be big.

And it needed to be soon.

"You already had my attention! All you had to do was let me know you actually wanted it!"

She hadn't been attracted to any of his brothers at all, though she could see how other girls would be. And what Fred had whispered had actually been about Ron; instead of saying 'Hermione Granger' like they had during the rest of the little song they had made up, he had said 'Hermione Weasley', and she had been horribly afraid they would say it where Ron could hear. They never had, of course. All they would do was hum a few bars every once and awhile, wiggling their eyebrows. And they had developed a particularly sneaky firework just for her; it was small and soundless, in the form of a pink heart with the letters R and H in the middle. They had taken to setting it off behind Ron's head where only she could see it, giving her a small heart attack each time.

If she could, she would tell the younger Ron that her feelings for the twins was strictly platonic, and that she had just been enjoying the much needed break from all the gloom. Harry had seemed to think it had been a month of laughs, but that wasn't true. There was always work to be done, and information to try to pry from members of the Order. There had been an air of...waiting, that uneasy, holding-your-breath feeling you got when you knew something was going to happen. It was stressful, and some days it was hard to deal with. Ron had been a big help, since she had been able to talk things out with him, and he understood Harry as well as (and in some ways better than) she did. And she loved the moments they had alone together. It was just that the twins had a special brand of ridiculousness that was needed every once and a while, a certain way of lighting up a room and making people forget their worries. She knew they would go back to butting heads once they returned to Hogwarts, but she still enjoyed being around Fred and George. She wasn't as close to them as she was with Ron, or even Ginny, but you couldn't spend the amount of time they had over holidays together without growing fond of them.

She would also tell him that he didn't need to do anything special. He was enough already, and she hated that he thought he wasn't. And, with a sinking feeling, she saw that she was about to reinforce that belief. This was one of the moments that she had hoped to avoid, but she steeled herself to deal with it as Ron was handed a letter, which he carried to his room in puzzlement.

Ron eyed the letter distrustfully, unsure whether or not he wanted to open it. He couldn't think of anything he had done recently that would have gotten him in any trouble, but then again, the school didn't just send you letters asking how you were doing. But it couldn't be anything really bad, or they would've written his parents, not him. Thinking it best to get it over with, he tore open the envelope, fumbling to catch the small piece of metal that fell out. Ignoring it for the moment, he read the two short paragraphs under his name, his eyes growing wider and wider. He checked the name again, sure it had to be some sort of mistake. Or had the twins pulled a prank? It was something they would do...but the cool metal in his hand told him otherwise; lifting it up, he examined it from all sides to see if it was what he thought it was. It was. It really, truly was.

He, Ron Weasley, was a prefect!

A million thoughts raced through his head at once. How did this happen? How the hell had he been chosen over Harry? Harry had been the obvious choice, in his opinion. Merlin, what were Fred and George going to say? What would they do? They would torment him all year for this! Following in Percy's footsteps. Ugh. He didn't even want to think about him. Bill and Charlie were better, but how was he going to live up to them? What if he was the worst prefect in the history of his family? And all that extra work! Meetings and herding the smaller kids around. And patrols. He was going to have to waste his evenings on patrols, wandering the halls with-oh. OH! There was only one person that could be. Suddenly, the position began to look more attractive. Tendrils of pride began to sprout in his chest. How was that for an accomplishment? Not too shabby! Hermione was sure to be excited over this. Visions of, 'Oh Ron, you're so amazing!' filled his mind, and he swallowed a girlish sounding giggle. THIS would get her attention! This would get her to see something besides his faults!

"Ron, no...I-you-" Hermione pulled at her hair in frustration. He didn't understand. He wasn't the only one. People were always thinking that she only saw his faults. One of her co-workers even said that they would never last because she should only see his good points (this was the same co-worker that fell in love on a regular basis, and believed her current boyfriend was flawless up until they broke up, when he promptly became the most awful man in the world).

She couldn't be further from the truth. Yes, Ron had faults. Everyone did, including herself. But her parents had taught her that it was important to see those things before you made a serious commitment. It was important to find out if they were things that you could live with, or things that would drive you apart over time. Some flaws were so big that they weren't even healthy, and those were relationships to avoid; being blind to those things could only hurt you in the end. But recognizing these things in another person didn't mean that you didn't love them any less, or that you didn't see their good qualities just as much. It meant you knew who they really were, and loved all of them, even if there were things that irritated you on occasion. Every loving couple she knew, from her parents and Ron's, to Bill and Fleur and Harry and Ginny, could tell you their partners' flaws. But those relationships were still going strong, while many starry-eyed dreamers had a string of failed romances a mile long.

And Hermione needed his flaws. She was so driven to get everything just right, and each mistake was painful. Sometimes it was hard to breathe, with all the needless pressure that she put on herself. But Ron showed her that just because something wasn't perfect didn't mean it couldn't be amazingly wonderful; because for each flaw he had, there were five positive things to counteract them. Ron was much needed fresh air, a reminder that she should relax and just enjoy life more often. And he gave her hope that, just as she looked past his imperfections to see the special man he was, he was able to look past her imperfections to find something worthwhile as well. Their weaknesses and strengths balanced each other out, and she was thankful for both. At the end of the day, the negative things were actually quite small, and she wasn't going to let something so insignificant rob her of the joy she had from being with him. She didn't care if other people couldn't understand that, but it was a priority to make sure he did. Because Ron was a wonderful person, and he shouldn't be anything less than proud of the man he had become.

He told Harry first, wanting confirmation that he wasn't imagining things. Harry seemed funny, but he couldn't figure out what that was about yet, because Hermione came bursting into the room, throwing herself at Harry. Ron looked on in shock, flinching at what she was saying. She seemed so excited thinking it was Harry. A little too excited for his taste. But that was nothing to the way he felt when she found out it wasn't Harry that was going to be a prefect, but him. The look of shocked disbelief on her face was like dragon claws across his heart. Did she really think he was so worthless? There was Ron, always bumbling along with her and Harry. Stupid git couldn't get anything right without someone holding his hand. The pain began to fester, and he could hardly look at her. Oh, she tried to cover it up, but she did a piss poor job. Before he could think about it too much, his family had descended upon him, each one spouting their own opinion at once, and it was all he could do to keep up with them. As expected, the twins were less than enthusiastic, and he decided then and there that Hermione could be the one to deal with their shit. There was no way they would listen to him, and he wasn't going to shout himself hoarse trying. Mum was proud, and he seized advantage of that. A broom! A new broom! That alone was worth it. He felt a bit guilty for asking for something so expensive, but he compromised by asking for a Cleansweep. It wasn't the best out there, but it was a damn sight better than the sorry excuse for kindling he made do with at home.

Possibilities began to bloom. Having his own broom now meant that Quidditch was an actual option. He loved to play, and even though he knew he would never be good enough to go pro, he thought he at least had what it took to join the House team (which was no small feat in itself; competition could be fierce). And...girls liked athletic blokes, didn't they? Hermione, for instance. There was the whole Krum thing last year, and he had seen her giggling with Ginny over Cedric. The twins played. So did Harry. Those were all the boys she had ever shown even what could pass for the slightest bit of interest, and they all had that one thing in common; Quidditch. So maybe, if he made the team, and pulled off a good play or two...

Not that he was going to let her off easy for the way she had reacted, because he wouldn't. If she wanted him to talk to her any time soon, she was going to have to work for it. But even as hurt and frustrated as he was, he couldn't help but hope that he had found the one thing that would finally make her fancy him.

Now all he had to do was actually make it onto the team.

"I already fancied you! I could have fancied the pants off you! All I wanted was to know your opinion of me had changed since the Ball!" Hermione wailed.

She could see things starting to spiral out of control, ultimately ending in the hell that was sixth year. If only they had both been more open! If he had made it clear that he was interested in her for her, and not because he was settling when he thought he couldn't get anyone else; or if she had managed to get across that she liked him for him, and not because of something that he had to accomplish! She had never meant to make him think that her love was something that he had to change himself to earn. She had loved him for just being Ron.

As for her supposed interest in Quidditch players, with Krum, she had just been happy that someone had shown an interest in her as a girl; Cedric was just a cute boy from another House, and Fred and George, as mentioned earlier, were only really envisioned as prospective future brother-in-laws. And Harry. Well. That was never a possibility. Harry was a sweet, wonderful boy. A sweet, wonderful boy that was perfect for Ginny, but not her. She wanted Ron; she didn't care if he played Quidditch, football, or even if he rode ostriches. She wanted to cuddle with him while he played chess with Harry, and to find out how it felt when he growled the r of her name in his thick Devon accent against her ear. (which was quite a delicious sensation, actually.)

This whole thing was hard to watch, especially the parts where she had messed up so badly. After this last blow, she was wondering what he even saw in her to make him want to keep trying. Grimmauld Place shifted and stretched into Hogwarts castle as she continued to chastise herself, the musty bedroom being replaced by a stretch of hallway near the Common Room. Ron was walking alongside Hermione, yawning widely.

"I take it the meeting failed to hold your interest?" Hermione teased, the fingers of one hand fiddling with her badge.

Ron rolled his eyes, glancing down at her. "Hermione, it failed to hold anyone's interest. Except you, but only because you have superhuman powers. Or you're just supremely weird; still haven't decided on that."

"You might want to work on your flattery skills. They leave a lot to be desired."

"Noted. But to skillfully change the subject before you can take offence, How long do you reckon the Toad is going to get away with all this? It's bad enough for the rest of us, but I don't know how much more Harry can take."

They shared a darkly significant look. Ron hated to miss an opportunity to keep her attention to himself, but things were happening, and they didn't often get a chance to discuss them without Harry. It wasn't that they were keeping him in the dark about anything, but Harry usually hated it when the subject of the conversation was his well being. And sometimes it was nice to be able to hash things out without him snapping at them. Not that they didn't understand why, or even really blame him; it was just hard to take sometimes, when they were doing the best they could for him.

"I really wish there was some way to convince him to go to Dumbledore, but he just closes down every time I mention it."

"Noticed that, but I dunno what it's about. I know he's not as alright as he tells us he is, but I guess since Sirius says-"

"I know what Sirius says, and I'm not convinced," Hermione scowled, crossing her arms with a huff.

Ron hitched himself up to take a seat on the nearby windowsill. "What's your problem? I get the feeling you don't like Sirius."

"Of course I like him! I just worry about the effect he has on Harry, the way he always seems to think that he's James all over again."

"Come off it, Hermione! That's not being fair. He lost his best mate, and spent twelve years in Azkaban for something he didn't do! Cut him a little slack."

"But that's my point! First of all, you don't come out of Azkaban without some kind of damage. You've seen how depressed he gets, and the way his mood swings. Don't deny it. And yes, he lost his best friend. He had no one for so many years, and Harry is his only real link to his past, besides Lupin. I'm not saying he does it deliberately, because I don't believe he does, and I know he would never put Harry in danger on purpose. I'm just afraid he's going to lead Harry into something that he can't handle in some sort of effort of capturing his past. Harry isn't James, and he shouldn't have to live up to some sort of ideal that Sirius has unconsciously built around him."

Ron's eyes followed her pacing, her hands gesticulating wildly. "Harry isn't stupid, you know. He's not going to do something his dad would do just to please Sirius."

Hermione stopped, looking at him sadly. "Even the smartest of people will do stupid things for someone they love, Ron. You and I both have wonderful fathers, but all Harry has is that odious uncle of his. Sirius is like a father figure to him, and he doesn't want to lose that. Like I said; I know Sirius has Harry's best interest at heart, and Harry isn't stupid. I just...see the potential for things to end badly if they're not more careful."

There wasn't much he could say to that, not with the bruises under his clothing from his late night practices blocking bludgers. And as much as he loved Quidditch, he knew that part of the reason he was going through so much trouble was to impress Hermione, so doing stupid things for love was something he had some experience with.

"We'll just have to keep an eye on him like we always do. If he gets in a tight spot, we'll do our best to bail him out."

"Of course we will. I just would like it if we didn't have to. I'm getting too old for all this excitement."

He grinned at her, sliding down from the windowsill. "Know what you mean. Didn't want to say anything, from from my height, I think I've noticed a few grey hairs you have coming in."

Hermione glared at him. "Harsh words for someone that's in danger of thinning hair in the future. Come on, we better go in. You know how Filch likes to lurk around, and I'm sure they can come up with some sort of rule we're breaking."

The Common Room was nearly empty; only Fred and George were there, hunched over the table by the window and speaking in low voices. Hermione made a beeline for them, entering into what Ron had come to recognize as Prefect Mode.

"What are you two up to? I've heard rumors going around, but haven't been able to pin down anything definite."

The twins shrugged, smiles absent. "Nothing at the moment, so you don't need to wave your shiny little badge at us. We were just talking. Not a rule against that yet, is there?" Fred drawled sarcastically.

"We just got back from running into a group of second years in Hufflepuff. Poor kids were crying their eyes out. Seems like some Slytherins had been on their case, threatening to turn them in for breaking the rules. Which they hadn't been, by the way. Just got in the way of a few power mad snakes. Goes to show the sorry state of affairs around here. Oh, and some new rules went up while you were out, courtesy of her Pink Froggyness. You might want to give them a look see."

Hermione's lips pursed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "That woman is going too far! What kind of school is it where young children have to walk the halls in fear? Authority it there to protect us and keep things running smoothly, and that abomination is grossly misusing it!"

"If you think that's bad, wait till your next Defense lesson. If you can call it that. I think the newest strategy is to offer Death Eaters a polite cup of tea and hope they go away."

"We need to fit in some extra meetings. I'll see if I can schedule them. In the meantime, don't let me catch you getting up to mischief. You got that? I don't want to find you plotting, planning, or carrying out any subversive acts. Now, I'm going to the library, where I'll be until it's time to do the nightly patrol. Remember; don't let me catch you!"

Ron took a step back, surprised about the intent way she was looking at the twins.

"Ron, are you coming?"

"Huh? Oh! Um, I'll be there in a minute, alright?"

"Fine. I'll see if any tables near the back are open."

She passed through the portrait hole, and Ron turned back to Fred and George, who looked like Christmas had come early.

"What's up with you lot? Didn't you hear her? If she catches you, she'll skin you alive. And you know she could do it, too."

They laughed. "The question is, did you hear her? What were her exact words, Ron?"

"She said not to let her catch you. I don't think it gets much clearer than that."

George shook his head sadly. "Ronnie, Ron, Ron. My dear little bro. Didn't you notice the almost violent emphasis she used? Or how she so conveniently let us know exactly where she would be? Correct me if I'm wrong, but when Hermione suspects wrongdoing, she trails you like a Kneazel with a rat's scent, doesn't she?"

"Well, yeah," Ron answered slowly. "But I don't get why she would-unless...no, surely not Hermione..."

"Yes! Hermione Granger just gave her wonderfully sneaky consent! Come on, you're not really that surprised are you? After some of the things she's pulled in the past, and this year alone she's organized an underground movement against the school! Well, not really the school. Just the fake higher ups. But don't you see? She can't approve as a prefect, but if she doesn't see us doing anything, she can't do anything about it. All very straight and above board."

When put that way, it did make perfect sense. He knew Hermione hated having to go against the professors. She would out and out defy them if she had to, but this way she could at least feel like she was doing her job as a prefect. And it was better in the long run if she didn't risk it; who knew what her replacement would be like, if Umbridge even allowed a new Gryffindor prefect. No, it was all very Hermione; under that shell of obedience lay a strong determination to fight for what was right, and if she had to be underhanded about it, then she would.

"Surprisingly devious little minx, isn't she George? If she wasn't usually so frustratingly upright, I might be tempted to let her sweep me off my feet."

"Oh, I don't know, Fred. I still might. She shows a lot of promise; just needs the right amount of corrupting. What do you think, Ron?"

"I think that if I catch you trying, Hermione won't be the one that you have to worry about," Ron bit out.

"Get on with it then, and stop leaving temptation out there for rogues (loveable though we may be) like us. Now, you better join her. Subversion can be catching, you know."

"I could stay and help if you like," he offered wistfully. They were sure to come up with something good, and he'd love to be in on it. And someone needed to be there to make sure they didn't get carried away; Hogwarts needed to be standing at the end, after all.

But they both shook their heads no. "Best not. Hermione has the right idea of it; what you don't know can't get you into trouble. We'll be okay. It doesn't matter so much for us, but you still have two years to go. Mum would destroy us if we got you kicked out before then. With us, I think it's rather expected."

"Fine. Just don't let it get out of hand, alright? There are perfectly innocent people out there, you know."

"Don't you worry about us," Fred said with a wolfish grin, "our target is large and hard to miss."

Ron shuddered as they began to pull out sheets of paper. He didn't know what was about to happen, but he was extremely grateful that he wasn't the subject of their plans. He left them to it, strolling out of the Common Room to find Hermione. Harry was still in detention, so they probably wouldn't see him till they got back from their patrol, if he stayed up for them. He made a mental note to ask Hermione if there was any of that stuff left for Harry's hand.

Hermione.

She was something else, wasn't she? He hadn't known what to think when she suggested starting up a secret class, but he admired the hell out of her for it. There was just something incredibly sexy about the take-charge way she went about breaking the rules. And she was good at it, too. He thought, not for the first time, that they were incredibly lucky to have her on their side. His brothers were right, though; someone else was bound to notice, and what would he do then? Although he didn't think she would go in for that sort of thing at the moment; what little of her attention wasn't devoted to Harry and the D.A. was focused on her O.W.L.S., and he couldn't see her wasting her time dating. She probably wouldn't even notice if someone was interested in her. Scratch that; she didn't notice that someone was interested in her.

Maybe when things slowed down, he'd have a better chance. But would things ever slow down? It didn't seem that way. Ever since he had met Harry, it felt as if things were speeding towards something inevitable, which he didn't like to think about too closely. He knew Hermione wouldn't be happy until she knew Harry was perfectly safe (and neither would he, in a less soppy way). He did wonder if she would show the same level of concern if he was in Harry's place. Would she worry about him? Break rules for him? Spend her free time trying to figure out ways to keep him safe? He hoped so. He knew he would do the same for her. He might not always show it, but she was important to him. He just wished he knew that he was as important to her, too.

He shook his head. Thinking like that wasn't helping. Instead, he let his mind drift to more pleasant things; the twins had been right about what they had said about good girls breaking the rules. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he was developing quite a hard kink for it. He grinned as he neared the library. She might not be breaking any rules for him today, but while he was there, he could enjoy a good hour or two fantasizing about a few he'd like to see her break right up against a bookcase. Or under a table. Or...

Her decision about the twins had been hard, but she did what she could. When she out and out caught them at something, she laid down the law. But she was just as in the dark as everyone else about the things they got up to in dealing with Umbridge, and that was the way she liked it. This way, there were no difficult choices to make about whether or not to stop them, and as much as she generally disapproved of their methods, she had to admit that they had been effective. The fireworks had been positively inspired, though she hated the fact that they had ended up dropping out of school. Still, it had worked out well for them, and she couldn't begrudge Fred the few extra months of freedom it enabled him to have with George, the two of them setting up their shop.

And of course she would have done just as much for Ron as she did for Harry! It was subtle, but she could feel it all the same, the way he would compare her treatment of Harry to the way she treated him. The odd thing was, he wasn't even fully aware of it. He didn't like it when he thought he saw a difference, but there was no active animosity to Harry. Rather, he just accepted that that was how things were supposed to go; hero gets girl, sidekick gets nothing. It was all going to blow up, and there was no need for it. The only one who ever saw Ron as a sidekick was Ron himself. To her, he was just as big a hero as Harry. In some ways, more. Because Harry really had no choice; it was either act, or let himself be killed. Ron chose to stand by his friend, regardless of the danger or personal cost. To her, that was just about as heroic as you could get.

As for his 'kink,' he was going to be surprised as he watched her memories. He wasn't the only one who fantasized about breaking the rules. And if it excited him that much, she wasn't averse to doing so in the future. That would have to wait though, since it looked like she was in for another scene of awkward teenage drama. Suspecting what was coming up, she sighed.

"Attempt at flirting, take three hundred and sixty-two."


	25. Chapter 25

Hermione dressed warmly, prepared to spend several hours in the cold due to todays Quidditch match. Her fingers shook slightly as she pinned on her Gryffindor colored rosette, but her nervousness had nothing to do with the actual game. No; as was often the case, her thoughts were on Ron. First of all, she was worried how he was going to do today. He had been so secretive about the whole Quidditch thing, that she hadn't really seen him play before. Why hadn't he told them he was going to try to join the team? Harry would have been thrilled to have him. Both of the boys loved Quidditch about as much as she loved books. Tucking her gloves into her coat pocket as she left her room, she thought of a possible reason Ron might have for not telling her.

Quidditch wasn't really her area of interest. It was exciting to watch, but she could never throw herself into it. She enjoyed watching her friends play, and she supported her House team; she wouldn't be painting her face crimson and gold and waving her scarf over her head anytime soon, but she could yell support with the best of them. But it was highly likely that Ron thought she would disapprove, and try to talk him out of it, which wasn't true. In fact, studies had shown that physical activity could stimulate the brain, and exercise was, of course, good for you. It was only when they let it interfere with their studies that she had a problem; Quidditch was all well and good, but not at the sacrifice of your marks. If he had told her, she was sure she could have worked out a schedule for him so that way his efforts for athletics and academics were both maximized to their potential. Actually, now that her mind was moving in that direction, she probably could have done some research to help him with his training.

Merlin love a duck, Hermione as a Quidditch trainer. The thought both aroused and appalled. Nice to see that she was willing to be supportive, though. Might not hurt to mention later that he was interested in joining the Auror's team, which was a casual affair, but quite fun and had the added benefit of strengthening inter departmental relationships at the Quidditch game that occurred during the yearly picnic for Ministry employees.

But that wasn't important now, as much as she wished he had shared something she knew to be important to him. What was important was today's game, as it was his first. She had a sneaking suspicion that if it was anything like how he was when first learning a spell, there was cause for worry. Years of observing him during lessons told her what was likely to happen; his nerves were going to get the best of him. Everytime he tried new material, he became far too self aware, instead of letting it come naturally. He second guessed himself, as if he felt like everyone was judging him. She had found he improved remarkably once he had had a chance to work at it with no one watching him, but that wasn't going to work in a game. Maybe he had gotten it worked out of his system in practice? Unlikely. There was a lot riding on this game, and Ron knew it; if she knew him, he was already thinking of all the ways he could mess things up.

That was right enough. His stomach had felt like a knot of snakes had been lodged in it, all of them trying to climb up his throat at once. There was the whole rivalry with the Slytherins, of course, but more than that was the sinking feeling that he was going to let everyone down. First, there was his family; three of his brothers had played on the team, and one could have gone pro. He didn't want to be an embarrassment to them. Then there was Harry. At the time, Harry hadn't had many good things going for him outside of the D.A. and Quidditch, and he didn't want to mess that up for him. There was the rest of the team, too. It was the first year without Wood, and a win would go a long way to solidify the team. And then, of course,there was Hermione. He had been so desperate to impress her, and the thought of making a complete arse of himself in front of her was almost more than he could take. And it had been a dead cert that that was going to happen, because he knew just as well as she did what he was like when he tried to pull something off for the first time. And it was a first time, because pick-up games and practice was nothing like a real match. It was Leviosa all over again.

Hermione started to pass through the Common Room on her way to breakfast, but veered to the left when she saw the twins, already in uniform. "Fred? George? Has Ron come down yet?"

They finished lacing up their boots, and glanced at her. "Nope. We haven't made a tour of the toilets to see which one he's being sick in, yet," Fred said cheekily.

Hermione loomed over them, scowling deeply. "Now you two look here! Ron is going to have enough trouble today without having to deal with the likes of you, so If you give him grief, you'll be answering to me!"

Both boys clutched at their headgear as if they were protective amulets, surprised at her outburst. "Don't go pulling out your wand just yet! We were only joking."

"So? Ron feels bad enough, so as his older brothers, if you can't say something supportive, at least keep your mouths shut. I know you don't mean badly by it, but sometimes you go too far, and it hurts his feelings."

The twins exchanged sheepish glances. "Look, in all the times you've ever seen us take the mickey out of someone, have we ever done it about anything that was really wrong with them?"

"Well, no, but-"

"We didn't tease Katie that one year about the trouble she had with spots. We left Seamus alone when his voice was changing, and he was barely speaking to anyone for weeks, remember? And we've never given Lee a hard time about being afraid of swans. We know we get carried away sometimes, Hermione. But we do try never to tease someone when they're genuinely lousy at something and feel bad about it, or for things they can't laugh about themselves."

George nodded, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, and Ron knows that. We did try to ease up on him a few years ago, but when we didn't tease him about stuff, he thought it was because we really thought it was a problem, and he sulked for days before we figured it out. If we don't give him at least a little trouble, he'll believe it's because we think he's absolute shit as a Keeper."

Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose. Maybe this was one of those strange sibling things that she didn't understand. "Fine, just...try to tone it down a little bit, alright?"

Ron grinned. She hadn't needed to get all protective, but he appreciated the thought behind it. Watching Hermione get all worked up on his behalf always gave him such a rush. But in this case, his brothers had been right. As long as they were clowning around and heckling you, you were fine, but if they were quiet about something, or nice, you knew you well and truly sucked. Besides, being irritated at them was something of a distraction from his problems.

Hoping that she had been able to at least do some good, she made her way to the Great Hall, growing more and more curious at the whispers and snickers that she was hearing. It seemed to be centered around a group of Slytherins, who were all wearing- oh no! If Ron saw those awful badges, he would be too mortified to even get on a broom! She spotted Ginny at the Gryffindor table, waving to her frantically. She stepped around a group of shorter students, and slid into place next to the younger girl.

"Hermione, have you seen those badges? If Ron catches sight of those, he'll never make it out onto the pitch without the rest of the team dragging him!"

Hermione nodded as she filled her plate, making sure to get some extra bacon while it was still there to set aside for Ron. "I know. We'll have to make sure to keep him distracted when he comes down. Although I think he'll be so worried about the match that he won't notice unless they actually say something."

Ginny cracked her egg. "I hope you're right. I just wish there was something to distract Ron from remembering that this is his first real game."

To this, Hermione remained silent. There was something that might do just that, if she could keep her nerve worked up to go through with it. She had been thinking about it for days, wondering if it was a good idea. Part of her thought it might give too much away, while another part thought that Ron might need a stronger hint than she had been giving. She had been trying to get his attention in subtle manners, such as placing a hand on his arm when she leaned over to help with an essay, or how she spent a bit more time working with him than she did with Harry. She had even started to put more of a daily effort into her appearance. She had replaced her baggy jumpers with new ones; they weren't tight, but fitted. Her hair was more of a challenge, since she was too practical to waste much time on it, but she did keep it from hanging into her face all the time, tucking it behind her ears, or putting up the sections by her face in a small clasp at the back. She had even given up her ugly wooly tights in favor of kneehighs, which she had scoffed at other girls for doing. Who would risk a cold just to look nice? Then of course, she remembered that all she had to do was cast a Warming Charm on herself. But he still hadn't gotten the hint, and she was getting frustrated.

She called those hints? While he had definitely noticed her wardrobe changes, there was no way for him to know that they were for him. As for revising, how did a little extra nagging show a fifteen year old boy that you were interested? "Specifics, Hermione! A bloke needs specifics!"

The boys tromped over to their table, halting any further conversation on the subject, and Hermione regarded Ron with concern. The pale, fishy green color of his face was clashing horribly with his hair, and there was a visible sheen of sweat on his brow. He looked as if he was facing the executioner's block instead of a game, and for a moment, she thought they were too late in hiding the badges. But as he fell into his seat and stared glassily at the plate in front of him with an air of a man looking for the answers to his problem to be etched in the china, she realized they were still safe. He hadn't even looked over to the Slytherin table, and Harry would have said something by now. Ron hardly said a word, and what was more distressing, he hardly ate anything at all. Usually he would wolf things down with an obscene energy, his long arms stretching over and around you to reach the serving dishes. Now he just sort of raked his eggs up in tiny piles all over his plate, once and awhile venturing an actual mouthful.

Harry seemed to feel that it was useless to stay, and he stood up, Ron mimicking his moves in a zombie-like fashion. Hermione stood nervously as well. She didn't know if this was the best time or not, but it was a chance, and she had to take it. Before she could reason herself out of it, she had stretched up on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips against his cheek. His skin was cooler than normal, almost clammy. But that was mostly covered up by the rough layer of subtle from where he had neglected to shave that morning. Instead of being unpleasant, she found she quite liked the sensation; there was something charmingly masculine about it that made her want to snuggle her cheek against his.

Heart hammering in her chest at her own daring, she turned to wish Harry good luck, watching for Ron's reaction from the corner of her eye. There really wasn't much to go on; there seemed to be more color in his face, and a slight look of wonder, but she could very well be mistaken. It was hard to tell if she was just reading what she wanted to see into the situation, and she sighed at herself in vexation.

"Veeeeery nice! I think you've finally hit on the right method to get through to my dear, oblivious brother." Ginny said smugly, casting a sly expression.

"I had hoped so, but it doesn't look like I got anywhere. I couldn't tell if he noticed or not."

"You mean aside from the fact that he looked like he swallowed a bee? No, couldn't tell at all."

"Oh, shut up. That could have simply been nerves about the game."

"Well, you left yourself a good opening. If they win, you can follow up with a congratulations snog."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, flinching at the roar from Luna's hat from where she had drifted to a group of admiring fourth years. "And if they lose?"

"Then he could always use a little...comfort," she purred.

"And that's why you're my favorite sister!"

"Ginny!"

"Don't sound so scandalized; I just meant a good snogging session would help him feel better. And its not like you actually mind the thought of a little spit swapping yourself."

Ron laughed as Hermione's nose crinkled at the blunt statement. He had always wondered why she had kissed him that day, but there had been too much going on to deal with it at the time. First of all his performance had been a disaster, and then had come the news about Harry and the twins being banned from the team. And while a part of him had hoped that the kiss had meant something, he couldn't shake his doubts. She had kissed Harry the same way at the station, hadn't she? So maybe she was just being friendly to both of them. Or maybe she liked Harry, and just didn't want to hurt his feelings, so she kissed him this time to make up for it. The whole thing had happened so fast, that he decided it would be better to see what she did next. When she did nothing, he had tried not to read too much into it. Now he could see that had been a mistake; he had let an opening get by him, and now she was thinking that he had done so on purpose. But he wasn't the only one who had sent signals, and she had missed a pretty big one on that Christmas.

The Knight Bus, like the Shrieking Shack, left a lot to be desired. Where the Shack had been deadly boring, the Bus was deadly exciting, and Hermione found herself wondering darkly how many fatalities had been covered up over the years. Shakily, she disembarked at the end of the street, taking her trunk from Stan. She waited a few moments, both to give time for her knees to solidify, and to ensure that the occupants of the bus didn't observe which portion of the street she went to stand in front of. Not that they would see the house themselves, or remember anything at all, really, but she didn't want to take any chances. When Professor McGonagall had taken her aside yesterday and told her about Mr. Weasley, Hermione had wanted to come at once. But Umbridge had been watching them closely, already furious that Harry and the Weasleys had managed to escape without her consent. So she had packed her things, sent a letter to her parents telling them she was staying at school for the holidays, and waited.

As she dragged her trunk up the front steps, she became hesitant. The news about Ron's dad had been horrifying in and of itself, and she had been afraid he might not make it. She had grown to like him very much over the years; he reminded her of one of her parents' friends, an anthropology professor, with the way he was always so excited to learn about Muggle culture and inventions. And Ron had to be completely torn up, although he probably wasn't showing it. She wanted to be there to support him and his family, and of course, Harry, but...was she intruding on the family's grief? They were going through a hard time, and it was the holidays...maybe she was just going to be in the way. No sooner had she considered finding a payphone and arranging to go home when the front door was flung open, and she was pulled into the tight embrace of Mrs. Weasley.

"Hermione, dear! So glad you made it safely."

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley. I was so sorry to hear what happened. Is there any word yet? I wanted to come as soon as I heard, but I don't want to impose..."

"Impose? Nonsense! Arthur is out of danger and should be out of hospital in a few days; Harry has been acting odd, and maybe he'll respond to you. I know Ron and Ginny will be happy to have you, and I certainly have never thought of you as an imposition! Have you eaten yet? Here, leave your trunk there; Ron can carry it up later."

The warmth of the welcome put her more at ease, and she shrugged off her coat and hung it from the coat rack.

"Hermione! Did you just get here?" Ginny asked, giving her a quick hug.

"Yes, I came as soon as I could. What have I missed?"

"Ginny, could you help me in the kitchen? I'm sorry to take you away, but some things just don't seem to work without my own oven, so I'm not able to get things ready quite as fast as normal. I swear that elf moves things around when I'm not looking."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Coming, Mum. Hermione, Ron's up in the second floor lounge. He seems a bit down, so try to cheer him up? And help us think of something to get Harry out of his room. He's past the limit of healthy moping."

"Oh dear...I'll go see Ron first, then check on Harry. See you later!"

The stairs squeaked under her weight, and she half expected Ron to hear her coming. Poking her head in the door, she saw that his mind was too far away to hear anything. His lanky body was draped over a short sofa, his legs dangling over one end, with his arms folded behind his head. He was staring into space, and she could tell he was biting the inside of his cheek, which always meant he was in deep thought.

"Ron?"

He nearly fell off the sofa, his limbs tangling and sorting themselves out as he got to his feet.

"Hermione! You came?"

The way in which he said her name made her smile. He sounded genuinely pleased to see her, and the wide smile he wore set of the now familiar thudding sensation in her heart. She met him in the middle of the room, her hand reaching out of it's own accord to pat him on the arm, lingering for longer than necessary. His jumper was green, and she caught herself dreamily thinking that he should wear the color more often, because it made him look even more fit than usual.

Green. Check. If that was all it took, he would go full out leprechaun.

"Of course I did! You know you're more important than a silly ski trip. I just got here. Have you gotten to see your dad yet? I was told he was fine now, but...and how are you holding up?"

His smile stiffened, and there was a flash of fear in his eyes that made her think of a younger boy.

"Ah. Well. You know Dad. He'll be back out in his shed in no time, driving Mum mental with all his gadgets. And I'm fine, why wouldn't I be? I mean, yeah, it was bad at first, but nothing really happened, so-"

He was floundering around, putting on a brave front. But it was poorly done, and she could easily see that, no matter how much he might claim otherwise, he had been well and truly frightened of losing his father. Unable to contain herself, she wrapped her arms around his middle, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Don't give me that, Ron. Of course you've been upset; it's your dad!"

The material of the jumper was itchy on her face, but it was more than worth it when she felt his arms flop around her shoulders, as if he wasn't quite sure where to place them. His head bumped against hers as he quickly returned the hug, and she wished that this was something that happened more often, and under less dire circumstances.

Ron slowly pulled away, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Alright, to be honest, I was pretty freaked for awhile. I mean, it's Dad, you know? He has one of the least dangerous jobs in the Ministry! He spends his free time mucking about with broken Muggle things! He's hardly the sort of person you'd expect to...well..."

"What? Be a knight? Be willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good? Hmmm, no. Doesn't sound like anyone I know at all; I'm completely shocked."

He looked at her sharply, before his eyes dropped to the floor, the tips of his ears going from a light pink to a dusky red. "That was different. Just did what had to be done, didn't I?" he muttered to the carpet.

"It takes an incredibly brave person to do the things that need to be done, Ron. You and your father have that in common."

Her comment appeared to disconcert him, because he changed the subject abruptly.

"Well, it looks like it's your turn to do what needs to be done. Harry's been avoiding everyone since we got back from hospital. He wouldn't come out of his room yesterday at all, and we ended up going to the shops to help Mum with stocking up for Christmas without him. I think he's in with Buckbeak right now, but he won't talk to us. Think you could give it a go? Fair warning; he's more irritable than Crookshanks the time he got a melted Cockroach Cluster stuck to his tail. He may bite your head off."

"Oh dear. I had hoped things were starting to get a little better for him, and that the break from Umbridge would do him good. I'll go and try to talk some sense into him."

"If it gets too rough, give a yell."

"Why, will you come to my rescue?"

He gave her an impish grin. "Hermione, I may be a knight, but that doesn't mean I'm a complete loony. I'll send Ginny up first."

With a shake of her head, she left to confront her stubborn friend. Her stubborn friend with glasses, not to be confused with her stubborn ginger friend. Honestly, she didn't think she could have ended up with less tractable people if she had tried!

"Love, you're not exactly shortchanged in the stubbornness department either. Sometimes ours was just defence against yours!" Sometimes it was amusing to see the traits they shared in spite of being so different. He had been so happy that she had come that Christmas; The attack on his dad had scared him more than he had been able to say, and he had felt very helpless about the whole situation. He couldn't talk about it with Harry, because Harry had closed himself off, and acted almost like he thought it was somehow his fault. He had needed some comfort, and Hermione had come through, saying the things she had. Sometimes she could be a bit stiff and thoughtless, but she was there when it mattered, and it was moments like these that showed him that while she had her share of faults, she was a warm and caring person. The fact that she had given up her vacation because he (and Harry) needed her had meant a lot to him.

Hermione sat on her bed, sorting out the gifts she had brought for everyone. Mrs. Weasley had told her to set them out and she would make sure they made it to everyone's pile in the morning, and she wanted to make sure none of the wrapping had been torn. Harry seemed to be doing better thanks to Ginny, and she thought he would be pleased with the Seeker's goggles she had found for him. Not only would they keep him from having to squint against the wind, but they would also adjust themselves to his prescription, and for any changes in light. But what she was most excited about was the gift for Ron. Two gifts, really. He was always complaining about the jumpers his mum made for him and how he hated the color, and the itchiness. So when she had been shopping with her mum and had spotted the display of men's jumpers, she had wandered over to look more closely. They were made of very nice, soft material, and they were quite smart. Ron didn't have things that were that dressy, and she thought the deep blue would look lovely on him. She made sure to get a size that was a bit long, so he could get plenty of wear out of it; by the time he got his brothers' castoffs, they were almost too small for him.

To go with it, she had found a pair of black dress shoes, in a simple style of polished leather. Again, she had gone with a slightly larger size, knowing his feet would be due for another growth spurt. She was so excited; She had wanted to get him something more personal than usual, and she couldn't wait to see what he looked like in them! They were probably nicer than-

She dropped the package as if it had bit her, staring at it in growing horror. She had almost made a terrible mistake. What had she been thinking! Obviously, she hadn't! Quickly, she got up, taking his presents and shoving them into a drawer. It was scary enough to risk giving him something that intimate, but she had gone too far. While not insanely expensive, they were still nicer than anything Ron had, and it would most likely embarrass him. What if he thought it was an act of charity? He would hate that. Plus, he would be upset, knowing that he couldn't afford to get her something of equal value. Merlin, she had almost walked right into a disaster! But what could she do now? She had to get him something. She went to her trunk and began to root through it, almost despairing when she came to the bottom. But a lump under a pair of jeans caught her eye, and she pulled it out. It was a stack of school planners that she had gotten for herself. Well, she had gotten one for herself, but there had been a sale, so she ended up with three, thinking she could use them later. Now, however, they would make do as a last ditch resort to save her skin. She pulled one out, then paused. She couldn't give this to Ron, and give Harry such a nice present at the same time. That really would send the wrong message. She grabbed the other planner as well.

"Sorry Harry, but you'll have to take one for the team."

Ron had to laugh. Poor Harry, cheated out of top-notch Quidditch equipment! Those had been the worst presents she had ever given them, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He was used to sweets, and a halfway interesting book; the planner had felt like a step back. But at least Harry had been in the same boat, because he really would have read the wrong message into it. Her first choice had been wicked; and while he liked to think he would have been nothing but pleased, he was honest enough to admit that he might have reacted the way she worried he would. Because the fact was, he couldn't afford something just as nice, and he had already been nervous enough about what to get her that year as it was. If she had given him the jumper and shoes, he would have focused on how cheap his present was in comparison.

The next morning, Hermione was woken by a sharp finger in her ribs. "Get up; It's time to go through our loot!"

Hermione rolled away, cracking one eye open to peer through a tangle of hair. "Ginny, please give me one good reason why I shouldn't Hex you bald for waking me up at this ungodly hour?"

From her bed, Ginny gave her an unrepentant grin. "Well, aside from this supposedly being the season of peace and goodwill towards man, you're not allowed to use magic."

She heaved herself into a sitting position with a grunt. "Too bad you're not a man. And I could still find Fred and George and ask for something that would work just as well."

Her friend's reply was muffled as she tugged on her new jumper. "Actually, it's their fault you're up this early. In the Weasley household, It isn't safe to sleep in on Christmas. The twins feel festive, and I could tell you stories about Jinxed mistletoe and small, disgusting animals and things that would make your skin crawl."

"I'll pass on that," Hermione murmured absently as she began to unwrap her own presents, making a note that she would be extra careful the next time she spent the holidays around the twins.

Ron winced. Sixth year had been a bloody mess, and they hadn't been on speaking terms that Christmas. The next year was even worse than that, while they were on the run, and after that...well, they weren't really 'the twins' anymore after that, were they? The thought made him sad. He would gladly kiss a million garden gnomes if it would bring Fred back. With tongue, even. Or maybe not; surely that once was enough, and Fred wouldn't ask that much of him...

She had saved Ron's present for last. It was small, a narrow rectangular box, and her curiosity was killing her. Her fingers found the edge of the tape and she began to tear, more quickly than she had with her previous gifts. Once the paper was off, she was met with a plain wooden box. This didn't look anything like the usual sweets. Unaware that Ginny had stopped to watch her with a smug smile of anticipation, she lifted the lid, and carefully took out the round, purple tinted glass bottle. A giddy feeling shot through her. Perfume! What had possessed him to buy perfume? Her brain ached to explore all the possibilities. Carefully, she unstopped it and held it under her nose, the scent curling up into the air.

Strange, she couldn't describe it. It wasn't flowery, like other perfumes, nor was it fruity or musky. It was light, with notes of what smelled almost like grass, and something that made her think of starry summer nights. She had never smelled anything like it, and she knew she was going to go mad trying to place it.

"Well? Say something!"

Hermione realized, with a start, that she wasn't alone. "What do you want me to say?" she stalled.

Ginny pushed her lips out grumpily, and Hermione suddenly knew exactly what Ron would look like if he had been a girl.

"The perfume! He dithered about it for ages, so what do you think?"

"You knew he got this for me? Why? What did he say?!"

"It was so funny, you should've seen his face! You know that desperate look he gets when he tries really hard? The one that kicks you right in the maternal instincts? Well, he wanted to know what to get you, since you're a girl. Apparently, he's trying to make up for not noticing that last year and upsetting you."

"...Oh. I...had hoped that it had meant something...you know. He didn't have to go through all the trouble out of guilt." she said sadly. She had thought, for a brief moment, that this was some sort of sign; and while she still deeply appreciated the gesture, she didn't want to read too much into it. If he just felt bad...

"Oh come on, Hermione! It isn't as if I could just pop up with a ring or something just yet, you know! And I wasn't bloody sensitive enough to try to make up for something that had happened a year earlier! Use that ginormous brain of yours to read between the lines!"

"Oh come on, Hermione! What did you want, a ring? And I love Ron, he has a good heart, but he's not sensitive enough to try to make up for something that happened a year ago!"

"Yes! Vindication! Thank you, Gin!"

"I wasn't expecting a ring! And I'll try to figure out what he actually meant when I thank him for it, if I can in front of Harry. I'll just have to...be casual. If he doesn't say anything, I won't push him. It's a lovely gift, and it's a step in the right direction."

"Fine, fine. Be subtle. Keep racing along at your daring slug pace. But what do you actually think of it?" Ginny burst out impatiently.

Hermione stroked the bottle fondly, a small, hopeful smile tugging at her lips. "It's...unusual. It's not the boring, everyday scent that you find just anywhere, the kind you get sick of getting year after year. It's interesting and enticing and hard to figure out. I could try all day, but I don't think I'll be able to place it. I could wear this for years and not get bored with it. It's unusual, which is perfect, because I like unusual things."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out when you started fancying Ron. Just don't go around sniffing him, and we'll be fine."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Ginny, carefully placing the perfume back in the box and setting it on her nightstand. She would have to be careful and not wear it too often until she could research a way to duplicate the contents to keep it from running out. Now, all she needed to do was try to see if Ron would make any leading remarks.

Flirting and dropping hints had never been his strong suit, and having Harry there Quaffle-blocking things hadn't helped. He had been hoping to get a hint from her reaction, and to him, 'unusual' was closer to a polite 'thanks for the crappy gift' than it was to 'you may now kiss me before we hold hands and go skipping off into the sunset.

Her definition of unusual was a lot more sexy than he had initially thought. But he had been too afraid to press her for her meaning, and had played the casual card himself. They kept sending messages, but the owls never seemed to stay on course. The rest of the year had been a struggle, things at school becoming increasingly darker, and their worry for Harry continued to grow. Things had come to a head at the Ministry, and, looking back, Ron wondered how they had managed to survive at all.

Hermione's eyes shot open, and she swallowed the scream right before it could become audible. She sat up, her body trembling not just from the pain, but from the nightmares.

It was always the nightmares. No one was sure exactly what spell she had been hit with, but Hermione strongly suspected that had he been able to invoke the spell, she would be dead. She had major internal bruising, and it was difficult to take full breaths. There was still a mark on her chest, though that was fading quickly under Madam Pomfrey's care; otherwise, even if she had lived through a full attack, she most likely would have had permanent scarring. As it was, what she would be left with now might only be visible up close and in very strong light. She knew she had gotten off easy, and she was thankful. Except...the nightmares. The effects of the spell hadn't been only physical, but mental as well. Of course, it would have been perfectly understandable to have nightmares after their experience. But these were different, somehow; more intense. The scariest part was that she couldn't fully remember them, aside from quick flashes of things she'd rather not think about, almost like a Boggart living in her head. Such as a ginger figure sprawled on the floor, and the growing horror at the realization that the color surrounding his head wasn't from hair alone...

That was new. She had told him about the nightmares, but she had lied and told him that she couldn't remember anything about them. That information might have hurt him at one point, but not after feeling her thought process firsthand. Words made things more real, gave them power. That was why it hurt so much when people you care about cut you down. It was why people were so afraid to say 'I love you.' Quite frankly, Hermione couldn't bring herself to speak those words out loud, to make his death more of a possibility. As it was, she was doing her best to not even think them.

And the sense of it being her fault, the weight of guilt crushing her as she ran on and on through some formless, bleak space, the feeling of her sanity slipping, slowly slipping...

"Hermione? You awake?"

Ron's voice came from his bed, opposite her own. She leaned forward to see in the dim light placed at the far end of the ward, hissing at the pain that shot through her. It was late, sometime after two. But Ron sounded wide awake, and she wondered if he had ever slept at all tonight. With jerky, shuffling movements, she stood and crossed the short distance between them, and when he saw her coming, he scooted over, propping up his pillow so they could both lean on it.

"It's late, Ron. Haven't you slept yet?"

Her answer was a shrug, as he scratched a patch of new skin on his forearm. The welts had been angry and red at first, swollen with pus that smelled almost as bad as the medicinal goop that had been spread on them. But the bandages had been taken off yesterday, and the skin was being allowed to get some air. She glanced sadly at his arms, mourning the freckles she would never have a chance to count. The brains had left swirling scars, twisting lines of pure white amongst the rest of his heavily freckled skin.

"How are your arms?"

"...They're fine. I'm starting to get some feeling back in them, at least. Madam Pomfrey says they may go numb from time to time, though."

He was so quiet, and he wouldn't look at her. When she rested her fingers on the back of his hand, he jumped, and she sighed.

"What's wrong? You've been acting funny since dinner. Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She had no idea what he was talking about. "Tell you what? You aren't making any sense!"

With a sudden movement, he twisted to the side, grunting as her fingernail scraped against his arm before she could pull away. The force of it caused her to start to slip off the edge of the mattress, but Ron's hand shot out to grab her arm.

"I heard McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey talking when I went to the loo earlier. Why the blazing fuck didn't you tell me that you nearly died?"

A snappy comeback was already forming on her lips, but the trembling of his fingers, which were still wrapped around her arm, gave her pause. It was long enough, her eyes having adjusted to the light, to get a good look at his face. While his features were set in lines of barely controlled anger, which she was familiar with, his eyes were full of fear. She had seen him afraid before, of course, but there was something slightly different about it this time that she couldn't put her finger on.

He hadn't been afraid; he had been terrified and ashamed. He had gotten so used to Hermione always coming through somehow, that he had forgotten how he had felt in second year. Then, he had been able to tell himself that it was alright, nothing bad would have really happened; Dumbledore would have figured something out. But now, there was no hiding from it any more; Death wasn't just something that happened to people in other Houses; it was a reality, and it was coming closer and closer to the people he cared about.

"I haven't told anybody, Ron. I didn't know how to bring it up! It's not exactly dinner table conversation, is it?"

He let go of her arm, flopping onto his back. "Dunno if you noticed, but there isn't anything even remotely resembling a dinner table in here. And we've talked about my...problem. So why not come out and say it? I wasn't in any shape to know what was going on for about two days, you know."

Her hands clutched convulsively, fisting up handfuls of the rough wool coverlet. She had regained consciousness much sooner, and watching Ron had been terrifying. It wasn't just his arms, either. Blood had been bubbling from the corners of his mouth, and he floated in and out of consciousness, giggling and gibbering nonsense. The part that had given her chills, however, were his eyes. Bright and glazed, it was almost as if he didn't fully recognize her, or care if he did. From what Ginny had said, he had at least known who they were while at the Ministry, but after the brain attacked him, it seemed to make the effect of the spell he was under worse. They had smeared his arms with the foul smelling medicine, and poured potions down his throat. Hermione had watched from her bed, Her pain ignored as she waited impatiently to see if he would be alright. After nearly twenty minutes, he fell asleep, and they were both left to get some much needed rest. She had watched the rise and fall of his chest, each breath reassuring her that he was alive.

And then the screaming had started.

It started out as small whimpers at first, growing into loud sobbing, and them full-throated screams, as he thrashed around, tears streaming down his cheeks. Madam Pomfrey had rushed in, and for a few moments, Hermione thought he was going to have to go to St. Mungo's. Madam Pomfrey was able to calm him down, but it was something that soon began to happen on a regular basis. For nearly two full days his waking moments had been a sort of drugged stupor, while nightmares plagued his sleep. When he had finally started coming around, they were usually surrounded by visitors, and he acted perfectly normal. It had only been one night when she had tried to stop him from clawing himself in his sleep that he had woken up and finally told her what was going on.

"I know that. I just...it turned out alright, so there's no sense in dwelling on it."

"Not the attitude you had when it was me."

"That-that was different!"

"How so?"

His eyes were wide and curious, his fringe flopping over them to give him a slightly shaggy appearance.

"It just is!"

"Fine, so you're not gonna tell me. Then will you at least tell me what that was all about earlier? You've been waking up before me so I wouldn't know, but you look like it's something that's been going on awhile."

He had moved back to stretch out next to her, and their positions had their legs pressed tightly from hip to knee. She tried not to think of it too much, but the warmth of his skin was bleeding through their thin pajamas.

"I think it's an effect of the spell that hit me. Every time I try to sleep, I have these sort of... nightmares. It's like someone is sitting on my chest, and the most awful thing is I can never remember what they were about. It feels as if someone is going into my mind and rearranging it like furniture, and I hate it!"

"Wait, does Madam Pomfrey know? Because it could be really seri-"

"Yes, I already told her about it. She says she's heard of cases like mine before, and they usually fade with time. If nothing changes in about a month, I should get a check-up to be sure. But Ron, don't tell Harry, alright? He's doing badly enough as it is."

"I know; S'why I haven't told him everything about the brains. He's fucked up enough as it is. Just promise me you'll do something if this keeps up, yeah?"

Hermione glanced to the farthest corner of the ward, where a screen had been placed around the large figure in bed against the wall. "I will, but...maybe I deserve them, just a little."

Ron saw where she was looking, and jackknifed into an upright position. "What the buggering fuck? Don't tell me you regret that, Hermione. I know you're a bleeding heart but that's taking it too far. Besides, you weren't the only one to have it in for her; Fred and George-"

"Fred and George harassed her and drove her to distraction, they didn't lead her into something they knew full well could get her killed!" She hissed angrily.

"You did what you had to do; you were doing it for the right reasons!"

"She thought she was doing what she did for the right reasons!"

Ron looked at her with such shock that she had to restrain herself from checking to see if she had regrown a tail.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? They're not the same at all!"

She turned her head fro him. "Don't you think I'm rather like her in some ways? You've said yourself that I'm obsessed with rules and authority. I raise a fuss when other people don't follow them. I'm just afraid that someday, I'll end up like..." she trailed off, unable to finish. She loathed Umbridge with a passion, all the more so because she could see similarities between them, the harsh, unyielding dedication to authority they both shared. She didn't want to be anything like the monster that had tormented one of her best friends, but a part of her was afraid that Umbridge, as vile as she was, may have started out as a rigid, unyielding girl such as herself, taking comfort in rules and authority.

"Now you listen to me."

Ron's words startled her out of her dark thoughts, his voice a low rumble, the serious tone he used compelling her to listen, even as it gave her a tingling sensation along her spine.

"You're not like her. She doesn't care about what's right; she just cares about power and having people lick her arse. She tortured a fifteen year old for fucks sake! Ok, sometimes you can be overbearing and pushy, and sometimes you get so caught up with being right that you ignore people's feelings-"

She opened her mouth indignantly, prepared to argue, but he kept right on, with a knowing look.

"Come on, remember in third year when Lavender's whatsit died, and all you could do was go on and on about how stupid Divination was, and didn't even take the time to tell her you were sorry? And we won't even start on the house elves and how uncomfortable you make them."

Hermione sagged, and the pain in her chest had nothing to do with her wound. She knew he was right; while Ron was often accused of being insensitive, she could be just as bad. It wasn't that she wanted to be that way, or that she refused to see her own flaws; sometimes it was just hard for her to realize what she was doing until it was too late. On one level, she knew this didn't make her a bad person; everyone had faults, and mature and responsible as she could be, it was foolish to think that she had all the answers or would always make the right choices at her age. She had to grow just like anyone else, and sometimes the process was unpleasant for all involved. But she did care how it affected the way Ron viewed her, not because of her feelings for him, but because he was one of a handful of people whose opinion mattered to her.

Ron was pleasantly surprised and flattered by this. Because it wasn't about her trying to impress him as a love interest, or even really about impressing him at all. While she might not show it all the time, and though they could disagree, she respected his judgement. While he felt strongly about both the people he despised and loved, he usually gave people a fair chance before he made up his mind. Once they were in his bad books he could be unreasonable, but she knew it usually took a fair bit to get there, excluding (or so she thought) Viktor Krum. He didn't think it was fair to count that; any hormonal fourteen year old would have felt the same if they were honest. And even at that age, he could tell his blunt assessment had stung, and had gone about trying to fix it as best he could.

"Hey, that doesn't mean you're on the same level as Froggy over there! You just...need to learn to give the other person their say, and not to shove your opinion down their throat. Even when you're right, it doesn't make it any easier to take. Hell, especially when you're right. Your heart's in the right place, you just need to work on your methods."

She nodded, and they both laid back against the pillow. She could tell that being so open about that had made him a little uncomfortable, so she stayed quiet for a few minutes. One of the most amazing things about Ron was that while they might not always be on the same page, he was the one that understood her best. She would try harder in the future, and though she knew she would still make mistakes, it gave her comfort to know that Ron was there, helping her to be the best she could be. She might be snappish and overbearing, but she refused to end up like the woman in the other bed. And she knew that if she ever started to slide in that direction, even though it would be totally inadvertently, Ron would be there to call her on it. She needed that bluntness from him; someone with a more passive nature would be too easy to ignore. No, this was just more proof that Ron was a good match. Bicker and fuss as they would, at the end of the day, they made each other better. And really, wasn't that part of what a relationship was all about?

His much larger hand brushed against hers, and her heart went into overdrive. She turned her head hopefully, but he was asleep. Slowly, so as not to wake him, she turned her hand to squeeze his fingers. She knew he was exhausted, but he had stayed up worrying about her. He had been honest about her faults, but he had also acknowledged her both had growing to do, but to her, Ron Weasley was growing into a fine man, and she was proud to be his friend.

Hopefully, someday she would be able to say she was proud to be more.

Ron gave an affectionate snort. As if she could ever be like that hag! There was a difference in having human faults and choosing to go down the path of darkness; Just the fact that she even worried about it was a good sign that she wasn't headed in that direction. More likely, she would be marching down the straight and narrow, dragging him and Harry along behind her. And she had made progress; she was still bossy, but he could tell she made an effort. She didn't always succeed, but the same could be said for him when it came to the areas he was lacking. People made mistakes, but that wasn't the end of the world.

Most of the rest of the year was spent in the hospital ward, and the time after they were released passed quickly. Harry was in an almost permanent state of depression, with sporadic bursts of being normal enough that they would hope he was feeling better, only to have him sink back down into sadness. They couldn't blame him, but they were deeply worried. And when Hermione worried about you, she wouldn't let it go. Like a dog with a rat, she just couldn't leave it alone, and it was up to him to keep her distracted from pestering Harry beyond the breaking point.

Hermione slipped away from the breakfast table once she was sure Ron was safely tucking into his eggs. She knew he was supposed to be distracting her from bothering Harry, but breakfast could always be counted on to keep his attention long enough for her to make her escape. She wouldn't have long, but she was determined to try to talk to Harry. Both boys seemed to think she was smothering him, and it might be true, to an extent. But it just didn't feel right for Harry to bottle everything up after all that he had been through, and she knew he wouldn't get any help when he was back at his uncle's.

The Common Room was silent, everyone down making most of their time before they had to say their goodbyes. She trotted up the stairs to the boys' dorm, stepping around scattered trunks until she came to the room belonging to the fifth years. Her foot caught on a stray trainer next to the door, but she caught herself before she could fall on her face. The room was a mess, bedding falling into a rumpled heap on the floor, and someone had spilled some sort of sweets over in one corner. Surprisingly, it looked like Ron had finished packing on time, though she suspected by the way an arm of a jumper dangled out one side that he had just shoved things in until he could get the lid closed. Glancing over at Harry's bed, she found it to be the only one in the room with bed curtains tightly drawn, and she crossed the room to push them open.

Empty.

And she might have been fooled, had she not noticed the dip in the mattress. With a quick twist of her wrist, she pulled the Cloak from Harry, who looked up at her with the expression of an exasperated Basset hound.

"I knew I should have hid in the toilet."

"Wouldn't have done you any good; it was going to be my next stop."

"I find it disturbing that I have no trouble believing that...look, Hermione, I appreciate your concern, I really do, but can we just...not do this? I don't want to talk about it, and I'm too tired to fight."

For her answer, Hermione plunked down on the bed, swinging her legs up so she could face him. Silently, she kept eye contact, waiting for him to break.

"Seriously! I know what you're going to say; that I need to talk about it, that it does no good to bottle things up. But that's my way of coping, it's how I've always done it-"

"Yes, and just look at how wonderfully emotionally stable you are. Harry, I'm not expecting you to fall weeping on my shoulder, but it's okay to let yourself feel."

He scrubbed at his hair with both hands, increasing his resemblance to a fuzzy porcupine. "Feel? You want to hear how I feel? Fine. I'm so fucking done with this! With Voldemort, with being the bloody 'Boy Who Lived', of having something good happen only to have it taken away. I'm sick of feeling, Hermione!"

"People that don't feel turn out like Voldemort, Harry."

He jerked back at her words, a look of fear flitting across his expression, before his shoulders slumped forward.

"I know. It's just...so hard. I mean, I didn't get a chance to really know Sirius like I should've, what with him being on the run, then stuck at Grimmauld Place while I was here. I had hoped that maybe I'd get to live with him like he said back in third year; that this summer, I'd be going there instead of back to my own personal little slice of hell. But now he's dead and it's my fault and I don't know how to deal with this. Each year it just gets worse, and I keep dragging people into it with me. You should know, you were at the Ministry. Ron got completely scrambled, he's scarred permanently, and you...when I first saw you, I thought you were dead. I don't know what he hit you with, but things could have ended even worse than they did."

Hermione forced herself to maintain eye contact, repressing the flinch that his words sent through her. Harry didn't know how close it really was, or that she sometimes still felt an icy hand squeezing around her lungs, and that the nightmares, though fading, hadn't fully stopped. He had enough to deal with, which he wasn't doing very well at the moment, and she saw no need to add to it. But it was alright, because she had Ron. He knew what was going on, and she could talk to him about it when she needed to, just as he came to her to talk out the nightmares that the brains had left with him. She felt bad for hiding things from Harry, but Ron's support had really helped. He listened to her, and knew when to take her mind off things with a joke, and when to flat out tell her she was being stupid. She was the kind of person who needed both those things in her life, and she was lucky to have found a person that possessed both qualities.

He had always loved to make her laugh. Hermione wasn't a sour person, but it took a little more effort into coaxing her to relax than it did most people. And it was nice to confirm that while she appreciated his humorous side, she didn't think that was all there was to him, or that he was some sort of buffoon. She liked his sharp wit and sarcastic comments; he was funny without being over the top about it. But she also knew that that was just one side of him, and she admired his other qualities just as much.

"But it didn't. Harry, Ron and I know we can't fix this, but we do want to help you. When you push us away, it just...makes us feel really useless," she sighed, standing up. You could only push Harry so far, and she didn't want to upset him too much before they had to leave.

Leaning down to where he still sat on the bed, she hugged him tightly around the shoulders, surprised when he returned it less hesitantly than usual.

"The two of you aren't useless. Without you...well, I doubt I'd've made it this far. I'll try, but I still need some time."

She knew that that was as much as Harry was capable of when it came to reaching out, so she gave him a smile and a nod as she stepped away, knowing he would need some time to compose himself. Before she could turn to leave, the door swung open, and she looked over her shoulder to see a bemused Ron stroll into the room and over to Harry's bed. Giving them a falsely cheerful smile, he took Hermione by the shoulders and began to steer her away.

"There you are, you bad girl!" He glanced over at Harry, "Terribly sorry, she has a habit of wandering off the moment you're not looking. She's perfectly harmless unless she sees an unfinished essay or repressed emotion lying about."

Hermione switched her glare from Ron to Harry, who was snorting with laughter.

"No bother, mate. You might consider tying her to you with a bit of string, though."

"You both act as if I'm mental, or-or some dog on a lead!" she spluttered.

Ron patted her soothingly on the shoulder, crooning, "Of course you're not. Now, let's go for walkies down by the lake. You do love your walkies, don't you? And perhaps a biscuit-"

"Ron, if you keep going along those lines, I'm going to Curse your hair off and ensure that it sprouts back in highly uncomfortable places," she warned.

The grin never left his face. "Show a little imagination, Hermione; the twins managed that one as second years."

Their light bickering had gotten them across the room and into the hall, and Harry gave them a wave as Ron shut the door.

"So, was that enough time to get anything out of him? I figured it had been long enough for him to either crack, or strangle you with the curtain cord."

Hermione forgot her mostly feigned irritation and stood staring, mouth agape. "You knew? But you were...I thought..."

Ron leaned against the wall, rolling his eyes. "The food here is good, but no that good. Did you really think I didn't notice you tiptoeing like a constipated goose across the Great Hall? I figured it was the last chance to get it out of your system, and it might've done Harry some good."

Curse him; why was he so observant at all the wrong times? Ron may miss cues of a romantic nature, but that didn't make him stupid. He was the one to notice that something was off with her in third year while she was using the Time-Turner, after all. As he had let her get away without trying to stop her, she would let the goose comment pass.

"He didn't say a lot, but that's not unusual. I think I was able to get through to him a bit, though, enough to let him see how hard it is on us when he won't let us even try to help. I suppose it's enough that he seems to come out of the depression every once and awhile; it's better than he was at first."

He nodded sagely. "Like a garden gnome; you have to let them poke their heads out of their holes a few time before you snatch them out."

Her eyebrows rose incredulously. "Are you suggesting we lure our friend into a false sense of security and then-what, sling him over a wall?"

"I'm game, if you reckon it'd work. You're the one who knows how to handle things like this; I think it calls for something slightly bigger than a teaspoon."

"Ron! Even thinking about throwing him over a wall like a garden pest is wrong!" her scolding was rendered completely ineffective by the giggles that kept leaking out at the mental image of Ron swinging Harry around in circles and launching him into a field. "You're wicked!"

The crooked grin only grew wider. "That's what all the gnomes say. Besides, Harry isn't much bigger than they are; can't weigh more than three at the most."

Slowly, their laughter subsided, and Ron grew serious. "You think he'll be alright? Over the holiday, I mean. I asked Mum if we could come stay with us, but she said he had to spend at least a little time with his family."

The news that Ron had asked for Harry to stay over didn't really surprise her, but she was pleased about it. Some people might have looked at a break from Harry as a relief; as much as you loved him, and understood where his pain was coming from, dealing with his constant mood swings could be exhausting, and it was highly frustrating to be shut out and have no idea how to help. It was one of the things she liked best about Ron; he may grumble and complain, but he always had your back. Helping Harry in whatever way he could just seemed to come so naturally that she didn't even think he noticed it.

He hadn't, really. That was just...what you did, wasn't it? When your friends were going through shit you did your best to help them, even when you didn't know what the hell you were doing.

"Well, it isn't the sort of thing you ever get over, I'd imagine. But I think he'll be able to manage better the more time passes."

"I guess. I'll try again in a week or two to get him out to the Burrow. I'll see about having you over too, if you'd like."

Her heart fluttered, thinking about the week they had spent last summer. "I'd love to. As long as your Mum doesn't mind, that is."

"Nah, Mum loves it. Hey, let's not stand around here; I promised Harry I'd take you for a walk, remember?"

Without giving her time to answer, he took her wrist, and began to pull her down the hall. He wasn't hurting her, but she was surprised by how quickly he was moving. Then again, he was always a little faster when leaving the school. So she said nothing, only turning her hand so that her fingers were placed over his. She wished she could see his face, but it was impossible at that angle. As they reached the stairs, she gave a final glance back to Harry's room. She felt bad that he hadn't opened up more; but Harry wouldn't let them in, and didn't even seem to realize that they were having a hard time too, though it was in a different way. At times like these, you needed people close to you for support, people you could trust and rely on.

She was awfully glad she had Ron.

One of the strangest things he was finding out about Hermione was her reasons for loving him. She loved him for the simplest of of things, things he had never given much thought to. Most of his life, he had been focused on his flaws. It wasn't until the mess with the locket that things had changed. His own weakness had been used against him, and he had nearly lost everything he cared about. It had taken work, and he knew he still had a ways to go in some areas, but he had become better about recognizing his good traits. And once they had gotten together, Hermione had started mentioning them more, and that had helped. But this was different than just hearing the words; actually feeling how she felt about him was so much more. Hermione had always been brilliant, and in some ways he had felt like an ignorant clod in comparison. But as different as they were, Hermione saw them as equals. She liked the fact that they were different. She found having an alternate viewpoint challenging, and his was different enough to make her think without being quite as odd as some of the things Luna came out with.

And he had sort of known that for the last few years, but he hadn't fully realized how the little everyday things had added up. He couldn't stop grinning at the giddy sensation he was getting from her, until he realized what was coming next. Sixth year, and all the hell and heartbreak that came with it. Hadn't it been bad enough he had to live through that once? A stomach twisting realization hit him; he wouldn't be reliving it. He would be seeing, and feeling everything from Hermione's perspective. Memories of some of his less than stellar past actions came to mind, and his stomach, already knotting, gave a heave.

"Sick bags. This whole thing should have come with a supply of sick bags."


	26. Chapter 26

Ron Weasley was not an early riser. Engaged in a lifelong love affair with his mattress, he was loathe to leave her tender embrace for anything less than the siren call of breakfast. If sleep was a sport, he could play for England. He could nod off most anywhere, and it took a lot to wake him; only his mum's voice and the screams of his best mate could rouse him without (much of) a struggle on his part.

Which made it all the more amazing that here he was, gone five in the morning, sitting on the edge of his bed fully dressed. The gear was a bit snug in the chest area, heightening the feeling he had of not being able to get enough air. He hadn't really taken a shower, just stood numbly under the spray of water, eyes fixed on the red tiles. Shaving had been totally skipped; his hands were shaking too badly to trust with a razor. By turns he was hot and sweating, and cold and clammy. His heart and his stomach were both fighting their way up his throat, and he wished he hadn't hit the bangers so hard last night, or gone for thirds of the apple crumble cake.

Dear Merlin, it was a wonder he had been able to crawl onto a broom, much less act as Keeper! This feeling was horrible; the closest comparison she had was how she felt right before a big test, but that wasn't quite right. Because even as nervous as she got at the thought that she might fail, there was a part of her that knew she would be fine. Ron, on the other hand, was already certain he would fail. In fact, the lack of faith in himself was almost scary; he fully expected that one or another of his teammates would save the day, and hopefully overshadow any screwups he might make.

Not for the first time since this began, she wished she could tell him that things would turn out so much better than he believed they would. The insecure boy hunched on the four-poster bed was a far cry from the Auror in training that she knew today. Just this past Christmas, she had spoken to several of his instructors at a party while he had gone to get their drinks, and they had been highly pleased with him. Ron was one of those rare types of leaders that they seldom saw. He had no need to lead, for one thing; no desire to assert authority over anyone else, no need to dominate. He was perfectly fine with taking orders from someone else, and performed them to the best of his ability. But when he saw a need, he stepped up, and was able to take over so seamlessly that there was no animosity. Add that to his natural ability to strategize, quickly and under pressure, and he was marked to go far.

This Ron still had a long way to get there; he had so much potential, but he needed to see it in himself first, or he would never make a go of it.

He sat there until the others began to stir, watching as Harry blindly staggered off to the toilet, bouncing off the wall once before he made it through the door. His glasses might have been of better use on his face instead of dangling from his left hand, but Ron was used to the routine by now, and said nothing. Upon returning, glasses now where they belonged, Harry glanced over and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Ron? How long've you been up? Usually I have to nearly drown you with a glass of water."

"Um, wasn't sleeping well, so I just went ahead and got up around four."

Harry squinted at him. "You can't be Ron Weasley. Umbridge must have replaced him with a Polyjuiced Slytherin. That, or it's a sign that the world is ending."

Ron's shoulders slumped. "If it was, do you think they'd call the game?" he asked mournfully.

"I take it back; you're Ron. You might need a trip to St. Mungo's, but you're definitely Ron."

"Tosser."

"Not before a game; you know better than that."

He flipped Harry the finger, and reached down for his boots. They were tight (of course) and had to be laced up just right. Harry bumped and thudded around the room getting ready, but Ron couldn't work himself up to any sort of conversation. No, he was preparing himself for his debut as Complete Arse in front of the entire school. Quidditch had a rich history rife with unique and tremendous failures, and Ron's mind seemed quite determined to run through the entire list of just how badly he could muck this up. Maybe he would even come up with something to top the most bizarre. It would be just his luck to get his name in the history books as a failure.

Harry yanked him by the arm, and Ron got to his feet with a grunt, following him downstairs on their way to breakfast, the prospect of which failed to excite him. They nearly ran right into Fred and George at the portrait hole, the two bursting in loudly, arguing over where Fred's left glove was. Upon seeing Ron, they stopped short, and grins that started to form curdled into something more sickly, as a thought seemed to hit them both at the same time.

Hey, Ron. Good luck out there, okay?" Fred said in an oddly stiff, cheerful voice.

"Yeah, get out there and break a broom." George added.

Ron stared at them as they moved off, giving a small groan as he turned to join Harry in the hall. If those two were being nice, then he was doomed. Where was that cave that Sirius hid out in during fourth year? And how long, exactly, would he need to stay gone long enough for people to forget his stupidity in joining Quidditch?

Logically he knew he should eat something, but the smell of breakfast nearly turned his already spinning stomach. Hermione and Ginny were already there, and he plopped into a seat in front of them, eyes closing momentarily as the bright, runny egg yolks gazed up at him. He slid them around his plate, until the buttery trail they left brought to mind the slugs he had belched up in second year. A conversation was being carried on around him, but he couldn't seem to focus long enough to connect. The only thing that sparked any kind of interest was that daft hat of Luna's. At least he had the comfort that he wasn't the only one going to be getting odd looks today. Harry seemed like he was ready to go, and after a small nudge, Ron stood up gratefully, thankful he wouldn't have to sit there any longer, the mush that had once been his eggs staring up at him accusingly, as if to say he had murdered a chicken's child in vain. His mind was still in the process of directing his limbs so they didn't get in each other's way, and he was nearly knocked off his feet when arms wrapped around his neck, the weight of a body pulling him down slightly as a pair of lips that did not belong to his mum were pressed against his cheek! His already stressed out brain barely had time to comprehend what was going on before she backed off, and he knew he had the look of a mentally deficient troll, but he couldn't help it. All he could do was stagger after Harry, his hand coming up to touch the spot on his face that was as warming as Butterbeer on a cold day.

Hermione had kissed him. He kept waiting to wake up, or for the twins to come up and tell him it was a joke, that they had slipped him something to make him hallucinate. But nothing happened, and slowly, he began to believe it had actually happened. Hermione had kissed him! He struggled to remember it clearly, wishing she had chosen a time when he hadn't been concentrating on walking without tangling himself up, or that it had happened slower, to give him more time to process and enjoy it.

Because he had enjoyed it; he remembered that much, at least. But why had she done it? Hopefully, he thought it might be possible that she was making a move on him. Then the more pessimistic side of his brain pointed out that she had kissed Harry like that before, at the station. So either she was just being friendly (really friendly) to both of them, or else she fancied Harry, and just didn't want him to feel like he was being left out. He snorted under his breath. of course it had to be something like that. The idea of Hermione launching himself at him for a passionate snog was something that would only happen in his dreams.

Hermione giggled. It was actually a more common occurrence than he might think. While not one for large displays of public affection, in private (or with a select few close people, as Harry had learned to his disgust and horror), all bets were off.

Harry started talking about Quidditch, and Ron shook his head to clear it. He needed to get his head in the game; now wasn't the time to be day dreaming about Hermione. That was for at night before he went to bed. Or during his shower. Or lessons. Or the library. Or...well, whenever she popped up in his head and...pants. Still, he couldn't help the tiny spark of hope that the kiss had inspired; maybe, if this game went well, he might be able to ask her...

The laugh at his randiness died in her throat. The game had gone far from well. In some ways, it marked the beginning of the end of things for that year; the twins became even more rebellious, and Harry, denied even the outlet of his favorite sport, became sucked down in a fog of hostile moroseness. There had been that huge fight immediately following the game, but Ron had slipped off, and she had never known where he had gone.

Snow fell gently, white standing out in stark contrast against his hair. The air was stinging and bitterly cold, but Ron hardly registered it at all as he sat hunched on a stone bench tucked away in one of the gardens' alcoves. He had no memory of coming here, or how much time had passed. All he knew was that he was miserable and ashamed, and he didn't want anyone to see him. Tears threatened to fall, but every time they were in danger of leaking out, he would hold his breath and wait for the moment to pass. Foolishly, he had thought he had been prepared. He hadn't gone in thinking a scout would swoop in and offer him a contract, but he had thought that once he got up there, he might be alright. He had endured the insults for weeks, and while they bothered him, he had hoped he would be able to forget them once he was in the air.

But they had to come up with that fucking song! He had to hand it to Malfoy; he knew just where to hit you the hardest. It was a two-for-one special, insulting his family and his competence at the same time. The twins' songs, while annoying, were never hurtful. They never set out to tear your heart out; all they wanted was for you to laugh. But this...this magnified every negative thing he thought of himself, and he wasn't stupid enough not to realize that the song would be stuck to him from now on. It didn't help that he hadn't proven them wrong. Sure, they won the game, but it was in spite of him. He hadn't contributed to it at all; they would've had the same results if they had strapped Trevor to a broom. He hated this; out of any group he was in, he was always the fuckup. It wasn't fair to the rest of the team to stay on. He had tried, and he had failed. Now it was time to cut out before he did any more damage.

And to make matters worse, she had been watching. Watching, and listening. Just the thought of it made his stomach heave, and he barked out a dark laugh. Had he actually thought he had a chance with her? The dreams he had of pulling some wicked move in the game, and then asking her out afterwards looked spectacularly ridiculous now. What witch would go out with a loser like him? Not Hermione; she was meant for better, even he could see that. He had wanted to be that for her, but you couldn't go against nature. Out of seven children, there had to be a dud, and he was it.

The need to cry had died down enough that he thought he could make it to bed, so he stood and started moving slowly in the direction of the door; he didn't know what the look on her face would be, or if disgust or pity would be worse. In the end, he supposed it was all the same. That was what he got for being stupid enough to try for something so far out of his reach.

Furious tears poured down Hermione's cheeks, and she was too upset to know how much was from Ron's despair, how much was from her heart breaking for him, and how much was from anger. She hated this; hated how Ron could never see the good in himself unless it was tied to something else. And she hated that she had been a part of it, even when she hadn't done anything herself. Ron had never needed to do anything to make her love him. She loved him for his personality, for his actions. Not his talents or popularity. She had loved the boy that stood by his friends, that would fight for them, no matter who the enemy was. She loved the boy that had held her while she cried, that had shed his own tears with her in shared grief. Those things were Ron, not Quidditch scores or high enough marks. She needed him to see that, needed him to believe it. And he had to see it for the truth that it was, and not just accept it because she said so. She loved him so much, and it tore her up to watch him beat himself down.

The snow continued to fall, but instead of entering Hogwarts, she found herself once again at Grimmauld Place. Ron was pulling on his coat, glancing worriedly at the stairs, wishing he knew what to say to Harry to get him to come out. But he was afraid of making things worse, so he decided he would let his friend sleep, while he went into Diagon Alley with his family to pick up some supplies.

Although it was mere days until Christmas, there was an unusually sombre air about the Weasleys as they arrived at the Leaky. He couldn't remember the last time the twins had cracked a joke, and his mum had a nervous, distracted look, as if her mind was somewhere other than here. Which it probably was. The only one who looked halfway normal was Ginny, but Ron knew that she always put on a stoic front when she was most bothered. Although they knew he was going to be alright, seeing their dad in a hospital bed had thrown them all for a loop. Hearing about what happened had been bad enough, but seeing it really brought home how close they had been to losing him.

Ron hadn't been able to process everything quite yet, and he wished he had someone to talk to. But his siblings were just as in shock as he was, and Harry, for some reason, was closing himself off. If Ron didn't know any better, he'd think Harry was blaming himself, which was stupid. How could it possibly be his fault? He hadn't told Dad to do whatever he was doing, and he hadn't set the snake on him. Hell, he had saved his life! But the way he was acting, you'd think he was the one doing the biting. And he was in one of those touchy moods that Ron wasn't quite sure how to bring him out of without setting him off more. Hermione might have an idea, but he hadn't even had a chance to owl her yet.

Hermione. He wished she was here now; for once, he felt like talking about something poofy as feelings, and she wasn't around. Instead, the girl who refused to get on a broom was whizzing down a mountain on two thin strips of wood strapped to her feet, with no magical support whatsoever. Mental.

His mum handed them each a short list of things they needed, doling out the small amount of coins carefully. Ron jammed the money in his pocket, first making sure that there wasn't a hole. They were being allowed to split up, so they could also shop for Christmas presents. The thought of presents was a happy distraction from thinking about his father, at least until he realized that he still needed to get something for Hermione. Instant panic welled up in his chest; he had planned on finding something special, but the chance had never seemed to come up. She was always around during Hogsmeade visits, and he had enjoyed spending that time with her too much to go off on his own. And he had no ideas of what to get her at all; sweets were something he gave to pretty much everyone, and he wanted to be a bit more original than a book.

What did you get a girl that showed her that you did, in fact, notice she was a girl? Well, something that wasn't offensive. He suspected sexy knickers shouldn't be given until at least the third date. He could be a gentleman when he needed to be.

A grin spread across Hermione's face. Sexy knicker actually had come into play around their third official date; He had proudly presented her with a lovely pair, claiming it was to make up for the ones he had ripped in his...haste. They had been together for about a year, but with their schedules, actual dates with date-like activities were few and far between.

What did girls like? What did they want? Wait! He was just struck with something brilliant! His sister was a girl! Ginny would know; all he had to do was find where she went...but that was one of the perks of being in a family of gingers, as her head was easily spotted bobbing along ahead of him on the street.

"Ginny! Gin! Excuse me, sorry about that...Hey, Gin!" He yelled as he jogged after her, pulling her to one side once she had stopped for him.

"What is it, Ron? I have several stops to make."

"Sorry, it's just that...well, you're a girl-"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Really? I thought we had sorted you out about that type of thing last year."

"Yeah, yeah, just listen, will you? I wanted to ask if you knew what would be a good idea to get Hermione."

He didn't want to go into much detail, or else Ginny might get ideas. As it was, the smile she wore already had an aura of smugness about it.

"Ah, the light comes on...sure, I'll help. What have you considered?"

"Um, you know, it's Hermione, so...a book?"

The halfhearted question received a heavy sigh and shake of the head. "Let's make this simple; Hermione loves books, but she might like to get something a bit more feminine. She isn't JUST a brain, you know. Maybe something small, and pretty, like a nice scarf. Or one of those little stone boxes with the shapes cut out to hold jewelry. Look around, and I'm sure something will strike your eye."

Ron took her literally, and began glancing into the windows up and down the street; some things clearly wouldn't work, and some were just as clearly out of his budget. He must have looked forlorn, because Ginny took pity on him.

"Look, give me the list and money Mum gave you, and I'll do your part of the shopping," she said, holding her hand out.

Gratefully, Ron handed everything over. "Thanks Gin. I'm sure I'll find something if I wander around long enough."

"Just come into this shop with me first; everything in here always seems to be on the highest shelf."

Realizing that he didn't have much choice, he followed her inside the small shop, which was packed full of odds and ends. There was no real rhyme or reason to the stock, but the witch who owned the place mixed all of her own seasonings, and Mum always used them in Christmas dinner. He trailed after Ginny, reaching up to pull small bottles and tins off the higher shelves when she pointed. While she was debating whether or not to buy a tin that had been damaged, he let his eyes roam around the shop, his mind still puzzling over what to get for Hermione. A flash of color caught his attention, and he turned to his left to see a display table covered in glass bottles of various shapes, sizes, and colors. Bored, he went for a closer look, nearly turning away when he realized it was perfume. Too girly to hold his interest.

He did a doubl take. Girly? This might be it!

Carefully, he picked up a bright yellow bottle, and took out the stopper to have a sniff. Hastily, he put it back down; it had smelled almost exactly like his dress robes from last year, and he was astounded that people would pay to stink like that. He picked up a square bottle with red and orange swirls, and nearly gagged before he had even taken the stopper out. So far, he wasn't any closer to a gift than he had been to begin with. A slim, dark green bottle caught his eye, and he decided to risk it one more time. This one was alright; A bit like the woods after a rain. Not really Hermione, though, so he set it back down. He tried several more bottles, and while some came close, none were exactly what he wanted. It was hard to describe, since he didn't even know what that was, but he was looking for one that would remind him of her.

"Perfume? That's actually a really good idea." Ginny said from where she had come up beside him. She picked up the yellow bottle he had earlier. "Gah! Or not; what is this stuff?"

"Definitely not on my top favorite to consider list, that's for sure. I think I've smelled nearly all of them, and they're sort of running together." He spotted a small, round purple bottle hiding in the back. "Wait, I think I missed one."

He opened it slowly, knowing now from experience that some would practically crawl out of the bottle and slap you. When it seemed safe, he brought it closer to his nose, and his eyes widened. This was it! It couldn't have been more perfect if he had ordered it himself; All of the others had been too flowery or fruity, or a weird musky smell. The good ones were either too strong, or you could barely smell them at all. This one was all of the scents and none of them at the same time. In a way, that was just like Hermione. He couldn't describe why he fancied her if he tried; if he did, it would come out as wrong as all of these bottles he had tried. He could sort of pick out some of the more obvious elements, like that she was pretty or smart, but it wasn't any one thing. It was just...how they all sort of came together in whatever combination and amounts that resulted in Hermione. It was like how, out of all the other girls, he would pick her, even though she shared different aspects with the others. Somehow, all of the common things were mixed together with something just a little bit different, and that was what he was drawn to.

Hermione was at a loss for words. Ron might not always be able to articulate his feelings very well, but that didn't mean that those feelings were any less beautiful than someone who could put everything down in moving verses of poetry. It was simple and raw and honest, with no overblown, false praise. He simply liked her because he liked her, and that was more powerful and important than being attracted to any one single thing. There may be a few traits he didn't particularly like, but they were a part of her, and he accepted everything as a whole, no picking and choosing. She wondered if it was indecent to want to push him down on the table and snog him senseless; she found she didn't really care if it was or not. If she could touch him right now, bottles would be flying.

"What do you think of this one?" He asked his sister, wanting a second opinion, just to be safe. He held out the bottle for her to take a whiff, hoping he had hit on something.

Ginny cocked her head, closing her eyes in concentration. "I can't really tell what it's supposed to be. Can you?"

Ron shook his head. "No clue. Do you think she'd like it, though? Or should I try somewhere else? Maybe something else would be better. Perfume is weird, isn't it? Yeah, it's weird. Bad idea."

She stopped him from putting the bottle down. "Wait! I think she would. It's pretty, even if you can't tell what it is. You should get it."

"If you think so...better check the price first."

In his excitement, he had forgotten all about the cost. He flipped over the tiny tag around the neck, and let out a 'hurk'. Bloody hell! Quickly, he did the maths; he might not be a genius at Arithmancy like Hermione, but he was aces when it came to money. He had learned quickly that figuring things out in your head saved embarrassment at the counter if you didn't have enough. Subtracting the bare amount he would need to get everyone else at least a token gift, he was still short. Morosely, he began to put the bottle down. Figured; he had found the perfect gift, but it was out of his reach.

Ginny put her hand on his wrist. "How much?" She asked quietly.

"I'm a Sickle short. Guess I'll look somewhere else after all."

"Why? I can lend you a Sickle. I've done all my shopping in Hogsmeade, and I was only going to waste it on something that probably wouldn't be appreciated anyway."

"Really? Are you sure?"

She waved a hand airily. "Of course. What are sisters for?"

The cynical voice inside his head made him hesitate. "What's the catch?"

In her best impression of the twins, she gave him a wide-eyed, wounded look. "Are you saying that I can't do something nice for my older brother without there having to be something in it for me?"

He narrowed his eyes. "No, I'm not saying you can't, just asking why you are."

"Look, I really am offering, but if you can't just take it, then let me take your Cleansweep for a ride in exchange. A short one."

His Cleansweep? His precious Cleansweep, that had nestled between no other legs than his? His first reaction was to say no. But then...Hermione. He had this one chance to do something really nice to get her attention. He had to take it, whatever the cost.

'Hermione knew how much that broom had meant to him; one of the few possessions that belonged only to him, it was almost like a pet. The fact that he would do this just for her showed how much he had cared.'

"Fine. Three laps around the pitch. Deal?"

Ginny pulled a coin from her pocket, and dropped it in Ron's hand. "Deal!"

Ron went up front to pay, nervous excitement nearly causing him to trip. He couldn't wait to see her reaction! Maybe, if she liked it enough...

She had loved it. Unfortunately, instead of gushing, she had overanalyzed and played it safe. Why hadn't she realized that fifteen year old boys didn't just suddenly start buying you perfume for no reason? It seemed so obvious now; he had never given anyone else such a nice gift. But the curse of wanting to be absolutely sure about things was that you often missed your opportunity while you were taking precautions. With a moan, she recalled what she had given him that year. What a bold declaration of love on her part! At least he had been willing to take some sort of risk. But she had been afraid of offending him, knowing he would be upset by the differences between their gifts. Instead, she had been the one supremely embarrassed when she had had to give him a gift that even she knew was inadequate.

The lights in the shop went out for a second, and when they flickered on again, she saw that she was in the room Ron and Harry had shared at Grimmauld Place. Harry was still snoring into his pillow, but Ron was rooting through his pile of presents like a happy little squirrel surrounded by acorns.

Christmas was one of Ron's favorite times of the year. The food, the presents; The break from school, the food. The snow, the presents and food. And when it was all done, the leftovers. The first package he opened was the familiar squashy rectangle, and sure enough, a puddle of maroon spilled out when he ripped into it. Hideous, but it was tradition. That, and this house was cold enough to freeze his bloody nips off. He pulled it over his head and went back to ripping paper. He always meant to savor it, but as soon as his hands touched the first gift, his resolve was completely forgotten.

Hermione smirked. He was still the same way, even with his 'adult' presents. But she had gotten him to take his time on occasion. Not that she didn't enjoy a little tearing herself.

.Ron had waited to open her gift last; both excited and afraid. What if Hermione got him something too subtle, and he was too thick to figure it out? Had she opened her gift yet? What would she say? What would he say? And why hadn't he thought of that until now? If this were a game of chess, he would have lost five moves ago. Picking up the blue and silver package, he smirked. You could tell it was from Hermione just by the way each crease was folded perfectly into sharp, straight lines, each piece of tape spaced evenly. Holding his breath, he dug his thumb into an edge and tore. The paper fell away, and he stared into his lap. A book. Alright, not too surprising, but maybe there was a clue in what kind of book it was. He flipped it open, and instantly, it began to nag him about revising. He slammed it shut quickly. Christmas was sacred and shouldn't be profaned with any mention of school. Well, unless she was telling him that she'd like him to study her up close and personal, he didn't think there was any secret meaning to be had.

Momentarily, he was distracted when Harry woke up and they continued the carnage. Even though he knew there wasn't, he kept hoping that another gift from Hermione would pop up, and he had just missed it. But soon, he was left with nothing but paper, and he knew the planner was the only thing he would be getting.

Deflated, and feeling less Christmassy than he had, he looked over to Harry, who was recoiling from his own planner. He brightened a bit. At least Harry had gotten the same lousy gift! And maybe hope wasn't completely dead; there was still the perfume, after all. Surely that would get the message across? He had to be careful when he tried to find out; if she didn't care at all, then he didn't want her to get suspicious of why he was so interested. He would just be casual, unless she did that squeally thing that he'd seen other girls at Hogwarts do when other blokes did things for them. And if she didn't, well, he would keep his mouth shut, and at least he wouldn't be embarrassed. He glanced back at the planner. He had thought girls liked to do a bit extra for boys they fancied. He reckoned it would be nice to be made over like that.

And he would get that next year. The poor boy still couldn't see gaudy costume jewelry without wincing a little. Merlin, being a teenager had been rough! People assumed girls had it harder, but she could feel firsthand that boys got just as nervous and fluttery; they just showed and dealt with it differently.

The twins popped into the room, and Ron fiddled with his new compass while they talked to Harry. He scowled at the mention of Percy, but quickly pushed his least favorite sibling out of his mind. If Percy wasn't sparing a thought for them, then he could do the same in return. Harry seemed to be in better spirits, at least. He wasn't stomping around with that angry, guilty look. Which in his mind, had been stupid; He hadn't done anything wrong, and no one was blaming him. He figured it was thanks to Harry that his dad hadn't...well. He wouldn't think of that; it was even worse than Percy.

He brushed the paper from his lap, joining the others on their way down for breakfast. In the hall, they met Hermione, and Ron surreptitiously bumped George out of the way so he could get closer. Yes, yes, merry Christmas, peace on earth, yadda yadda yadda...say something!

...Except, maybe, for that. What the hell did 'interesting' mean? His heart sank. 'Interesting' was a polite word for hating something. Damn, why hadn't he gotten something else? At least she didn't seem to realize his feelings. Nothing 'interesting' about those, and he didn't think he could take the pity. He was able to answer normally, but he was quiet all the way through breakfast. He didn't know what else to do, and he was running out of ideas...

No! Interesting was GOOD! Interesting was wonderful! It was books and libraries and lessons, new knowledge! It was wonderful and exciting, that's what 'interesting' was to her. She had never wasted her time on things that couldn't hold her attention, and both Ron and the perfume had been able to hold that firmly. It was painful to watch, both of them dancing around, sending signals that they thought were clear, not thinking how the other person would read them. She should have been more clear. Ron was by no means stupid, but his insecurity held him back from accepting things unless they were concrete. As much as she wanted to be sure about his feelings, it was unfair to have put all of the pressure on him. She had enough confidence that, while it would hurt horribly, could take a blow. If she had, it could have prevented them both a lot of heartache.

The seasonal joy dropped swiftly to nervousness, and she broke out in a cold sweat from the second hand apprehension. Ron was under pressure, and he wished there was some way out.

Ron stared at himself in the mirror above the sink, wishing he didn't look like a man that had just been condemned to a life sentence in Azkaban. Already, he could hear that damn song, and he knew the Slytherins would be out in full force, like some sort of unholy choir. Harry was out, the twins were gone, and the whole team was feeling less than confident. Ginny would be fine, he knew; the girl had guts, and if anyone could pull them out of this, it was her. He just hoped he didn't screw up too badly for her to go for the Snitch. Even then, the chances of playing for the Cup was slim.

Oddly, the thought caused him to brighten. No matter how badly he did, it couldn't really get worse, could it? Not likely. Scrubbing the cold water from his face with a handtowel, he tossed it down and made his way to join Harry at breakfast. He found himself able to eat, and he slathered several pieces of toast with jam, wolfing them down quickly. Harry didn't seem very encouraging when he shared his opinion, and that stung a little. Still, he probably wouldn't be feeling too keen either, if he had been chucked off the team. Hermione was looking frazzled, but that was on account of their upcoming exams, which Ron was sweating about himself.

He thought he had been sneaky during career counselling, but the penetrating look that McGonagall had shot him told him she was fully aware of what he was doing. He had gone in with several flyers, as if he couldn't make up his mind. Once he thought he had lulled her with a stream of questions about fungus cultivating (who actually went into that willingly?), he had slipped in questions about becoming an Auror. He couldn't seem to help himself. Whenever he thought about his future, he just seemed drawn to that. Admittedly, he was attracted to the adventure and glamor, but there was more to it than that. This past year, what with spending so much time with the Order, he had started to feel like that may be something he could actually do. For all her clumsiness, Tonks was a wicked Auror, and she had let it drop that her marks hadn't been the best. So maybe, if the O.W.L.s didn't kill him, he might have half a chance.

Not that he was going to mention it to anyone. Most likely, they would think he'd be rubbish at it; he could just hear Hermione going on and on about what marks he would need.

'Well, of course I would! I said I would help you, didn't I? Revising is what I do, it's my strong point! What else could I do?" She knew Ron was perfectly capable when he applied himself; it was just keeping him going when he got discouraged that was the problem.'

After breakfast, the three of them separated outside, and Ron watched the two of them walking off in the direction of the stands, and he felt a pang as they crossed the grounds side by side, leaving him behind. The articles from the Prophet last year surfaced in his mind, but he pushed them back down. If the Skeeter woman wrote it, it was guaranteed to be a lie. Wasn't it? He suddenly wished that Harry was still seeing Cho; he couldn't see the attraction, himself, but once he had realized that Harry dating another girl meant he wasn't interested in Hermione, he could almost forgive her for being a Tornadoes fan.

Of course, he thought, shoulders slumping, that didn't mean he had a chance. She was still writing to that trained gorilla, Vicky. Every time he saw her with one, he wanted to gag. Why couldn't he have just one good game to show her that even if he wasn't on Krum's level, he wasn't completely hopeless...

'Those blasted letters! "Brilliant, Hermione! Just brilliant! using jealousy tactics on a boy you knew had self esteem issues! Now, how could that have possibly failed?" Hermione was sick with herself over that. It had been a foolish, juvenile move, one that only worked on the pages of impossible romances. She had hoped to spur him into action, and hadn't given any thought to how cruel it was. She knew, from painful, personal experience that knowing the person you loved was with someone else was one of the most heart wrenching feelings in the world. It was an ugly thing to have done, and inexcusable; she had been young and stupid, simple as that. She was only thankful that she had grown since then, and knew better than to do something like that ever again.'

Ron hovered in front of the Rings, trying to block the crowd from his mind. It was a good thing he was wearing gloves, or else his sweaty hands would have slipped right off the broom. He had already let Ravenclaw score, and his eyes darted from the scoreboard to the players. Shit, they were headed his way again! The Quaffle shot towards his left, and he lunged, eyes closed. There was a thwak! as something hit his hand, and he opened his eyes to find that he had miraculously caught the Quaffle. Cheers erupted from the spectators, and a grin spread slowly over his face. He did it! That seemed to spark a turning point; time after time, he blocked the Rings, one save after another; pretty spectacular if he said so himself. He resisted the temptation to look for Hermione; he was on a lucky streak now, and he couldn't afford to break it.

Hermione savored his exaltation, somehow hovering next to him as if she was on her own broom. Missing this game had been something she had always regretted, and her smile rivaled his in size. He had done magnificently! Oh, he had played it up a bit in the retelling, but not by much. And after the wretched season he had up until now, who could blame him? She came down alongside him as the game came to a close, and felt her pride surge along with his as his teammates rushed up to congratulate him. As they pounded him on the back, he looked around for her and Harry, but couldn't find them; even as they lifted and carried him all the way to the Tower, he still kept an eye out for them. Hermione felt guilty, knowing she had missed an important moment.

The rest of the day and part of the next passed in a blur of celebration, until there was finally a chance for quiet by the lake. He glanced back wistfully at the castle; he knew his moment in the sun would fade, but it was nice to be the one who got made over, for once. At least now, he had Hermione's undivided attention, and he took advantage of that to recap his part of the game move by move. He couldn't resist embellishing a bit; this was his one chance to make himself look good. He didn't understand why she had such a pained look on her face, or why Harry wouldn't meet his eyes, the two of them sharing a look he didn't understand. With dread, he asked if they had even seen what he had done. They hadn't.

What. What the legitimate FUCK. Where the hell had they gone off to? Did they think he was so pathetic and unimportant that they couldn't stand to watch him? Had they been laughing behind his back as well? Perfect, just bloody perfect! She saw him every time he had made an arse of himself, but the one time he was the star, she couldn't be bothered to be there. Suspiciously, he wondered what she had been doing with Harry. He felt his face go red, and he didn't know whether the tears that threatened to spill over were from hurt or anger.

For Hermione, they were both. Hurt for Ron ever having to think those things, and anger at herself for going along with Hagrid. She hadn't wanted to! And she wouldn't have, if he hadn't looked like he had gone through a sausage grinder, leaving her to think that it had something to do with Voldemort, or possibly Order business. But now here was Ron, thinking that she didn't care a lick about him, and the thought was painful as it was fresh; So many moments like these over the years, piling up higher and higher on top of him; How could he stand it? Even as they explained to him, and he became distracted by their story, she could feel him push the hurt to the back of his mind. He hadn't pursued it, or gotten petty about it, but it was there, lurking, waiting to attack him when he was feeling vulnerable.

Sometimes, Ron just couldn't believe Hagrid. Someday, his softheartedness was going to get him killed, and Ron worried that the three of them would end up going along for the ride. Cooling down, he could see why Harry and Hermione had left. Still hurt, but he could see why. No wonder she hadn't made a big fuss over him; hearing about something like that wasn't nearly the same as seeing it yourself. Well, he managed one good game, hadn't he? Maybe if he did it consistently, he'd get some of her attention. He didn't want much. Just for her to look at him the way other girls looked at boys they fancied. For once, he wanted to put that expression on her face that she usually only got for new books or high marks on a tough test. Until then, He'd see if Ginny was willing to drill with him on the pitch; one good game did not a Quidditch champion make.

There is was again, that belief that he had to do something to get her attention. How could he get something he already had? Yes, she was proud of him when he played a good game, but her affections didn't hang on that. They were built on who he was as a person, and his successes and failures couldn't change that in the least. Curiously, she wondered if that was one of the reasons he was pushing himself so hard over his Auror exams. If so, she needed to get him to stop. It was one thing if he was doing it for himself, but if he thought he had to please her by making top marks, or that she would be disappointed if he didn't do well, then that was wrong. He was making himself sick over this, when she was already proud of him.

She felt herself falling abruptly, and darkness surrounded her, a thick, choking blackness that left her shaking. Strange, yet familiar thoughts coiled and twisted around in her mind, and she realized that Ron was having a nightmare.

He ran as fast as he could, his breath coming in short gasps, interspersed with whimpering. He was filled with terror for something he couldn't quite understand; in fact, he couldn't even understand himself. It was like his mind was wearing a mask that he couldn't see behind, and the thought only served to heighten his fear. Abruptly, he felt someone grab him, and he tried to fight them off, but they were too strong; a voice could be heard, one he could almost swear he recognized...

He came to screaming, and a hand clamped down over his mouth to muffle the noise. The owner of the hand leaned in to hiss in his ear. "Ron! It's me, Hermione! You need to be quiet, and let go of me."

Sure enough, his arms were looped awkwardly around her as she stood crouched over his bed, and he quickly released her, his mind fighting the foggy feeling that had overtaken it. Piece by piece, recent events fell into place. The D.A. being ambushed by Umbridge. The thestrals. The Ministry. Getting separated, desperate to rejoin the others and protect his sister at the same time. A sharp pain as a spell made it past his defences. He had had flashes of things since then, but he hadn't been this lucid since before he was attacked. He grabbed the hand that was still on his upper arm.

"Ginny? Harry? The others? What happened, is everyone alright?" In the dim light of the candle beside his bed, he searched her face for clues, and saw at once that there was bad news.

"They're all fine, Ron. They didn't even have to stay in here more than a few hours, and that was mostly just a precaution. You and I got the worst of it. Well...out of the six of us."

Ron pushed himself into a sitting position, and indicated that she should sit next to him. He tried not to be distracted as she squeezed in next to him, but he couldn't deny that he liked how she felt pressed against him; he was only human. But the look in her eyes killed any thought in that direction, and he asked the question without wanting to know the answer.

"What happened?"

Hermione gulped, her eyes filling with tears. "Sirius. He...oh Ron! Sirius is dead!"

Her head fell onto his shoulder as she sobbed, and he patted her back, his eyes still staring into space.

"What...but how could he...he wasn't even there!"

Getting ahold of herself, she sat back up, wiping her face with the sleeves of her nightdress. "The Order came, and Sirius wouldn't be left behind this time. He was dueling with Bellatrix, and he fell through this...this sort of doorway that was standing in the middle of the room, or so I've been told. He didn't come out on either side. He's just...gone."

He struggled to make sense of what she was telling him, but it seemed impossible to believe. Sirius...he couldn't die like that! He had survived twelve years in Azkaban, nearly two on the run, dealt with his share of Death Eaters, and now she was telling him that the same man that had done all of that had just been shot through some doorway and was gone? It was bad enough that Bellatrix had got him, but to not even have a body to leave behind...

"Shit. Harry must have completely lost it," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Beside him, Hermione nodded. "It's the worst I've ever seen him, and I can't blame him. Sirius was like a father to him in a lot of ways, and he was one of the few connections he had to his parents. And he had always hoped that he would be able to live with Sirius instead of going back to his aunt's. And you know Harry; he's blaming himself, and he won't listen to anyone else. He hates himself for falling for a trap that brought Sirius there to begin with."

That didn't surprise Ron; sometimes he thought Harry would take the blame for the fall of Camelot. But he couldn't say much, because he knew he'd have taken it the same way. "Guess you were right, after all. If Sirius had just listened to Dumbledore..." The thought made Ron feel a bit hypocritical. If he had thought someone he cared about was in danger, he wouldn't sit around and wait anymore than Sirius had, no matter who told him otherwise.

There was a sharp intake of air beside him, and he looked up to find Hermione, hurt filled eyes regarding him as if he had slapped her.

"I didn't want to be right about that! I know you think I'm an insufferable know-it-all all the time, but I never wanted anything like this to happen!"

Instantly, he knew she had taken that wrong, and he hastened to correct his mistake. "I didn't mean it like that! Just that you were right when you said they should've been more careful. We all should have been."

He paused a moment, recalling what he could from the Ministry, and shuddered. That had been a bloody stupid move. Six teenagers going up against Death Eaters; Death Eaters that had far more experience, and who wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone who got in their way, regardless of age. The sheets rasped against his pajama bottoms as he bent his knees, balancing his elbows on top, his head tilting to rest in his hands, careful not to rub against his bandages.

"We didn't even go in with a plan, Hermione. We had no fucking clue what we were getting into. No idea where we were going, what we would do when we got there...How is it that Sirius is the one that ends up dead?"

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I can't think of anything we could have done differently. We couldn't have let Harry go alone; he needed us."

Ron's shoulders jerked when he snorted. "Fat lot of good I was. I don't even remember the spell that hit me."

"Neither do I. It was almost like being Petrified all over again."

That reminder made him shudder. "At least you didn't make things worse. I have flashes of what happened; I'm the only one thick enough to mess with those brains like that. I guess I finally saw a chance to trade my brain in for something better. So damn stupid!" He slammed his fist down at his side, choking at the pain that shot up his arm.

"Don't say that! You fought as well as anyone there, Ginny tells me, and the brain doesn't count! You were acting under the influence of whatever Curse had hit you; and if being affected by that makes you stupid, that what does it makes the person who was knocked out completely?"

He peeked over to find her eyes flashing with anger, and the sight was somehow comforting.

"Hermione, it's only because of you that we even made it out alive."

It was hard to tell, but her cheeks seemed to flush at his words. "Not really. Harry was the one who did all of the-"

"And who's idea was it? Who finally talked him into it?"

"Yes, but you helped with that too. You know if you hadn't sided with me, he never would have listened. Stop beating yourself up for something none of us were prepared for."

He heard her, but he couldn't help thinking about it. He had become separated from her when she needed help, and he couldn't even keep his own sister from getting hurt. Not that she couldn't hold her own, but he couldn't fight that protective older brother instinct. He and Ginny might get on one another's nerves, but she was still his little sister, and he had never quite forgotten how he felt on hearing she had been taken to the Chamber in second year. And he didn't like that he couldn't remember everything; it was like a part of him had been hidden from himself. And...he had tried not to think about it since he woke up, but the memories of his dreams came rushing back. The sound he made at the back of his throat must have alarmed Hermione, because she started fluttering around worriedly.

"Ron! Are you alright? Is it time for a pain potion? Should I go get Madam Pomfrey?"

Now that she mentioned it, his arms did feel like they were on fire, burning while something with broken glass teeth gnawed away at his flesh. "I could use a potion right about now," he managed to say through a clenched jaw.

There were rattling and rustling sounds as Hermione shuffled things around on the side table, before handing him a glass. He took it with shaky fingers, tipping it back and swallowing it all down in one go. "Thanks."

"Are you alright? Madam Pomfrey says your arms are starting to heal, but that it would hurt."

He puckered his face at the bitter taste, and handed her the glass, waiting for her to sit back down. "Yeah, I can feel it starting to work. My arms aren't too bad, really. not when you compare it to-" he broke off abruptly.

Hermione seemed to have an idea what he was referring to. "Ron, is something else wrong? You were thrashing around in your sleep earlier, and it got so bad I had to wake you. This isn't the first time you've done it, either."

He tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, sighing as a soothing type of numbness spread through his arms. "It was just a bad dream. Don't worry about it."

But telling Hermione not to worry was like telling her not to think; you would do better to tell a fish not to swim.

"Don't lie. Those weren't just any bad dreams; You looked like Harry, and you were clawing at yourself. I had to wake you to get you to stop."

Mentally, he considered if there was any way to get out of talking about it. But he was too tired to argue, while Hermione looked like she could go five good rounds.

"I'm not really sure what they are." He received a disbelieving look. "No, it's true! I haven't even had a chance to think about it, with all of the potions I've been on. Things have been too blurry. But it's...when I sleep, I don't feel like me anymore. Or at least, not just me. There's all of these weird thoughts, memories and things I don't really understand. And I don't think I want to."

Hermione looked at him curiously, causing his ears to burn under her gaze, and he cursed the fact that he had sounded like a two year old.

"What do you mean?"

"Whatever they are, they aren't, they aren't very nice. Even Malfoy would be sick at some of it. And when it's happening, I can't tell which ones actually belong to me, and I'm afraid I'm going to wake up sometime and stay mixed up."

He couldn't stem the wave of panic welling up inside, and his breathing became labored as his body shook. He knew he must look like a complete tit, but he couldn't get himself under control. Hermione had grasped his shoulders, trying to get his attention. With effort, he focused his eyes on her, and struggled to make out what she was saying, her voice sounding like she was speaking under water.

"It's because of the brain, Ron! Madam Pomfrey said that thoughts could leave horrible scars, but she meant more than your arms. One of the potions you're taking is flushing them out, and you should feel like yourself once you've finished with it. I don't know whose thoughts those are, but they aren't yours! You're not like that, Ron."

Some of the tension leaked out of him. Some of the awful things he had running through his head scared him more than he thought would be possible. The worst part was the sort of sick enjoyment that came with it, and he wanted to cut those parts out of him with a knife. It went against everything he had been raised to believe, and he felt ashamed for having it in his head, even if it was unwillingly. He might not be as loud or pushy about it as Hermione, but he had a strong moral code of his own, and it felt like it was tearing him apart. But her words gave him hope. The potion would sort him out, and he would be fine. And the fact that she didn't think him capable of whatever was going on in his mind helped loads as well. Still, he knew that in a way, this was something that was going to stay with him as much as whatever scars he had on his arms. The thoughts were burnt into his mind just as much, and it would take a long time for him to bury them deep enough not to bother him.

Hermione slumped against a wall, her own mind feeling tainted as well. Then, a thought struck her, and so much made sense. During their time with the locket, it had always seemed to affect Ron more, and she had never been quite able to figure out why. He was tight-lipped on the subject, so all she had were speculations. She knew that a large part of it had been his own fears and self doubts, but she had forgotten about the brains, combined with the Curse that had been used on him. Harry had been used to having horrible things inside his head for years, so while it made him short and irritable, he had managed alright. And it had affected her as well, fraying her temper to nearly the snapping point. But she had been able to distract herself with the puzzle of the book she had been given, and that helped keep things from getting out of hand. What she had forgotten was that the mind, once blasted open by magic, was more susceptible to it's influence afterwards. In fact, one of the parts of his training that he had the most difficulty had been on resisting and throwing off curses. Along with the potions, he should have been given some strengthening mental exercises as well; as it was, the door of his mind was left with a faulty lock.'

Her hands felt nice on his shoulders, and he was sorry when she moved them away. At first, he was afraid she was leaving, but then she settled more comfortably next to him, and he shifted a little to give her more room.

"Thanks. I reckon I just need some time to...process it all. But Hermione? Don't tell Harry, alright? He's got enough to deal with right now, and if he knew, it'd just make him feel worse. It's going to be hard enough as it is to get him to stop feeling guilty about Sirius."

She looked as if she would say something, but changed her mind. "If that's what you want. But you can talk about it to me, if it's bothering you."

Ron appreciated the offer, but he didn't even want to think about it, much less talk about it. A change of subject was needed, and the way she suddenly grasped at her chest and went pale made it easy to pick out a topic.

"Hermione? What is it?" His hands hovered over her, and he wasn't quite sure where to put them. It wasn't like he had never touched her before; knowing each other as long as they had, it would've been stranger if he hadn't. But the area in question was decidedly new and off-limits territory, and he had no idea what was going on or how to help.

She sucked in a large breath, then slowly hissed it back out. "It's nothing; just the little bit left over from the Curse I was hit with."

Racking his brains, he tried to recall what she had been hit with, but couldn't remember her saying. "What Curse was it? I wasn't there, remember?"

Her body gave a convulsive shiver, and he grabbed the sheets and blanket from where he had kicked them to the foot of the bed, and pulled them over her. As if that would do any good, but it was all he could think of.

"Thanks, that helps. Anyway, no one is sure. He wasn't able to invoke it verbally, and that may have changed what it was intended to the scar is practically invisible, and Madam Pomfrey has me on about a dozen potions, so I should be fine."

Even as she spoke, color returned to her cheeks, and Ron found himself able to breathe again. Of course, if she had something really wrong going on, she'd be in St. Mungo's right now. Unknown Curses could be a serious problem, but maybe it had just grazed her, and she hadn't gotten the full effect. But here she was, sitting in his bed, so everything must be fine. She was fine. So why did he feel like it wasn't so simple?

"You should probably get some sleep. Sorry I woke you."

She shook her head, static causing it to stick to the pillow. "It's alright. But...I don't think I can walk to my bed without falling, since I'm a bit dizzy now."

Both of them blushed.

"Oh. Um. Well then. You shouldn't try to move, should you? I could go to your bed, if you'd like."

He tried to stand, but was pulled back down by a hand tugging his shirt.

"No! I mean, I would have to go back before anyone saw me, and I might not be able to wake you up. It would be easier just to stay here. If you don't mind."

Mind? Did he mind? "You're right, it would be easier. I'll just-"

Ron grunted as he contorted his body around, trying to give her enough room without banging his arms. Finally, they settled for laying half on their sides, partially propped up on the pillows. They were facing each other, and he knew his face was at least a dark pink.

Maihlapinatapai: A look between two people in love that expresses unspoken but mutual desire. That was the best way she had of describing how they had looked at each other as their respective potions kicked in and pulled them into sleep. They had been looking at each other like that most of the year, really, and it would only intensify in the next two years. It should have felt odd sharing a bed like that, but somehow, it didn't. There was an unspoken need for closeness that both seemed to understand without words. One of the things she had always loved about Ron was his comforting presence, and it warmed her heart to see he felt the same way about her. It wasn't something they ever had to speak about, or question. For all their bickering, there was just something that drew them together, to fill in the bits that the other lacked. As Ron fell asleep, his hand inched closer to hers, until their skin was just brushing. She felt him struggle to stay awake, to get as much out of the moment as he possibly could, but the potion was too strong. Slowly, his eyes slid closed, fluttering open for shorter and shorter periods, until they stayed closed for good.

Time moved rapidly, after images of moving figures blurring in and out, hurting her head. It was the next day, and Ron had just finished his dinner tray and was tottering on shaky legs to the toilet.

A soft belch escaped his lips as he left the room, his stomach full from the dinner tray he had just finished, and he noticed absently that Madam Pomfrey was out. Not thinking anything of it, he rounded into the corner and into the nearest boys' room, and quickly took care of business. He hoped he would get his energy back soon, because it was pathetic that even this much walking was enough to take the wind out of him. But it wasn't all bad; friends were visiting and sending snacks, His mum hadn't set a Howler on him, and to top it all off, he had fallen asleep next to Hermione. Different than he had always imagined (far too many clothes involved, for one thing), but there had been something comforting about having her face as the last thing he saw before he fell asleep. He had still had nightmares. but they weren't nearly as bad. It was sort of like when he had been little and had slept with Ginny sometimes, except it was nothing like it at all. He had wondered if Hermione had slept better, but had felt too much of a fool to ask. She had already been back in her bed when he woke up, and he smothered the feeling of disappointment at not seeing her on the pillow next to him.

Hermione waited for him to finish, then joined him as he exited the stall.

While he wasn't a fan of being cooped up in one room, he was enjoying having her to himself for large chunks of time. Smiling, he wondered if she felt up to losing a game of chess, before whispered voices stopped him in his tracks. The combination of dealing with siblings and the events of the past few years made him very wary when people spoke in low voices, so he stayed out of sight, straining to hear.

"...en you're sure she's going to be alright? I know it was touch and go there for awhile."

"I'm quite sure, Minerva. There are such things as delayed Curses, of course, but they would hardly be used in that situation. If anything was going to happen, it would have by now. I have her on a strict regimen of potions, so any lasting effects should be minimal."

"I'm relieved to hear it. When I think of how close we were to losing her...best not to dwell on it. And best to not let the others know, if it can be helped. Potter is in no state to hear that he nearly lost more than he has already, and Weasley needs to recover himself."

"Potter's visits are short, and I think he's lost in his own troubles, poor lamb. And Weasley doesn't seem to question it; but since he didn't see her when she was brought in, he has no reason to. It shouldn't be hard to keep it from them."

"I wouldn't be so sure about Weasley; I've yet to have a stupid Weasley pass through my classroom, and he can be quite persistent where his friends are concerned."

Not waiting to hear more, Ron staggered back the way he had come, leaning against the wall to hold him up. He locked the stall door behind him, and slid to the floor, taking large, gulping breaths of air. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey hadn't noticed him, and he wanted to give them plenty of time before he went back. Right now, all he could think of was their conversation, and the dark implications it had. Hermione had nearly...she could have...he couldn't even think the word. It couldn't be true; it was absurd! Nothing like that could happen. She wasn't the type of person that-but then, couldn't the same be said for Sirius?

Hermione sat next to Ron, watching him as he shook. Looking down at her hands, she could see she was trembling as well. The thought of her dying was too much for him to take, and he was still too weakened from his own injuries for his mind to process things normally. In desperation, it latched onto something familiar.

Hot on the heels of that thought came another, and suddenly, he was angry as well. He could see the sense of not telling Harry; hadn't he decided the same thing? But why was she keeping him in the dark? Visions of his performance at the Ministry passed through his mind, and he felt shame. Maybe she just thought he was too incompetent to deal with it. He had to know why. It was going to eat at him until he found out. Heaving himself to his feet, he tugged the legs of his pajama bottoms to where they were at least nearly where they were supposed to hit, and walked out into the hallway. He wasn't going to think about what could have happened. A world without Hermione in it was impossible to imagine, and he didn't want to even if he could. It was easier to focus on the fact that she didn't tell him. It was easier, because although it hurt, it didn't leave a gaping hole in his heart.

Some people might wonder why, when he realized how close he might have been to losing her, he didn't just go ahead and confess to her. But Hermione could tell that it was because of the same reason why she had stayed silent also. Opening up would be admitting out loud the possibility that they weren't going to make it. In a strange way, it was like if they put it off, they could stretch time out somehow. Because the other person would still be there tomorrow to be told. And then the tomorrow after that. It was impossible for them to die before you told them, wasn't it? And so tomorrow stretched into weeks, then months. It wasn't something either of them did consciously, and even now, Hermione had a hard time understanding it. Then again, you didn't always understand what you felt, or the odd little quirks in your thinking, and this seemed to be one of those cases. Thinking the memory was over, she crossed the threshold into the hospital wing, only to find herself walking out of the Great Hall, right behind herself being pulled along by Ron.

She trotted a little faster until she came alongside them, and was startled by their expressions. There was a light blush across her cheeks, and a small smile as she looked down at her hand in Ron's. Ron's blush was much darker; not the dark of anger or humiliation, but the shade he turned when he was secretly pleased and nervous about something. Had they been so obvious? Apparently so, judging by the knowing smirks of some of the people who watched them pass. If only they had ever caught the other looking the way they were now!

Ron used his height to scout out the best path through the students milling around, making his way to a bend in the lake that the three of them went to rest when the weather was nice, slowing down as the noise from the students and professors faded behind them. He didn't want to let go of her hand, but couldn't think of any believable reason to keep holding on. So he let it slide from his fingers, not looking at her face as he plopped down on the soft grass facing the lake. She lowered herself more decorously, and they both watched the outline of the Giant Squid rippling below the surface.

After about ten minutes, Hermione broke the silence. "Thank you for letting me go see Harry this morning. I know the both of you think I'm being too pushy, but it's not good for him to bottle it up so much."

Ron shrugged. He had seen right through her at breakfast, but he couldn't tell her that she was cute when she was being sneaky. Besides, she was right about Harry. It was one thing to not talk about your feelings much, but this was bigger than anything that could be dealt with alone. And her methods might be bossy, but she usually spoke good sense when you needed to hear it; it was just getting Harry to the point where he'd listen that was the problem.

"'S'alright. He needed a last chance to spill before we go. And I think he's doing better. He snapped out of it more than he did last week, and more than the week before that."

"That's true. I just wish I knew of a better way we could help him."

"We just have to keep doing what we're doing, I guess, and hope he comes around. He usually does. We could always sic Ginny on him if we have to."

They lapsed back into silence, and Ron looked down at his watch. "We should go back in soon, and get started helping with the midgets. I know at least five of them will forget their trunks or where they've put something, and a few need to be reminded not to use magic once they get off the train."

At the sound of her gasp, he looked up to find her regarding him with a look of shocked amazement, as if he was spitting up slugs. He wiped his lips, just to be sure. Nope, no slimy trail.

"What? What is it?"

"Did you just hear yourself?" A self-satisfied smile spread across her face. "My responsible nature is finally rubbing off on you!"

Ron froze in horror as he mentally replayed his own words. Merlin's balls, what was happening to him?

"No! I didn't mean it! I'm still youthful and wild and carefree! I'll probably end up forgetting my own trunk, so get away from me with your infectious responsibility!"

Laughing, she poked him in the ribs, and he released a strangled giggle. "No, I think you need some more. Just think, soon you'll be making revision schedules, and color coded timetables, and-"

The pokes she had been making at his ribs quickly turned into tickling, and soon they were both rolling on the grass, shrieking with laughter as he tried to fight her off. They didn't notice the sound of approaching footsteps, or the shadow that fell over them, until Harry spoke, in a voice filled with dry amusement.

"I knew you were going to kill him for earlier, but I'm disappointed, Hermione. I expected you to use a less traceable method."

"I'm not killing him! I'm forcing him to absorb some of my maturity!" she explained, still breathless from laughing.

Harry raised his eyebrow with a snort. "Well, he could use a good dose of it."

"Oi!" Ron snapped.

His friend just grinned down at him. "Well? Who do you know that could use it more?"

Ron and Hermione barely had to trade a look; as one, they lunged up at Harry, each grabbing an arm and pulling him down with a high, satisfyingly girlish scream. Harry's voice hadn't so much as dropped as it had taken a few careful steps down. While it was definitely masculine when he spoke, his screams were a wonderful contrast. They set about torturing him mercilessly, but Harry was a tough little git, and was soon giving as good as he got. Hermione rolled away from him into Ron's arms, curling into his chest.

"Ron! Make him stop! Make him stop!"

Everything seemed to freeze around him, and wanted nothing more than for this moment to stretch out all day. He knew she was having a laugh, but this was what he wanted; for her to turn to him, for his arms to fit around her in a way that felt like the rightest thing in the world, and for Harry to decide that now was a good time to go take a leak. The temptation to cross the inches that felt like miles between their lips was almost too much for him to resist, and he knew he was holding her tighter than he really should be. He twisted to pin her, his large hands easily holding both of her wrists over her head. With a wicked smirk, he glanced at Harry.

"What do you say, mate? You think maybe some of our charming, relaxed nature will rub off on her if we try hard enough?"

Harry pretended to consider it, absently plucking blades of grass from his hair. "As much as I'd like to try, I think it would be a losing battle. This is Hermione, after all. Besides, we'll have to let her go eventually, and I hate to think what she'd do once she got her wand."

Hurriedly, Ron released her, and the three of them laughed. Ron enjoyed it. He knew that soon, Harry would sink back down into the dark mood that seemed to be becoming more common, but for now, it was good to see his friend acting more like himself. He looked at Hermione, who had thrown a handful of grass at Harry. Next year, he vowed, he would really hold her, and it would have nothing to do with Harry. She would come to him because she wanted him, and he wouldn't have to let her go. He had come close this year, but he could do better. This time next year, she'd be in his arms again.

There were so many swirling emotions, that Hermione didn't quite know what to think. There was Ron's worry and sympathy for Harry, along with the happiness at seeing his friend having a moment of normality. There was the longing he felt for her, and the frustration that he didn't know how to make his desires a reality. There was the irritation with himself, and all the things he considered to be his imperfections. As she watched the three of them sitting there, so happy for a moment of peace, she felt her heart ache and her stomach twist. They had no idea of the dark times ahead, or the nights of crying behind the bed curtains, sick with the pain they didn't know how to deal with. If there was one year she could cut from her life, it would have to be sixth year. So much pointless hurt, such thoughtless acts on both sides...and a war raging ever closer. It wasn't a time she willingly looked back on, and she had to steel herself to the idea of what she would see from Ron's perspective.

She didn't want to do this. She wanted to turn away, and pretend it had never happened. She didn't think that she could live with the ugliness that she knew she was about to see in herself, and for a moment, she was afraid. The only thing keeping her in place was knowing that Ron was on the other side of all of this; for him, she could do anything, and she would.

Because if there was one thing in the world that meant enough to her to live through all the pain she had felt and inflicted as a teenager, it was Ron Weasley.


	27. Chapter 27

Important! Please Read this before proceeding!

There are a few things you should understand before we dive into sixth year. 1. Both Ron and Hermione treated each other badly. Yes, they had reasons, but reasons are not excuses. This goes for both of them in equal measure. 2. Ron was not wrong for dating Lavender; he was single, and had the right to date whoever he chose. What was wrong about it was part of his reason (to make Hermione jealous), and the way he used Lavender. 3. Lavender is not a villain. She did not break a couple up, she went after a single boy. Did she suspect Hermione had feelings for him? Maybe so, but he was still fair game. 4. And probably the most important point: people that are fighting/mad at each other think and say nasty things that they don't really mean. This makes them human, not horrible people. We've all had moments of wishing that someone would catch on fire, but that doesn't mean we'd light the match, and we'd feel awful if something bad did happen (like Hermione finally does when Ron gets poisoned). I'm sticking to canon, so the characters may seem harsh to each other. If it was up to me, it would've been Hermione to snog him after the game, with subsequent happy boinking.

For the first time, there was a frosty atmosphere hanging over the Burrow, and Hermione was glad it wasn't directed at her. She had been amazed on her arrival this morning to see someone she never would have expected to be there; Fleur Delacour. Immediately, her eyes narrowed, her hand squeezing the handle of her trunk so hard that it squeaked. Ron had mentioned Bill's engagement, but he had conveniently left out that the part Veela would be staying here.

"Just because I was a bit thick when it came to emotional hints doesn't mean I was stupid. I knew you'd hiss like a wet Kneazel and act like I'd invited her personally." That had been a bit of an odd summer. He was always thankful that he had built his tolerance up before Hermione had arrived, even though he had still been struck dimwitted when caught off guard.

She dragged her trunk behind her, thinking grimly about the way he had acted around Fleur during fourth year. It might be a good thing for him that she was still underage and couldn't use magic while she was here.

In the kitchen, Hermione found Molly cleaning up from breakfast, with significantly more vigorousness than usual. Hermione looked over at the table where Ginny was seated, and raised her eyebrows in question. Ginny tipped her head in the general direction of the sitting room, where Fleur was talking with Bill, and made a gagging motion while rolling her eyes. Hermione couldn't help but agree. She hadn't liked Fleur much in fourth year, and she didn't see any signs of that improving. She slid into the chair next to Ginny, still unnoticed by Mrs. Weasley, who seemed determined to polish the pattern right off of the plate. Which was odd, because for one thing, she wasn't the type to be unaware of her guests, and also because Hermione knew they only used those dishes on special occasions. Ginny noticed her confusion, and leaned in to whisper, her voice concealed under the dark mutterings of Mrs. Weasley.

"We have to use the nice china now. Eet ees unzinkable to use ze 'orrid plain ones. To hear Phlegm talk, she ate off of pure gold plates in France. Nothing seems good enough for her here, and Mum is livid."

Hermione smothered a snort behind her hand. Not only had Ginny perfectly captured Fleur's snooty tone of voice, but she had come up with a nickname that accurately summed up Hermione's feelings of the person in question. Before she could ask how things had been going, Ron walked into the kitchen, grinning when he spotted her. That warm, tingling feeling she got whenever he looked at her like that caused her breath to hitch; it was always a little more intense when she hadn't seen him in awhile. Had he gotten taller since she had seen him at the station? Was that even possible? His hair was growing back out from a recent cut, and she happily thought that it would just brush across his forehead just right by her birthday.

With amusement, she watched as Ginny and Ron had a silent sibling conversation, involving shrugs, head jerks, and eye rolling. They seemed to understand one another perfectly, however, and Ron gave his mum a wide berth as he came further into the room. He hadn't even made it to the table before Fleur came in behind him, her robes swishing in a way that somehow made her look regal and sensual all at once. Hermione watched as Ron gave a start, before the muscles in his face went slack and he went all moon eyed. A growl lodged in the back of her throat, thankfully muffled as Bill strode into the kitchen, his footsteps much louder than his bride-to-be's.

"Fleur and I are headed out to look at some of the houses on our list. We'll probably back by dinner, but don't wait on us to start."

Fleur gave a delicate wrinkle of her nose. "Oui. One 'eavy meal a day is enough. I want to be able to fit in my dress next summer, without looking like one of your English sausages."

Molly took half a step forward, then seemed to visibly restrain herself. "I suppose you won't be looking anywhere close by. Bill, could you stop by the shop and tell Fred and George to get those boxes of theirs out of the hallway? Whatever is in them is beginning to peel the wallpaper."

During this whole conversation, Hermione had been watching Ron, who was watching Fleur, who was, in turn, watching Bill. At the moment she couldn't care a fig about the last two, however, as she watched Ron sway on the spot with a gormless grin. Honestly! Didn't boys realize how stupid they looked when they did that?

No, no they didn't. At least, not most of the time. He had always felt a bit of a fool once he could get some distance from her, but the Veela power was strong on a teenage boy who the farthest he had gotten from his right hand was his left. The irritation and hurt was emanating in waves from Hermione, but she didn't understand. She was taking it personally, and it really had nothing to do with her at all. Magic aside, he was a young, healthy boy, and he just naturally reacted to members of the opposite sex. And for someone who was so insecure, getting a little attention in return every so often was a nice boost, too. But just because he appreciated all of that didn't mean he was interested in doing anything about it. Most of the time, he had been too busy trying to figure out how to get her to fancy him, anyway.

While she had thought she had kept her features schooled in a neutral expression, she must have done a poor job of it, for at least one person noticed. Bill glanced between her and Ron with a small smile, and gave her a wink as he took Fleur's hand. Embarrassed at being caught out, she dropped her head and let her hair fall forward to cover her heated cheeks. What on earth was wrong with her? She stole a glance at Ron, who was shaking his head like a wet dog as his brother and fiancee left the room. Of course. What was usually wrong with her? Ron. To be fair, she knew he didn't do half the things he did on purpose. And even less than that would bother her if she wasn't so frazzled about trying to get his attention. Patience had never been her strongest virtue, and this had been going on for nearly three years now. She felt as if she were standing still, and it was time to start moving.

Frustration was an emotion, but it also had a taste; hers lay hot and heavy in Ron's mouth right now, a sharp reminder of his own youth. Hermione had never been the kind of girl who sat back and waited for something to happen; she researched, she planned, and she acted. And while she couldn't quite think of a plan at the moment, he could feel she was ready to act.

This year had seemed charged to go off from the beginning; Her frustration, his insecurity, and their shared jealousy. And even after watching him with Fleur, she might have been content to wait a bit longer.

But that changed the moment she was hit in the nostrils with love.

Hermione dug into her bag for her homework planner with one hand while she snapped the fingers of the other at a group of second years running down the hall. They all slowed immediately, knowing from last year that she meant business. Beside her, Ron flinched.

"You know, I think the first through fourth years tell horror stories about you in the dorms at night."

Not slowing her pace, she spared him a glare while she continued to search for her elusive planner. "It can't be helped, since I seem to be doing the work of two prefects."

He shifted his (much lighter, she noted with some envy) bag to his other shoulder, and grinned. "Just admit you're jealous; loosen up a little, and I'll let you give my Fanged Frisbee a toss when we get back to the tower."

"Thanks for the offer, Ron, but I have no intention of tossing your...frisbee," she replied with false sweetness.

Harry gave a choked laugh, but kept his eyes straight ahead.

Not that someone wouldn't mind, she thought as Ron spluttered. She had been watching Lavender lately, and she didn't like what she saw; not one bit. While the two of them had never been close, they were still on decent terms. But Lavender had been treating her oddly ever since they had arrived, and she couldn't figure out why. She could, however, figure out the way she had been eyeing Ron. She looked as if she wanted to drape him around her like one of this season's fanciest dress robes. Which was a shame, really, because anyone that had eyes to see with should be able to tell that he was custom tailored for her.

Ron joined himself in a duet of spluttering. "As far as I knew, you hadn't even glanced in the shop window, much less put down a cash deposit!" That had always been one of the things that had frustrated him. Yes, he may've been tits over arse for her, but there had never been anything said. He was single, no reason to believe that she cared, so why did she think she had the right to get upset that another girl was interested? Granted, he was no stranger to the jealous and possessive bit himself, but he had always been a tosser like that. Somehow, even knowing Hermione as well as he had, he hadn't suspected that about her.

As they drew closer to the dungeon, Hermione felt a growing excitement. This would be their first Potions lesson, and she was eager to get an assessment of the new professor. If Dumbledore specifically sought him out for the position, then he must be good, so she wanted to make the right first impression. And, she had to admit, she was looking forward to actually enjoying this lesson for once. The subject had always fascinated her, but it had been difficult with the way Snape had always singled the three of them out. For the first year ever, her efforts in Potions wouldn't go to waste, now that she had a professor that would appreciate her. She cut a glance at Ron and Harry, who seemed to slow their pace the closer they got to the classroom. This was going to be good for them, too. A basic understanding of Potions was a requirement in many fields, and neither of the boys had been overly motivated under Snape. Hopefully, a better environment would encourage them, and they would do well on their N.E.W.T.s.

They found their usual seats, and Hermione set out her book and cauldron, and precisely lined up her ingredient kit. She barely had a chance to respond to Ernie when Professor Slughorn entered the room, catching her attention. Harry had given her a brief description, and she found herself agreeing that it was probably accurate. He seemed to be a self-indulgent man, whose main efforts seemed to consist of cultivating promising students for some kind of personal gain later on. He didn't seem like a bad man, or cruel; on the contrary, he was quite pleasant. But he gave off a certain...weakness. Still, none of that should affect his ability to teach, and once she saw the potions he had set up, she wasn't disappointed. She shot her hand up in response to his question, and was pleased when he seemed to appreciate her knowledge. So he wasn't going play favorites with the Slytherins; that was a point in his favor.

The second potion was just as easy, although...it made her feel strange, as if she was floating several feet off the floor. She took another sniff as she tried to describe it, her own voice echoing dreamily in her head. Oooooh, it was delightful! Parchment and freshly mown grass (just like summers at the Burrow), and Ron'-She clamped her mouth shut before she could say the third ingredient out loud, mortified at her near slip. Sitting down, she let her hair swing forward to hide her shock, hoping no one noticed her trembling hands. This was bad. Much worse than she had anticipated. Amortentia was not like other love potions. It was the one that most closely mimicked love, and to do so, the scents each individual would smell was pulled from the deepest part of their soul.

And the third thing she had smelled had been Ron Weasley's hair.

The thought was a bit terrifying. Yes, she knew she loved him, but was it on that deep of a level? True, there was nothing binding about it, and no prophetic elements; it just meant that on the most basic level she had, Ron was her idea of love.

Ron himself was feeling quite dizzy, and not all of it was from Hermione. He had never paid much attention to the subject of love potions when they came up in lessons; he always found himself distracted by something else. But this particular one was stuck in his memory, because even through the slight haze that surrounded his brain from what he could smell, he still would've given his left nut to know what she had been about to say. The parchment hadn't been surprising, although the grass had thrown him; Hermione had never been the out-doorsy type. Now he understood that is was connected to summers spent at the Burrow, the times they had been able to spend together without having to think too hard about the growing danger around them.

But...this was an entirely different level, and one he hadn't been expecting. This went beyond a schoolgirl fancy, beyond the generic definition of love, and beyond lust. Out of everything imaginable, the thing that spoke of love the most to her was him. Meaning that much to someone was...well, it was frightening and exhilarating all at once. It also made him thankful to his mum for whatever she used to make that shampoo, because whatever it was, apparently it was fabulous. No wonder Hermione liked to rest her head on top of his whenever they cuddled on the sofa!

Though she was distracted (and irritated) by Harry's newfound talent for Potions (she was suspicious. She loved Harry, but this was beyond his limits), she still hadn't forgotten about Ron. She was beginning to see that she was going to have to take a more proactive approach, although she had no clue what that would be. And when Hermione had a problem with no clear solution, it ate away at her, and her mood suffered for it. When that happened, she wasn't above sharing the blessing with everyone; her impatience flared, and her tone became sharper. Rules, with their comforting sense of order, became more rigidly enforced, and she couldn't seem to keep from making cutting remarks.

All of this, Ron already knew. But even knowing it, he had never fully realized at how much of herself it was directed. All he had ever seen was the overflow that spilled in his direction. While she didn't set out to hurt people, Hermione was not an emotionally contained person. If she was upset with herself (or others) for not being able to figure something out, she couldn't separate those feelings from how she interacted with other people. Sometimes, when she snapped your head off at the knees, the problem wasn't with you at all. He had always taken it personally and snapped back, which just kept the cycle of hurt going. Sometimes, even when something wasn't your fault, you had to step back and not let yourself get pulled into someone else's downward spiral. This meant, that when he could, he would have to be calm and find the real cause of the issue and try to help her diffuse it, just as she would have to do the same for him. They were both passionate people, and that was all well and good, but those passions had to be directed the right way.

Funnily enough, while Slughorn had also been responsible for that revelation with the Amortentia, he had also been the one to give Hermione the chance she was looking for.

Mentally reviewing her answers on the Arithmancy test she had just handed in, Hermione paid little attention to the people surrounding her in the hall as she made her way to the tower to meet the boys. She had her doubts about her answer to number five, but no matter how many times she did it in her head, she came to the same conclusion. Students scurried around her, the older ones not even batting an eye at the common sight of a bushy haired witch muttering under her breath. It wasn't until she bumped into something solid as a wall and soft as a sofa cushion that she looked up. When she did, she barely caught the groan that threatened to escape her. Professor Slughorn beamed down at her, and she did her best to return the look, hoping it didn't come off as forced as it felt.

"Miss Granger! What perfect timing; you were one of the very people I was looking for!"

The smile slipped into a sort of grimace; she knew what was coming next, but kept her response polite.

"Oh really? Is there anything I can do for you, Professor?"

The corpulent man gave a small bounce, his mustache practically vibrating with delight. "I'm planning a little Christmas party for the members of the Slug Club. I thought we could all do with a chance to dress up and be festive before everyone leaves for Christmas. You, of course, are invited, and if you would be so kind as to pass the message on to Harry, as well? I can never seem to track the dear boy down."

"That sounds lovely, I'll be sure to tell him."

"Excellent, excellent! Now, I won't keep you; I still have a few more people I need to speak with before I have to get back to the classroom."

Hermione nodded politely and turned away, already dreading it, and cursing her inability to say no to a professor. Respect for authority had been instilled in her from a young age, and she had always held people in such positions in high regard. One might think that after last year, she would have no trouble with refusing him, but that was just it; Umbridge had been a foul perversion of authority, And Hermione had felt that there was no choice but to make a stand for what she believed to be right. But Slughorn...he wasn't a bad man. Selfish and tiresome, and the way he constantly forgot Ron's name made her think highly violent thoughts, but he just wasn't bad. While he made no pretense about having favorites, he was never cruel, and never singled anyone out, as Snape had. He was fair about House points, made lessons interesting, and was helpful to those who were struggling. You couldn't rebel against a professor just because you didn't care for their personality.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" Slughorn's booming voice echoed over the chatter of rushing students.

Hermione turned back, wondering what else could go wrong. How she hated these detestable dinners! How she wished she could get out of going!

"Yes, sir?"

"I forgot to mention that each member is allowed to bring a guest. Tis the season, and all that. As it is, we'd be a bit mismatched for dancing, otherwise, Haha!"

"O-oh, yes. I'll keep that in mind."

Hermione Granger, all around swot and Gryffindor prefect, did not run in halls. She simply did not. But just now, she was giving a very fine impression of doing exactly that, her robes flapping behind her, the small boulder that was her book bag suddenly becoming weightless. It was as if a light had been switched on; the satisfying *snick* of a difficult puzzle piece falling into place. She dove around two third years coming out of the portrait hole, mumbling a quick apology as her bag clipped one on the arm. Ron and Harry were in their usual spot by the fire, sprawled in an untidy mess as they did everything but the revising that they should be doing. For once, Hermione was fine with that; they were distracted, and unlikely to notice her. Ginny was talking to two other fifth years by the window, and it was in that direction which she marched purposefully, trying to smother her grin.

"Excuse me, can I have a word with Ginny, please?"

Ginny barely had time to say goodbye to her friends before she was being yanked across the room and up the stairs to Hermione's room, where she rubbed her shoulder as soon as she was released.

"And now that my joints are back in their rightful sockets, would you mind telling me what all the excitement is about? If it's about a new organization system for your revision notes, I warn you that I won't share your enthusiasm."

After a quick check to make sure they were alone, Hermione spun around with a laugh, not noticing how Ginny took a safe step back. It did her no good, since Hermione rushed up to her, and gripped her by her upper arms.

"Professor Slughorn just told me that there's going to be a Christmas party for the Slug Club!" she whispered conspiratorially. Seeing Ginny wasn't catching on, she added, "And we're allowed to bring a guest!"

Carefully, Ginny peeled herself out of Hermione's grip, and amused look on her face. "I'm flattered, really I am; but even though I'm not in love with Dean, I'm still fond of him, so I'm going to have to decli-"

Hermione smacked her shoulder. "Not you! Ron! I'm going to ask Ron!"

Ginny blinked, sinking down on the edge of the nearest bed. "Seriously? You're finally going to make a move?"

Hermione paced the room, her mind already planning things out. "Well, it's about time something happens, don't you think? I'll need a few days to decide what to say, and I should probably wait until he's not wound up about Quidditch tryouts. But I just feel like if I don't do something soon, I'll spend the next two years waiting about for something that might not otherwise happen."

"I've been saying that since the bloody Ball. Getting him to say yes isn't going to be a problem, but do you have anything to wear? Something with a drool resistant charm?"

That was the one thing she didn't have to worry about. "Mum insists that I always bring at least one nice set of dress robes, just in case. Although I doubt drooling will be a problem. Just going will be a step in the right direction."

"And since it's a Christmas party, there'll be plenty of mistletoe to use to your advantage. Sly, very sly!"

Hermione blushed, her toes curling at the implication. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, actually. But now that you mention it, it would be a good chance to see how willing he is, without making a complete fool of myself if he's not interested."

"Hermione, he's going to be interested. Honestly, watching the two of you try to get together is like watching a snail race. Have a little more confidence, and break out the smudge-proof lipstick!"

Somehow, hearing that did give her confidence; after years of hoping and dreaming, maybe this finally had a chance of working. Now, all she had to do was plan everything down to the last detail so nothing could go wrong. And if there was one thing she did well, it was plan.

Ron watched helplessly as the two girls giggled over how Hermione should do her hair and makeup. Underneath the excitement that belonged to Hermione, he had an uncomfortable, hollow sensation. He felt like a complete idiot. How had he ever thought that she had just tossed out a casual invitation? When had Hermione ever done anything without thinking about it from all angles? At least, when she wasn't on a tear. He had told himself that she had just been being kind to a friend, but here she was, agonizing over every little choice to make things perfect. She hadn't been kind; she had cared so fucking much! One of the problems with people, and trying to have relationships with them, was that you found yourself caught up in trying to deal with your own shit and interpretations, and you forgot to take into account the fears and opinions of others. He had been more focused on how her actions affected him, and not how his might affect her. And you couldn't do that. There were two people involved, and both had to be considered. And it wasn't like she was some random girl; it was Hermione, and he knew Hermione. He knew how much of herself she threw into everything she did. Why would this be any different? It wasn't like she had a habit of asking other boys to parties. In hindsight, it was glaringly obvious.

He expected to go straight to the day that she asked him, and was quite confused to find himself on the way to the Quidditch pitch instead, Hermione rolling her eyes at a giggling gaggle of fourth years. One of whom he recognized as Romilda Vane. Blimey, that name still gave him the shivers! He gave her a wide berth as he shuffled away like a crab, the taste of Cauldron Cakes and mead jerked from the recesses of his memory. He wouldn't be surprised at all if he ended up having to arrest her one day.

Hermione had thought she would be spending a quiet morning in the stands with a handful of other people; she hadn't counted on the fact that every female over twelve would be out to goose-neck over the new captain. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. That seemed to be the way things went for Harry. Either everyone abandoned him completely, or they all turned out in full force to get a piece. Her eyes lingered on one dark haired, smirking girl. Some were looking for a more specific piece than others. Harry, of course, would be oblivious.

The grass was slightly damp, and she nearly fell over as she climbed into the stands, securing a seat near the middle. There was a group of hopeful candidates below, and Hermione had no trouble spotting Ron amongst them. He was pacing about nervously, eyes intent on the tryouts. His face was a sort of green color that, along with his hair, made him look like a Christmas ornament that had been set out early. She nibbled on her lower lip, hoping he would get over his nerves and do well today. If he didn't, she silently pleaded with Harry to do the right thing. He would mean well by letting Ron onto the team, but Ron would rather die than take a place out of pity.

True enough. His stomach had been a knotted ball of Flobberworms, and he had been having doubts on whether he should even go through with it or not. The large crowd hadn't helped. All he needed was a chorus of the 'Weasley is Our King' song, and he would've been finished. The humiliation of failure would have been bad enough, but the look of disdain on everyone's face if he had been allowed to stay on afterwards...he wouldn't have been able to deal with it. Still, he couldn't see what any of this had to do with Hermione; hadn't she just watched the whole time?

Why hadn't she brought a book? She always brought a book. At least with a game, there was some point; now, it was mostly yelling. She was glad Ginny had made it, and she felt sorry for Harry having to deal with all of the madness, but she was really here for Ron. Unfortunately, that position seemed to be the last one Harry was deciding on. It was hard to tell if that was just how it had ended up, or if he was putting it off. For Ron's sake, she thought it would've been better for him to go in the beginning of the middle. A loud, obnoxious voice below and to her right dragged her attention from the pitch. Ugh. McLaggen. He was preening for several girls who were still in the stand, the odious braggart.

"The Weasley girl isn't bad; Wouldn't be able to get a Quaffle past me, of course, but not bad for a girl. Even if it is a bit of favoritism on Potter's part. It's shaping up to be a decent team, as long as he doesn't make the mistake of taking on that thickheaded friend of his. He was an embarrassing fuckup last year, and I don't think there's any hope of him improving. Sure, he helped win a game for us, but that was a fluke. But you can tell just by looking at him that he doesn't have a clue with what to do with the broomstick between his legs; either of them!"

He seemed to think his comments were the height of wit, and brayed loudly. Hermione found herself looking at him through a haze of red, her eyes slitted in anger. She wished she could remember some of Ron's more colorful insults, but she was too mad to think straight. Everything he had said was completely uncalled for. Yes, Ron had a problem with nerves, but he wasn't a bad Keeper. And the insinuation that he would take a spot on the team out of favoritism made her livid. Ron didn't expect Harry to do that; if he did, he wouldn't be such a nervous wreck right now. He might be a bit lax when it came to things like not playing with the banned items he collected, but he had integrity! In all these years, he had never taken advantage of his friendship with Harry; he stood on his own merits.

He felt himself go red, and raised his hand to scratch at his cheek. He had been a regular sixteen year old about the banned gags, and he wasn't ashamed of it. While he got a kick out of playing around with them, they always found their way back to their owners at the end of the year. As for not taking advantage of Harry...he wasn't too sure if that made him out to be as good as she thought. It wasn't something he would do anyway, but there was also the fact that he had wanted people to admire him for himself, not for being the sidekick. And he hadn't been above embellishing things a bit, like when Sirius broke in during third year. Or his part in the matches. But the need to do that had been kicked out of him after the war...

So yeah, maybe he did show some integrity. It was awkward and unformed, but the fact that Hermione had noticed it for what it was made him smile.

Finally, it was time to test the Keepers. She barely paid attention to anything other than Ron, holding her breath every time the Quaffle whizzed through the air. He cut it close, but he was doing well. She opened her mouth to let out an encouraging cheer, but someone beat her to it. Her head whipped to her right, glaring at a giggling Lavender. That was not regular friendly cheer; that was cheering with intent. Thatneeded to come to a stop. Lavender wasn't a bad girl, and although she went through boyfriends faster than knickers, she wasn't loose. It was just that she seemed to like the idea of romance more than she cared to put any effort into a solid relationship. And until now, Hermione hadn't cared about that at all. Fortunately for Lavender, movement on the pitch distracted her. Ron made another save, and she cheered at the top of her lungs, not caring what people thought. Ron looked pleased as his turn ended, and it seemed like things were going his way.

She growled as McLaggen rose up in front of the rings, saying something to Ron as he descended that made his shoulders droop. That filthy gorilla! She hoped he missed every single one! Of course, that was too good to be true. He might be an oily, obnoxious braggart, but he was a decent Keeper. Looking over at Ron, who was wearing an expression so forlorn that she wanted to hug him, she contrasted that with McLaggen. He was grinning smugly, sure he was going to win. Before she could fully think it through, her wand was in her hand, and she wordlessly cast a Confundus Charm. Ha! It worked, to. He missed the Quaffle, and couldn't seem to stop shaking his head like a confused bull. Maybe that would take him down a much needed peg or two, and make him think twice before he opened his mouth about Ron.

Ron felt his jaw swaying in the breeze, and he slowly reeled it back up. Hermione's irritation and slight guilt were taking a backseat to the giddiness that was making his head swim, akin to the first time she had kissed him. The words his brothers had spoken to him all those years ago came back to him; 'nothing beats a good girl that will break the rules just for you.' Oh, how right they were! She might try to justify it in her own mind even now, But Hermione had just broken a fairly serious rule, all for him. Not for Harry, not for the fight against Voldemort, and not to save his life. Just purely for him. It was mad and impulsive and sexy as hell, and he loved her for it. If he had known then, he might have snogged her right there in the stands. He looked at his younger self, looking uncomfortable yet hopeful. Maybe not. Knowing himself at the time, he might have taken it as a sign of her lack of confidence in him. But this was definitely something they were going to discuss when this was all over; possibly up against a wall or over a table.

He was getting a bit nervous about the whole Lavender mess. This was one of the periods in their relationship that he had been dreading, and they were coming right up on it. With as intensely as Hermione felt things, this was going to be hell.

The air flickered and shimmered until it reformed into the now familiar location of Hermione's room.

Today was the day. Today, she would either have a date for the party, or she would be crying into her pillow tonight under a Silencing Charm. Options had been gone over in excruciating detail, scenarios laid out and discarded. Each move was calculated with such precision; it was her turn to call a living chess match. She had finally struck upon the perfect approach that afforded the least damage, at least any that would be visible. She pulled her hair back off her face, brushed her teeth three times, and sprayed on a tiny amount of the perfume he had given her last year for luck. Now all she had to do was gather up her books, and she could join Harry and Ron downstairs. A sour look was directed at Lavender, who was busy scribbling something in the pink fur covered diary she kept by her bed. Her roommate had either been cloyingly sweet or utterly dismissive of her all year, an odd pattern of behavior for the flighty, but otherwise affable girl. Hermione suspected it was to do with Ron, and in a way, she was sorry; they had always gotten along fine before. But Lavender had her pick of most of the other boys at Hogwarts, while Hermione only wanted one. She didn't think that was a bad trade.

There were butterflies as large as bats in his stomach as he followed her through her day, amazed at how well she hid her anxiousness. Usually, you could tell when Hermione was worried about something, but somehow, he had missed all the signs. Once they were at their table in Herbology, she became so light headed that it was a wonder she hadn't passed out. He swayed in place next to her, frowning at the grumpy expression on the face that was staring back at Hermione.

This was going to be alright. Everything would work out fine. Harry, be a dear and look the other way. Maybe wander over to another table for a minute. No, that might make it even more awkward. Steady, Hermione. You don't want to look desperate. He seems more irritated by being left out of the club than by anything else. Lovely. Not that she could blame him; it was unfair, and having his name mangled by Slughorn every time had to sting. Did he just-? He did! As if she would be caught dead with McLaggen! Whoops, might not have been a good idea to snap, but he seemed to cool off. In fact, he looked pleased, in an almost shy way. He was going with her! She should say something right now to make him feel-thanks, Harry. It was only a potentially romantic moment. I love you dearly, but you make any kind of flirtation nearly impossible. No matter; he said yes! They were going on a date! She had to get Ginny to help her tame her hair, and she hoped she had brought the right lipstick with her...

It had been a bit painful to watch. Harry's fumbling was good for a laugh, but he wished he himself could have handled it differently. Being left out had hurt. He would've been fine had it been one or the other of him, but to be left out all by himself? He had felt utterly worthless. It was a well known fact that Slughorn picked the students that looked to have the brightest futures, and he hadn't made the cut. And since the old man knew his stuff, it had worried him. Harry and Hermione were no doubt going to go on to lead exciting and important lives; how long would they let him tag along, dragging them down? The she had mentioned guests, and his jealousy had reared up, wondering what boy she would take. It never occurred to him to think she would choose a gangling git like him. And when she had, he had felt stupid. What if he had made her mad, and she had ended up going off with someone else? He still wasn't positive why she had asked him, because she wasn't acting like other girls he had seen; not a giggle in sight. But...he had hoped. He had hoped like mad.

And then, suddenly, things weren't alright at all. In hardly any time whatsoever, Ron went from being perfectly civil, to treating her like she was a troll. Every time he caught sight of her, his eyes would narrow and his lip would curl. There were no more clumsy compliments. No teasing. No relaxed chats while Harry was busy. Something ugly was bubbling just underneath the surface, and it was threatening to spill over. Hermione was baffled at first, and then hurt as his remarks became more cutting. She decided to try to broach the subject now, while they had some time alone, with Harry busy elsewhere for once, talking to Neville about Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons.

Crookshanks was absent, so she placed one of the pillows from the sofa in her lap, plucking at the frayed fringe. Ron staring moodily at the quill that he was twirling between his fingers, the muscles in his face bunched and tight.

"Ron? Has something been bothering you? You haven't been quite yourself."

His gaze snapped up to hers. "Myself? Sorry I haven't been the type of company you prefer to keep. If you're looking for a laugh, you can owl the twins."

He wasn't making any sense at all! "What? No, why would you even think-I was just worried about you, that's all!"

"Well you can save it. I'm not one of your house elves," he growled, flinging his quill down petulantly.

Anger began to rise inside her chest, and her hands twisted the pillow so hard that the seam on one side began to give. "I never said you were, but at least the elves are more pleasant than you've been lately!"

"Right, I forgot who I was talking to; maybe I should line up the Quidditch team, and you could find someone who suits you better!"

Hermione had always been sharp, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what he meant. Elves? Quidditch team? How was she supposed to know anything if he didn't speak clearly? They were both gearing up for a fight that would make the Yule Ball fiasco look like afternoon tea.

"I think," she spoke through clenched teeth, "that we had both better stop talking before we end up saying something we might regret."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he crossed his arms and turned to the fire. "Fine."

"Yes, fine."

"Alright then."

"Alright."

They both sat there, the silence thick with invisible gunpowder, just waiting for the match of a word to set things felt her happiness from earlier start to crumble; why was he acting like this? She thought they were finally going in the same direction at the same speed, but now things seemed all flipped around. Shouldn't he be...happier, if he was looking forward to the party? Or maybe that was the problem; he regretted saying yes, and couldn't think of a way out of it. Then again, Ron had never had a hard time telling her when he didn't want to do something. Maybe she should try again after the next Quidditch match, when he was in a better mood.

Observing himself, Ron wondered how he could have ever been so...young. He may not be great at working those kinds of problems out all the time, but he couldn't even begin to imagine how he had thought that handling things that way had been a good idea. He hadn't even bothered to ask her if it was true. Wouldn't have really mattered; it had been two years earlier, for the love of Merlin, after she had given him enough chances to ask her himself. Instead, he got jealous of someone who wasn't even in the same country, and acted like a complete tosser.

But everything had seemed to pile up all at once that year. His friends were marked to go places, while his name was forgotten. Ginny wasn't only popular, but she was ace at Quidditch, and even Slughorn knew who she was. He was jealous at any attention that Hermione showed any other boy, even Harry. Next year was their final year at school, and he still wasn't sure what he was cut out for. Things with Voldemort were heating up, and as much as he tried to pretend otherwise, he knew they would be in the thick of it. He had needed some reassurances about himself, but didn't have a clue how to go about getting it. So he had lashed out, and effectively cut off the one person that was trying, in her own way, to show him that she thought he was someone special.

The back of the couch disappeared under his hand, and he found himself in the Great Hall, the smell of breakfast filling the air. Hermione was looking irritated, while he seemed to be having his usual pre-game jitters. Oh. It was finally here; the day to mark the start of the months he had been dreading to watch. It was strange watching Hermione and him, knowing what was going to happen while they were completely oblivious to it all.

The din from students shouting up and down tables added to the slight pounding in her head, and she reached up to rub her temples. Ron was still behaving like a complete prat, and he was clomping around on her last nerve. Between him, and Harry insisting on using that suspicious textbook, she was nearly ready to explode. Those feelings softened some as she looked at Ron's miserable expression; this was a big game, and if he didn't do well, he would beat himself up about it for days. But what was it that Harry was-? No. No! He couldn't! But he had. She was furious; simply furious! And Ron, looking smug enough to slap! But it was Harry she wanted to throttle most.

Did he realize what he had done? And she didn't even mean the illegality of the act, though that was bad enough in itself. No, she was more furious about what he had just done to Ron. Ron's self esteem was fairly lousy at the best of times. He had this bizarre, completely untrue notion that he could never match up to those around him. The more pressure he was under, the worse it got. He needed boosts to his confidence, and as little as she understood the thrill of Quidditch, she understood that Ron felt better about himself when he was able to contribute in a positive way. But this...this was just going to tell him that the only way he would ever really be any good was when he was relying on a potion. He would never again believe that his own effort would be enough; and when a person believed that, they stopped trying altogether. Ron was so much more than that, but he would never believe it after this.

"Oh. I...oh." He had honestly never even considered all that. The only thing on his mind at the time was not screwing up. He knew that playing in the match once he realized what he drank was wrong, but he had shoved that feeling down, trying to justify it by telling himself that Harry had given it to him; it hadn't been his idea at all. For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what would've happened to him if Harry really had given him the potion. On the bright side, he might have avoided the whole Lavender problem. But realistically? He would always think that he needed the potion. He could see himself using it as a crutch every time he failed; if he just had some, he would be fine, but it wasn't his fault that he was a natural failure... It might've won him the match, but he would have lost himself in the end. He was too young and insecure for it to really end any other way. And it frightened him how close that had been. Because he could pull through and succeed when he tried. He wasn't incompetent, and he wasn't a failure. And it was all on his own efforts. Hermione had always known that he could be as good as anyone else. She had never doubted that he could be a good Keeper. He had projected his own fears onto her, and blamed them on her. He hadn't believed in himself, and he hadn't believed in her faith in him. And with that lack of belief, it was really no great surprise what happened next.

Hermione watched, flabbergasted, as Ron stalked away, his shoulder muscles bunching tightly in anger. She had been anxious and upset for the whole match, but all of that had fallen away when Harry owned up to what he had done. Feeling smug, she had just been about to rub it in to Ron that he was perfectly capable of great things on his own, when he had snapped at her, accusing her of not believing in him. What did that even mean? Harry had tricked them both! Ron had been just as in the dark as she had been, and had thought his performance was due to magic. Why was she awful for being fooled as well? She started to say something to Harry, but realized he would be no help with this; he never got involved in the drama between herself and Ron. Slowly, still in shock, she headed in the direction of the tower, where there was sure to be a party going on. Why were they fighting like this? What had started it? She still had no idea.

This wasn't right. This wasn't how she wanted things to be between them. If things were going to get better, she needed to fix it. Surely, his mood would be improving with all of the attention; if she could just pull him aside and explain, she was sure she could get him to understand. And if explaining didn't work, she might just have to plant a congratulatory snog on him to get the message across, just like Ginny was always telling her. The noise could be heard outside in the hall, and the Fat Lady rolled her eyes as her painting vibrated from the sounds. Hermione pressed her way inside, squeezing through clusters of people who were loudly retelling the high points of the game. Weasleys, fortunately, were always easy to spot in a crowd; Ron especially so because of his height. So it didn't take long at all for her to spot him.

Immediately, she wished she hadn't.

A pounding noise in her ears drowned out the rest of the room as she stared in horror at Ron, who was tightly locked mouth to mouth with Lavender. The pounding came harder and faster, until something shattered within her. By the time she had realized it was her heart, she was already running from the room, struggling to breathe.

Ron felt the room reeling around him as her sadness coursed through him, the sense of pain and betrayal threatening to overwhelm him. The vision of himself with Lavender made him want to wretch; at the time, he had felt vindicated; powerful and wanted. From the outside, he looked like a hungry dog mouthing a cut of meat. There was no skill involved. It wasn't sexy, and most definitely not romantic. In fact, it looked rather pathetic more than anything. Had it been anyone else, he would have cringed away from the sight with an embarrassed laugh. But it was hard to laugh when your heart felt like it was being yanked from between your ribs, and even harder knowing it was from the pain you had caused the person you loved.

The smell of chalk in the empty classroom failed to comfort her as it usually did, as she stood shuddering, forcing her breathing under control. For focus, she conjured up a small flock of canaries, trying to block that horrible vision from her mind. A sob escaped her, but she choked back the rest. She was glad she did, because someone had followed her. Harry. She couldn't look him in the eyes; the sympathy there was almost enough for her to break down entirely. Overhead, the canaries circled faster. She knew she was babbling, and saying more than she should, but she couldn't seem to stop. Emotions were tearing through her like a hurricane, twisting and turning, unable to settle on a clear direction.

Until a giggling Ron and Lavender entered the room.

Hermione had always had a vivid imagination. And she was smart enough to know what other students got up to in empty rooms. Images of all the things she had ever dreamed about doing with Ron filled her mind, only this time, Lavender took her place. A rage unlike anything she had ever felt before rose within her, jealousy a blooming flower with poison dripping from the thorns. With every ounce of control she possessed, she walked to the door; one last giggle from Lavender was more than she could take. Whirling, she set the birds on Ron, the only thought in her head to make him hurt at least half as much as she was hurting herself. But even his yell of pain failed to satisfy her, and she ran from the room, all the way up stairs, where she threw herself on her bed. With a rough jerk, she closed the bed curtains around her; putting up a Muffliato, a spell she normally disapproved of, she curled into a sobbing ball of tears.

Staggering, Ron collapsed onto the bed beside her, hoping the pain would lessen. Instead, it increased, and he gasped out loud; He knew quite well that Hermione had a sharp tongue, and could use it viciously. But he had never truly realized unto now what that was like when she turned it in on herself. Hateful, destructive little thoughts whispered to her with her own voice, poisoning her heart word by word.

She had been a fool. A complete and utter fool for the past three years. For someone supposedly so brilliant, she had been so stupidly blind that she was physically ill at the the thought. She had believed Ron could love her. Believed that he would be attracted to her; treasure her heart, desire her body. Her, with her shrewish temper, her impatient nagging. Her superiority, her frizzy hair and hips that didn't flare quite as much as they should. Her left breast that felt slightly larger than the other. Why would he choose all that? Lavender was everything she wasn't; pretty, cheerful, adoring. She would lavish him with attention, and fawn all over him without ever pointing out his flaws. Lavender, in short, was everything a regular boy dreamed of having. And Ron, who had always had to settle for second best all his life...how could she have thought that he would settle for her, when she had known all along that he could do so much better?

Blindly, Ron threw an arm over her and buried his face in her hair, even though he could barely feel her. Their breathing was ragged, their bodies in sync as they shook and shuddered. He wanted to scream how wrong she was, wanted the right words to pour out until she understood. No, she wasn't perfect. She could nag a person into a coma, and her temper was fierce enough to make her an honorary beauty might not be entirely conventional. But she was so much more than her flaws! She was passionate and warm, always looking out for the wellbeing of others; she had a sharp wit that could make him laugh, all the more special because of her normal seriousness. Her hair tangled around his fingers like a living thing, binding them together. Her hips might not be very round, but that didn't matter when she moved on top of him. Her left tit was a little larger, but he loved the weight of it in his right hand. Lavender had been a nice enough girl; maybe she really was what most boys wanted. He had sort of thought so, at least for awhile. But she wasn't what he needed. She didn't challenge him, or drive him to want to be a better person. Her attention had boosted his ego at first, but the way she constantly went on and on over every little thing robbed it of being special, which in turn robbed it of any real meaning. He had always settled for second best. But Hermione needed to know that for once, he was done with settling; that's why it hadn't worked out with Lavender.

His eyes burned with tears just as hers did, although they were falling slower now. She had worn herself out with all of the crying, and was going to have a monstrous headache when she woke up in the morning.

As she squeezed her pillow, The memory that was seared into her consciousness continued to play over and over, and her anger turned once again to Ron, yelling in pain while feathers flew around him. A cold stone settled within her chest.

You should never trust boys with freckles. They would only ever break your heart.


	28. Chapter 28

To Know You is to Love You Chapter 28, a harry potter fanfic  
www.fanfiction.netView OriginalMay 20th, 2014  
Chickens clucked contentedly as they scratched around in the grass, one rolling about for a dirt bath on a bare patch. Hermione blinked in the bright sunlight, feeling oddly confused and guilty. Those emotions were written on Ron's face as he hid behind the chicken coop, unwilling to go back inside. Hermione rolled her eyes at the cause; Fleur.

Ron poked his head around the corner briefly, to see if anyone was coming out of the Burrow. Didn't look like it, but he ducked back anyway, his face still burning from his stupidity from earlier. He had always looked up to and admired Bill; Bill and Charlie were the brothers he could count on to give him the most help with the least trouble. So why did he have to decide to marry a (part) Veela? Didn't he know the problems it was going to cause his youngest brother? It wasn't that he was jealous of Bill. Fleur was...well, almost a force of nature rather than a woman. Ron knew he wouldn't know what to do with her if he had her. And he hadn't even thought of her after fourth year until Bill brought her home to make their announcement.

No, his problem was with her Veela power, and how a certain witch would react when she saw him under its influence. He didn't know why, but it always seemed to infuriate Hermione when he was under that sway. As if he did it on purpose! Didn't they realize he hated coming to his senses and finding out he'd been acting like a complete twat? It was scary and embarrassing, which was the reason he was out here just now; he still wasn't sure what had happened, but he had ended up trying to balance the kettle on his nose. While it was still full. And fairly hot. It hadn't ended well, and he tried to put the expressions on everyone's faces out of his mind.

As for Fleur herself...well, she was beautiful, right enough. But even though he couldn't seem to admit it to anyone else, he wasn't wild about her attitude, either. He didn't feel like he could talk to her about anything. And he didn't feel comfortable sitting with her in silence, either. All in all, having her here might just drive him round the twist. Add Hermione to the mix, and who knew what would happen. He might not know much about women, but he figured that the way he acted around Fleur wouldn't win him any points. He thought it had something to do with respect or something, but he had tuned that particular conversation out at the time.

"Well, yes, there is that, but it had more to do with the fact that if you were going to act like a slack-jawed lackwit, then I wanted it to be over me!"

Whatever the reason, he knew he had to get himself under control, or Hermione would murder him while she was here. The fact that she would have to do it without magic didn't make him feel any better; knowing her, she knew dozens of fucked up Muggle ways to kill him without leaving a trace. Besides, he didn't want her getting the wrong idea. He might not be ready to tell her how he felt, but he didn't want her thinking he was hung up on Fleur; she was about to be his sister-in-law, and even if he had ever considered anything with her, it went against the Brother Code that had been passed down through the six of them. You didn't make a move on your brother's girl. The rule hadn't been made out of any sense of possessiveness, but it cut down on a fair amount of fights.

Secondly, he hated for her to see him like that. He might not always be at his best around her, but he needed to step things up if she was ever going to look at him. So, starting now, he was going to fight the influence whenever Fleur was around. If he worked on building up a tolerance, it meant that not only would he be less likely to look like a prat in front of the witch he fancied, but he was also less likely to be murdered in his nice, safe home by said witch.

Standing, he brushed the dirt from his trousers, and braced himself to head back into the house to confront his problem. Well. Maybe not confront; that might be a little too much for a first attempt. He'd give sitting in the next room a go first. He just hoped to hell he didn't start crooning one of those godawful love ballads that his mum was always listening to...again.

Like so many other things, Hermione had never considered what this must have been like for him. She had chalked it up to typical boy behavior around a girl he was attracted to, but it was deeper than that. Losing control of yourself like that was frightening. Frightening, and humiliating. And for Ron, someone that loathed not being in control of himself, and hated to be embarrassed, it was an absolute misery. Ron was at that phase of wanting to either blend in, or stand out in a positive way; this was just another source of negative attention. And she had, unconsciously, made him feel guilty for something that he couldn't control. Aside from Madame Rosmerta, Ron had never really been one for obnoxiously gawking at girls. Yes, he had wanted to take a pretty girl to the ball, but he had never eyed any up in the hallway, and made disgusting catcalls like some boys did. And it wasn't like he was the only one to lose his head around Fleur; it was the rare man that didn't. Nowadays, she didn't even notice him reacting to her at all, and it just seemed to underscore how ridiculous she had been over the whole thing. It had all been magically induced, and Ron had never seriously pursued her. But, at the time, it was more than what she was getting from him romantically, and it had stung. So much so that she had managed to ignore the fact that Ron wouldn't be the type to plow into something headon like that where he could get hurt. She had mistaken his hesitation for indifference. She had been wrong.

Ron wasn't looking forward to Potions; that was by no means unusual, but it was different this time. While they would be blessedly free of Snape, they had a new professor to deal with. Ron didn't know why, but this one rubbed him the wrong way. Not that he had much to go on yet, but from what Harry had said, he reminded him of an older, fatter Percy. Not exactly something that was going to endear Slughorn to him. And from what he could tell, if you didn't think you were the right sort, you were pretty much given up on as a lost cause. Ron suspected he was far from the right sort. Still, if the three of them made it through the lesson without any verbal abuse or one of them landing in detention, he would count himself lucky.

Hermione looked to be working herself up, he thought with a small grin. He hoped she wouldn't throw her shoulder out of socket waving her hand around to answer questions. He was so distracted by watching her, that he barely grunted out a hello when Ernie spoke to them, right before Slughorn came through the door.

Of course, while Hermione was prepared, he and Harry were missing books. Good thing there were some spare ones, he thought as he walked over with Harry to grab a copy. Two. One was almost brand new, and the other was so tatty that it looked like it would fall apart if you touched it. He caught Harry's eye, and they came to a silent agreement; war. Oh, the polite thing would be to let Harry have the good one. It was the sort of thing his Mum had drilled into him. Hermione would've backed down right away. But Ron had the overwhelming urge to, for once, grab the nice thing for himself. Harry might be a wiry little git, but Ron was bigger, and Quidditch practice had added to his lean muscles. It was with little difficulty that he twisted it out of his best mate's grip, grinning smugly at the defeat he saw in those green eyes. Victorious, he sauntered back to his seat, making sure to keep the textbook where Harry couldn't switch them.

Although it looked like the books weren't going to be necessary. Actually, it looked like the whole class wouldn't be necessary; the could just get up and walk out, because Hermione was taking this chance to prove herself to Slughorn. Which Ron was perfectly happy with. It got him out of work, and he got to watch her without her noticing. She looked like how he felt on a good day out on the pitch. She was practically glowing, in fact. He knew he should be paying attention to whatever she was saying about the potions, but he really couldn't focus on anything but her.

She was brilliant, but unlike Slughorn, Ron wasn't surprised. Surprising would've been if she had been wrong. But she just kept coming out with the answers, with a confidence that he had always sort of envied, as much as admired. Hermione's interest in a subject was always a sight to behold, the way she got all intense and focused. He wished she paid half that much attention to him. Quickly, he wiped away his grin before Harry could notice.

The next potion was uncovered, and Ron felt his head go fuzzy, almost as if Fleur was in the room. This was somehow different; stronger, yet not...forceful? Demanding? He couldn't tell. Swaying a little in his seat, he was distantly aware that Harry was wearing the same idiotic grin that had plastered itself across his own face. Hermione's voice came to him, the word 'love' sticking out above all the rest, grabbing the small shred of attention that wasn't floating in fluffy pink clouds. He listened as she described what the potion smelled like to her, and for a moment, his head cleared as he held his breath, only to be disappointed as she cut herself off. Parchment was a given; grass was confusing, and he had been hanging on that third thing...he breathed in again. Naaaaah, she was wrong. The potion didn't smell anything like parchment or grass! It smelled like...like Mum's cooking, and...bacon. And the perfume he had gotten Hermione last Christmas. A mental image of his mum serving up a bacon-wrapped Hermione assailed his senses, and he gave a low moan. That would put any Hogwarts feast to shame, and it would be all for him. His jaw went slack as he imagined her giving him a come hither look, with those eyes that were the exact color of the melted center of a Chocolate Frog. He sighed so deeply that he almost passed out, and had to grip the desk a moment, the air starting to clear enough that he felt a twinge of embarrassment.

Hermione, not having to worry about being heard, was bent nearly double from laughing. She knew men had some pretty bizarre fantasies, but she couldn't see herself wrapping her body in strips of meat for him. And was it a Weasley trait to compare your crush's eyes with strange objects? Although she did prefer that she ended up with a Chocolate Frog; she would leave the pickled toads to Harry. Sobering, she let the weight of what she had learned from him sink in. The smells of Molly's cooking and bacon were almost a given, but the fact that he had smelled her perfume, the perfume he had given her...that was significant. Two out of the three scents were things that appealed to their individual personalities, while one was based on the other person. This meant, in essence, that each was their own person, fully capable of being autonomous, but they also had a strong link to one another. They supported, but didn't become unhealthily codependent. They were balanced equals, coming together to make a solid unit.

The perfume was actually really interesting. Not only was it something he thought of as uniquely her, but it also represented his feelings for her, and the connection between them, as well. She had a feeling she would be wearing it more often in the future; it could also serve as a reminder of his love for her when she got overly irritated with him.

Had the pitch always been so far from the castle, or had it, like so many other things in the bloody place, moved on him? It felt like he had been walking for miles, but that might be due to the fact that he was purposely hanging back, so no one would notice him. Ginny walked by, shooting him a knowing look, which he returned with a scowl and grunt. His sister didn't count though, as long as she kept her mouth shut. With a snort, she tossed her head and continued on, and his attention went back to his own problems. Merlin, he was nervous! Maybe even more than he had been the first time he had tried out. There was more of a crowd, for one thing. But that wasn't what was bothering him, at least not any more than usual. Oddly enough, his problem was with Harry. Or, rather, Harry as captain.

Ron knew he wasn't pro Quidditch material, and he was fine with that. Alright, so he had dreamed of that when he was little, but what kid didn't? Playing on the Gryffindor team was enough for him now, just like his brothers before him.

But he had heard the whispers going around (and some flat out statements), that the only way he was getting on the team was because of Harry. So the tryouts today weren't just about him. He was going to have to do so well, that there wouldn't be any question of Harry playing favorites. As if he would! And as if he'd let him! He didn't want special treatment, even if it would ease his roiling stomach. The shame and guilt would eat him alive. As it was, even if he did get himself on the team, he knew he'd have to quit if Harry got too much flack. Not only would he not be able to stand hearing it, but Harry would lose respect as captain, and the thing could damage the whole team. And wouldn't Malfoy love that, the slimy git? ...Not that they had heard from him much, come to think about it. Something about that made him uneasy, but he shook it off. He was getting as bad as Harry.

Noises from the stands drew his attention, and he scanned the crowds, almost missing Hermione since she was wearing a hat. His stomach clenched tighter. And that was the other thing making him so nervous that he could barely tell one end of the broom from another. Last time, Hermione hadn't been watching. Matches were different; this time, she would be watching as he was judged specifically. He couldn't fuck this up. If he did, he wasn't hanging around for pity. He would calmly, quietly walk down and feed himself to the Giant Squid.

One of Ron's greatest strengths and weaknesses was that he hated to let people down. He would go above and beyond to help someone, without even really thinking about it. But when he wasn't able to do what was needed, he took it as a personal failure. He had such high expectations for himself, and he projected that onto the people around him, which served to increase the pressure he was already feeling. To some extent, she was the same herself, when it came to schoolwork or her job. For Ron, it seemed to affect everything. It didn't help that, in his mind, he had set all of his brothers at this high level that he was constantly measuring himself against and falling short. No wonder he had always felt as if he shouldn't even bother to make an effort! The weight she was feeling was enough to drive anyone under. Some of all of this, she could tell, was just the normal strain of growing up; she wondered how much he was going to change between this memory and their outside time.

He tried to pay attention to the tryouts, but except for Ginny (who made the team, naturally; this called for a highly emotional display of brotherly back-patting), he really couldn't work up much enthusiasm. All this waiting was driving him mad, as well. The longer he had to think of all the ways this could go wrong, the more likely he was to fuck up. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Harry signalled him to go up, and his grip tightened on his broom. He positioned himself in front of the rings, letting a harsh breath out between clenched teeth. His eyes wanted to stray to the stands, but he kept them on the Quaffle, not even noticing who his opponent was. The first one was fairly easy, and his confidence perked up; maybe those extra sessions with Ginny were paying off. The second one was a little harder, but he still managed without too much trouble. The third one was a solid block, and his excitement began to build; too soon, because the fourth one sailed right past the tips of his fingers, so close that he could almost feel the sting through his glove. He had to get this next one. He just had too! Everything was riding on it. All of his attention was so completely focused, that Snape and Hagrid could've tangoed naked across the pitch and he never would have noticed. Time seemed to slow down, the Quaffle floating through the air almost lazily. It was as if he had all the time in the world to glide into it's path, catching it with a dull thud as it collided with him. Time resumed its normal speed, but he couldn't seem to stop staring at the Quaffle, until his sister's voice calling for him to toss it back distracted him.

Without him realizing it, McLaggen was already rising up on his broom to take his place, and Ron had to alter his descent slightly so that they didn't hit each other. His lips tightened, not wanting to fight with the older Gryffindor at the moment, at least not in front of so many people. He had seen the way the slimy git had been eyeing up Hermione recently, and he didn't like it one bit. The cocky bastard wasn't even wearing headgear, probably afraid it would muss his hair.

Maybe Ginny would be kind enough to land a hit right upside his head.

"Not bad, Weasley. Not anything that would hold up in a real game, of course, but you didn't miss as many as I thought you would. Time to give the girls something to watch! Noticed Granger was up in the stands, and she was looking a tad bored."

McLaggen flashed his teeth at him, and Ron's shoulders slumped as he prepared to land. Bored? Had she really looked bored? He had hoped...then again, Quidditch had never really interested Hermione, so maybe that was it. His thoughts took a darker turn as he recalled that Quidditch players were another matter. He was trying to remind himself that Krum was safely in Bulgaria, when a voice calling out to McLaggen drew his attention. Feet hitting the ground, he dismounted his broom and watched Harry.

Harry.

It was weird. There had been times when he had had flashes of jealousy towards his best friend (he thought of fourth year with shame), but it wasn't a constant feeling, and he was fair enough to see that it had more to do with him than with Harry. But lately...Hermione had been acting strange about him, or that's how he saw it. Just the other day, she had gotten all soppy just because Harry had told Slughorn how brilliant she was, as if he hadn't been saying the very same thing for years! She never got that excited when he said it. And not long after that, she had said that Harry was fanciable. Fanciable? The bloke wore specs and looked like he had never been introduced to a comb in his life, and even with a growth spurt, he still wasn't all that tall.

He had tried, subtly, to make the point that he was tall as well; he had even flashed his scars on his arms when she brought up how brave Harry had been at the Ministry. He might as well have saved his breath, because she had only looked annoyed. Could it be that the two of them sort of...maybe...no. No, that was stupid. They never acted like they did, but when he was alone, his mind played tricks sometimes. And who could blame him? It wasn't much of a stretch to see why she would go for Harry. Star Quidditch player, now the captain; popular, brave, fanciable, all the things a witch would want. All the things he wasn't, he thought miserably. No wonder he wasn't in the bloody Slug Club. Maybe all this trying was no good. Maybe he was no good, period.

Hermione was appalled at his line of thinking, and even more horrified at the unwitting part she had played. Her fury towards McLaggen from moments before was almost completely forgotten as she reeled from this revelation, guiltily remembering what he was referring to. Yes, she had been pleased at Harry's compliment, but only because he was usually more reserved than Ron was about giving them, and also because she had wanted to make a good impression on the new professor. But she felt the worst about the other parts. At the time, she had been worried about Harry, and had been trying to boost his confidence, something he had needed badly.

So she had tried to point out his good qualities, and had been frustrated when Ron not only didn't join in, but had seemed to try to turn the focus on himself. To her, it was so obvious that he had so much going for him that there was no point in mentioning it. He was tall, good looking, brave, loyal, and witty, in a sarcastic way. Why state the glaringly apparent? She had completely missed that that wasn't the point; the point was that it wasn't clear to Ron, and he needed affirmation just as much as Harry did. And her attitude, though unintended, had made him feel as if there was nothing desirable about him at all.

It was really no wonder, she thought, as the images began to swirl, that he hadn't taken her invitation seriously...

Morosely, Ron stared down at the pile of coins he had spilled out onto his bedside table. Not that you could even really call it a pile. Was this really all he had left? He could've sworn he had more. He checked his sock drawer just in case, but came up empty. This was really all he had managed to save to get Hermione a Christmas present. Everyone else was taken care of, but he had hoped to do a little more for her this year, and maybe do better than he had with the perfume. Not that he had any ideas about what to get, but he figured he would be inspired by last minute desperation. With resignation, he scooped his money back up, put it carefully in a small pouch, and stowed it away.

Looked like she wouldn't be impressed this year, either.

There he went again with the misguided thought that he had to somehow impress her. Ron still hadn't learned the valuable lesson that the people that mattered would love you for who you were; there was no need to change, just to make the effort to be the best possible you that you could be. A gift would never win her over unless she already wanted to be with the person giving it. But Ron's attitude was more a matter of how he saw himself rather than how she saw him. If he continued to think himself lacking, then there was no moving forward.

"Get a move on, Ron. You know what Hermione will say if we're late down to breakfast three days in a row."

Ron grabbed his bag and joined Harry at the door. "Yeah, yeah, I know. She'll blame Quidditch again. Never seems to think that it might be the hours spent hunched over a mile of parchment working on those bloody essays that might be wearing us out."

Harry grinned. "We know that, but I think I'll let you be the one to break it to Hermione."

"Would you really? You're all heart."

"Think of it as an early Christmas present."

The two of them tromped down, fully expecting her to be in lecture mode, but Hermione was unusually quiet, and not only quiet, but polite. Harry either didn't notice, or had decided not to press his luck, but Ron watched her silently whenever she wasn't looking, wondering if she was feeling alright. It just wasn't like Hermione to pass up a good nag. But pass it up she did, and didn't even make mention when he tested her by chewing with his mouth open, something he hadn't done (often) in years. No reaction whatsoever. In fact, she seemed almost unable to look at him at all.

Not knowing what to make of it, he held his tongue. He could tell she was in one of those moods where she wouldn't talk no matter how hard you badgered her, and you were only likely to come away with a bloody stump and nothing to show for it if you kept pushing. So he pretended to keep his eyes on his book during Transfiguration, but he angled it so that he could look at her without being too obvious. She didn't raise her hand for the first question, and he began to worry. When she let the second go by, he decided to make sure she went straight to the hospital wing once they were out. At the third, he was almost convinced that that wasn't Hermione at all, but someone Polyjuiced to look like her.

McGonagall looked just as stunned as he felt, but turned to glare at him, as if he were somehow to blame. He gave her an exaggerated shrug, feeling offended. How could it be his fault? Even during their two big fights, she had never failed to raise her hand like a flag whenever a question was asked. Hermione remained oblivious to the whole thing, her eyes focused on something off in the distance. Gathering his books and stuffing them into his bag, he edged around Harry to walk next to her, unsure how to bring the subject up.

"Er, Hermione? Can I...can I ask you something?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If this is about our History of Magic essay, you can forget it. I am not letting you copy mine. You've had plenty of time to get it done, and you've ignored me every time I remind you. You've got no one to blame but yourself."

Oddly, her response made him happy; Hermione was in her bossy and superior state, and all was right with the world.

"Aw, c'mon! At least let me have a look at your references?" he wheedled, hurrying to continue when he saw her about to speak, "No, really! That's not cheating, and it's not doing it for me. I'll be doing all the work myself, so where's the harm in showing me the best place to look?"

"Alright," she relented, "I suppose there's no harm in that. Just as long as you write everything in your own words. I'll give you my notes tonight."

"That's brilliant! Thanks, Hermione!" He grinned, but it changed to a puzzled frown when, instead of replying, she scurried ahead of him and Harry, walking to Herbology with an enthusiasm she had never shown for that class. Okay, so she wasn't completely herself, but good enough that he didn't think a trip to St. Mungo's would be called for. And she was going to help him with his essay, so, all in all, things were looking up.

She had thought that her agitation had gone unnoticed, but she should have realized that Ron didn't miss much, at least when it came to something being off about her. He had decided to let it go as some type of girl thing that he didn't understand, but he had noticed.

Ron had mixed feelings about Herbology. It was fairly straightforward, and would almost be relaxing. Except for the part where you never knew which plant would try to kill you, or cover you with gunk so disgusting that you wish it had killed you. Somehow, the conversation got turned to the Slug Club (really? A group for the supposedly elite future members of society, and they called it the Slug Club? Someone get him a bucket to be sick in.), and he felt his mood darken as his insecurities rose up to take over. It was a stupid club. Really, he understood that. Collecting students like Chocolate Frog cards, just because they might end up being useful to you, was a pretty foul thing to do. Not to mention how it made the people being excluded feel, when he couldn't even be bothered to remember their names.

It was the kind of thing that he might laugh about with his friends, except for the fact that they were in the club, and he, most definitely, was not. It probably wouldn't have bothered him so much if it had been just one of them; after all, Harry was...well, he was Harry, and Hermione was brilliant. They both deserved to be in a club like that, he thought uneasily as he watched them working. Together. Without him.

Is that what it would come down to in the future? The two of them going off and doing important things, while he dragged along doing...whatever rejects like him ended up doing? Maybe he was even holding them back right now, and they were just being too nice to say anything. A sad, panicky feeling constricted his chest as he thought of them going off and leaving him behind. They were his best friends, had been ever since first year. The thought that the two of them would go on being connected while he was forgotten by the wayside hurt him deeply.

Now, deep, down, deep, deep down in his mind, the voice of reason told him that none of this was true. Harry and Hermione were his friends, and they liked him for him; they didn't even like the damn Slug Cub, and were obviously unhappy to be a part of it. They would rather be with him, and they weren't going to forget about him, no matter what they ended up doing after school.

But that was far down in the well, and couldn't be seen for all the scum floating on the surface.

Anger shot through him when she mentioned they were allowed to bring guests to the Christmas party. Suddenly, it was fourth year all over again. He was going to have to watch as she went off with someone else, and he didn't think he could stand it. It had been a punch in the gut then, as he finally admitted how he felt about her; now that he knew, it was going to be even worse. Visions of Hermione dancing and laughing with some smarmy bastard (who seemed to walk with a suspiciously familiar goose-step) filled his head, and he couldn't help but snarling out some hateful comment about McLaggen, of all people. He wasn't sure why; maybe it was because he had seen him drooling over Hermione.

It was like a bucket of cold water had been tossed over him when she snapped back, saying that she had been going to invite him. He felt about two inches high, and he didn't even bother to hide it when he replied. She...was asking him? Really? Excitement began to course through him. This was his chance! She had finally showed some interest, hadn't she? He peeked at her. She looked fairly normal, and his excitement dimmed. She didn't look like a girl that had just asked someone she fancied for a date. Maybe she meant as just friends, or out of pity since he was the only one that couldn't go. The thought was a sour one, but it was more in line with his luck. Still, it was better than nothing, and maybe...maybe he could make something of it. If she saw him in a date-like setting, he might be able to get her to warm up to the idea. Thank Merlin for the twins; the one thing he didn't have to worry about was what he would wear. The robes they had given him had actually been a bit big (something he had marvelled at) to give him some growing room, and they fit him perfectly now. Now all he had to do was make sure he had something interesting to talk about, didn't make a pig of himself over the food, and somehow manage to dance with her without looking like a hippogriff on ice, since it wasn't the style he was used to. Great. Perfect. What could go wrong?

That invitation had been far too casual and unclear. Who used the word 'guest' when you asked someone out? She did, apparently. A 'guest' was the older lady down the hall popping over to chat. A 'guest' was a relative that you had seen maybe twice in your life dropping in uninvited for a weekend stay. A 'guest' was NOT the boy you were hoping to snog the tonsils out of at a party, preferably after making a clearly stated advancement to a romantic relationship. She should have called it a date. And she shouldn't have made it sound as enthusiastic as if she was choosing what side dish to have with her dinner. It was easy to see how he could think it was meant only as one friend to another, and how it did nothing to dispel the doubts that were eating at him. Really, it was almost the perfect setup for things to go horribly wrong...

Oh, that's right; they did.

Ron spent the next few days walking on eggshells. Not, for once, because he was in any trouble, but because he wanted to keep it that way. He was finally going on a (sort of) date with Hermione, and he'd be damned if he got that yanked away from him if he could help it. So he was on his best behavior; Meals were eaten at a pace normal to other humans, lessons were (at least seemingly) paid strict attention to, he did his revisions every night with a minimum of complaint, and showed up on time for his prefect rounds. Conversations were so civil that he almost didn't recognize himself, but seeing as Hermione was the same way, he decided he must be on the right track. Things might be getting darker on the You-Know-Who front, but for once, his personal life was looking bright. He was getting good marks, wasn't making a berk of himself at Quidditch, and he had a golden opportunity to finally get somewhere with Hermione. He was in his own little bubble of happiness; the kind of bubble that, so often, is burst by none other than your very own sibling.

Maybe if he hadn't been such a good older brother, it wouldn't have happened. After all, Ginny was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. But it had been drilled into him that older siblings looked out for the younger ones, and since that only left him with Ginny, he tended to focus on her. And after second year, it was even worse. Ginny could get under his skin, and piss him off royally, but at the end of the day, she was his sister, and he loved her. He wasn't good at the touchy feely stuff, so it might come across as...alright, he acted a hothead. But he meant well. And he had tried to keep his mouth shut about who she went out with. But couldn't she at least try to keep the snogging private? He knew that it would give at least one bloke the wrong idea, and he would end up having to beat the shit out of him.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. It made sense, once she got in his head. It wasn't so much that he minded Ginny dating, but he hated the nasty things that people might end up saying. And Ron hated it when people spoke badly about the people he cared for. If he got so worked up when she was insulted, then why had it been so surprising that he would be protective of Ginny? He had gone about it all wrong, of course, but he hadn't gotten on her case just for the fun of it.

He had gone after Ginny to say his piece, but Ginny was a Weasley too, which meant she wasn't going to take it without giving a little of her own back. Her face was scrunched up in anger, but he only heard about half of what she said. His world tipped on it's side, and he was desperate to right it. Hermione had...no. Ginny had to be wrong. Hermione would've told him! Like she had told him that she was going to the Ball with Krum in the first place? That poisonous little voice whispered. But...she couldn't have...they were supposed to...it was supposed to have been him! He turned to Harry, hoping he would deny it, but Harry just looked uncomfortable, his eyes looking everywhere else, although Ron could detect a slight trace of pity in them.

His defenses gave in, and despair gave way to anger. Who it was directed at, he wasn't sure; Whether Hermione, Krum, or himself, it didn't matter. He stalked upstairs to his room, slamming the door so hard that he heard wood splinter, but he couldn't be bothered to care. He seethed silently, but inside, he was howling at the unfairness of the world, how everything good always seemed to be just out of his grasp. Ginny was right, he'd never had a kiss outside of the family before, and would probably make a right mess of it when he did. How could he compete with fucking Viktor Krum? Hermione was probably an expert by now, while he didn't even have a clue about the basics. Fucking, fucking, hell! He kicked his chest of drawers, two of them flying open. he slammed them back shut, and threw himself down on his bed. That was it, it was over. He had never even stood a chance.

Anger and hurt twisted through Hermione like a coiling, raging snake, and she had to fight hard to push it aside, knowing that it wasn't her own emotions, but Ron's. This was something they had never talked about before. So much had happened, and so fast, that it all had sort of gotten swept aside. She had never known why he had turned on her so suddenly; all she had know for sure was that he had seemed to hate her, and it hurt. Ron's jealousy of Viktor had always been obvious, but there were layers and subtleties of which she had been completely unaware.

She had taken it at its simplest form, and had pegged it as petty jealousy, a sort of dominant male possessiveness. There was that element, but really no more than she had felt when he had kissed Lavender, so there wasn't much to say about that. For Ron, it was a much larger problem, and wasn't even fully about her. Ever since he was small, Ron had been comparing himself with others. His brothers, Ginny, Harry...even her, sometimes, like in first year. He was always measuring, and always coming up short. Even his triumphs were always tinged with a hint of failure, because in his mind, someone else could have done it better.

The fourth year came along, and with it, his discovery about his feelings for her. After the Ball, he had put Viktor on his list to compare himself to, and in some ways, that was the worst person possible. His jealousy and inadequacy of his siblings had been tempered by his love for them, never being able to sustain the negative emotions for long periods of time. The same could be said when it came to Harry, in the form of friendship. But Viktor...Ron had no positive emotional connection to him, so the negativity was easier to maintain. And Viktor just happened to be the person with the most going for him. He was a Quidditch star, with wealth, fame, and popularity. He had good enough looks to gain female attention, and he was smart and talented enough to make it into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He had all of that, which Ron felt he never had any hope of achieving, and then, to top it all off, it had seemed that he had Hermione's affections, as well.

When it seemed that he would actually have a chance at the latter, the kiss came as a cruel blow. How could he, someone with no experience, hope to compete after that? It was impossible to think that Hermione wouldn't compare them. And he always mucked things up the first go round, which meant he might not even get a second try. To top it all off, he was hurt that she hadn't told him. She had promised that she would tell him about the important things in her life, and he considered snogging a world famous Quidditch player to fall into that category.

Hermione moaned. It was all spiraling out of control, so fast that the details were becoming blurred. The pain was such that she couldn't even focus on the ridiculousness of her comparing kissing Ron with her kiss with Viktor; all she could do was berate herself for ever trying to use her friendship with him to make Ron jealous. It had been petty and immature, and had ended up backfiring so, so badly.

The next few days were rough on Ron. His moods swung between anger and despair so often that he didn't know whether he was coming or going. One minute, he wanted to have a blazing row with Hermione the likes that they had never seen; the next, he wanted to beg her to tell him that it wasn't true, or that it was some sort of mistake. But the words could never make it out of his mouth, catching on his teeth until he swallowed them back down. That didn't, however, stop him from lashing out at her every chance he got. She seemed confused at first, but she soon got into the spirit of things, allowing him to drown out the spark of guilt caused by the small voice telling him he was being unfair. That part of him was no longer in control; the jealousy he had pushed down for years was steering the broom now, and each flicker of hurt in her eyes was a victory. He needed her to feel the way he did, for once. It was always him that ended up hurting like this, and he was tired at the unfairness of it all.

Eyes blurring with tears, she allowed her gaze to slide away. As with most of his assumptions, he had been wrong. She had hurt just as much as he did, though in different ways. She wanted to be angry at him for his vindictiveness, but here, in his mind and forced to face truths, she had to be honest and admit she was the same way. That was probably one of the ugliest traits that they shared. When they hurt, they reached out to tear the other down with them, as well. And this was probably the reason that counselling was necessary. They weren't nearly as bad as they had been when they were younger, and things had never gotten this out of control since the war ended. But it didn't take big things to tear you apart. Small, everyday pettiness, building up slowly, would be just as toxic. It would happen without them even seeing it coming. They were both just as guilty as the other; one would get their feelings hurt, and instead of talking, they would try to cause an equal measure of pain to make up for it. They couldn't go on doing that to each other. They wanted better than that; they were better than that.

The day of the Quidditch match found Ron as nervous as usual, but for slightly different reasons. For one, this was a big game, and a lot of pressure was riding on him, even if he was the one that placed most of it there. Secondly, there was Hermione to consider. He snorted as he waited for Harry to follow him down for breakfast. He wasn't trying to impress her this time. Why bother when she had Vicky on call? All the same, he couldn't lose in front of her. Somehow, that would be letting her get the advantage on him, and she could use it against him during one of their rows; at least, the parts where they were speaking. Ron tried to reign himself in a little, because it was upsetting Harry, but he usually ended up forgetting himself in the heat of the moment. He was talking to Harry when Hermione popped into view, but his eyes stayed firmly at her hairline whenever he was forced to look in her direction. He couldn't explain why, but unless they were sniping at one another, he couldn't look her in the eyes during the silent spells. Maybe it was the guilt. Or maybe it was knowing that eventually, he would break, and try to go back to the way things were before he knew about Krum. But he wasn't ready for that, not ready to back down and try to fix things instead of wallowing in his misery. So he stabbed his sausage almost hard enough to make it squeal, and tried to focus on Harry, and not the jitters that were already making his hands shake.

Harry wasn't exactly being very helpful; he might find it in him to be at least a little encouraging. Wasn't that what a captain was for? To lend morale to the team? His throat felt dry and closed up, so he went to take a gulp of his drink, nearly spilling it when Hermione began to shriek like a banshee. What the fuck was her problem? Oh. Had Harry really-? If not for their fight, he might have stopped; he wasn't perfect, but he wasn't a cheat, either. But one look at her face, and he swallowed resentfully, the bitterness of his thoughts washing away any strange taste that might be lingering. Besides, it wasn't like he had asked Harry to do it, or had even known about it; hell, he had already swallowed a tiny bit before she went off like a Caterwauling Charm. Ha! That'd fix her! Somehow. Wouldn't it? He didn't even know anymore. But he snapped at her anyway, and left with Harry for the pitch.

This. Was. Wicked! He felt brilliant and unstoppable, as if it were impossible for him to make a wrong move. His broom felt like a part of him, and he didn't even have to think about flying at all. Each time the Quaffle headed towards the Gryffindor rings, he was right there ready to block it; Fire was singing through his veins, and all of his problems were forgotten. The crowd was roaring his name, and he felt almost drunk with elation. This was how things were supposed to be. Confident, no worrying if he was going to fuck things up; people actually thinking that he was good for something. Too bad it would all end when the potion wore off, but he'd milk every moment until then. Didn't he deserve it?

His teammates seemed to think he did, because once the match had ended, he couldn't seem to take two steps without getting his back slapped. He saw Harry and Hermione making their way to him, and his smile dimmed, but only a little. Everything had turned out alright, and he couldn't wait to rub her face in it. That idea melted away once he heard what Harry had to say. He...hadn't given him the potion? He had played like that on his own...with no magic? For a few moments, he was filled with pride; he wasn't the most useless player on the team! He could pull off amazing moves, he had enough skill to justify him being out there! More than enough, because he had played a bloody great part in their win. His gaze fell on Hermione, and his pride twisted into anger. She hadn't believed in him at all. Poor, clumsy Ron, couldn't balance on a broom without some magical help. Not like her precious Vicky. He snarled an accusation at her, but he didn't care what she had to say. All through the Tournament in fourth year, she had refused to believe anything bad about Krum; but she hadn't even hesitated to think the worst of him today. He was sick of this, and he had a party to get to. Let her come crawling to him for a change.

He stalked towards the castle, and was soon swept up by a group of Gryffindors and carried to the tower, where People were laughing, music was playing, and Butterbeer was flowing like water. Someone handed him a bottle, and he spent the next several minutes going over the game in great detail. Soon, he noticed that Lavender Brown had sidled up next to him in the crowd, and was staring up at him in a most gratifying way.

Hermione had to bite back a growl, the pain from this memory coming back in full force. Forcefully, she had to remind herself that she didn't hate Lavender. That Lavender hadn't actually done anything wrong. That Lavender was having her own problems, and dealing with them just as poorly as she and Ron had. In fact, Hermione admired Lavender nowadays, even if they seldom ran into each other. Her bravery during the battle was enough alone to win her respect, but Lavender had gone on to do some pretty great things afterwards, too. She spoke publicly about the prejudice against werewolves and their victims, and had made a good bit of headway into helping develop cosmetics to disguise the marks left behind from dark magic, or that at least lessened the severity of their appearance for awhile.

No, she had let go of those months of hatred towards the other girl long ago, and she was ashamed for feeling it here now. She just couldn't seem to help it, knowing what was about to happen.

Lavender's eyes sparkled dreamily, and she gave a deep sigh, drawing attention to the slightly low neckline of her fuzzy purple jumper. "Oh Ron, you were just amazing out there! I nearly fainted when you made that final save. You practically won us the game, and I'm so excited, I could almost kiss you!"

Ron might not be too quick on the uptake when it came to girls, but this was such a blatant invitation that even he couldn't miss it. And why not? Here was a girl looking at a bloke like he was the most wonderful thing since the invention of the broom, just like one should when they were asking you out. Lots of boys were mad about her, but here she was, paying attention to him. Why shouldn't he go for it? Wasn't it about time he got some of the good things in life? Fuck waiting for someone who was never going to think he was good enough. Fuck that in the arse with a pointy stick!

"I don't reckon there's anything to stop you," he said, and barely and time to take a breath before her arms were around his neck, and her lips were clamped onto his. He pulled her closer, and just sort of...went with it. 'It' was odd; sort of...slimy? But he figured he could get used to that, especially when he felt her tits pressing against his chest. Yeah, he could get used to that if he had to. He didn't know how long they stood there, but he became aware of loud catcalls, and he felt himself growing embarrassed, and finally pulled away. Lavender took his hand and giggled.

"How about we go somewhere else, and try that again?" She asked coyly.

"Uh...Sure?"

He could use the practice, and he'd like to do that without the several dozen pairs of eyes trained on him. They edged through the crowd and out into the hall, where they walked quickly to a few that were usually deserted, bumping into each other and laughing. He opened the nearest door and went in, but stopped abruptly when he saw that Hermione had somehow ended up in there, as well as Harry. A flicker of jealousy was quenched as he wondered what they were doing, reminding himself that he wasn't going to think about that. Although...maybe Hermione would finally see what she had missed out on. He might not be good enough for her, but that didn't mean other girls didn't want him. Something was off about her, though, and he couldn't help feeling uneasy as she passed.

Hermione's shame grew as she watched the scene unfold. There was no justifying her actions here. Yes, she had been hurt deeply, but Ron had been hurt just as badly in the past, and he had never, ever raised his hand or wand to her in anger. Even now, when it would have been a matter of self defence, he had done nothing. He had kissed another girl, but he had never promised her anything; they weren't dating, and neither had ever confessed. His reasons for being with Lavender was wrong, but it wasn't any of her business, and while she was allowed to feel pain, she never should have acted on it. This was a level of cruelty she hated seeing in herself, and she swore that she would never sink to this level again. There would be times in the future when Ron might deserve her anger, but he would never deserve to fear her. Sickened, she forced herself to watch as her younger self raised her wand, wanting nothing more than to skip over the months until his birthday, but knowing that was impossible.

A feeling he should have paid more attention to, because before he quite realized what was happening, he was being attacked by a flurry of yellow feathers, beaks and claws raking at the flesh on his hands that he had raised just in time to protect his face. He yelled in pain and surprise, blood trickling down his wrists from the small wounds. He didn't know who stopped the birds, or how; he didn't even fully register Lavender fussing over him and telling him that he needed to get his injuries seen to. All he could do was stare at his hands, and remember the look on Hermione's face. They had fought before, but there was something different about it this time, something deeper that he couldn't put his finger on. He couldn't be sure, and he couldn't even bring himself to think of it right now, but he suspected that there was something besides his hands that was broken and bleeding.


	29. Chapter 29

**Hello everyone! As a lot of you know, I completed this fic over on ff.net, but had stopped updating here. This was mainly because of the problem of hackers stealing authors stories and reposting them elsewhere without their permission. I was hoping that security would be tightened up before putting any more of my work on here, and while it isn't perfect, things are a bit better. So I'm transferring everything over here, and any new works will be uploaded at the same time.**

Colored lights flashed in soothing patterns in the dark room, every shade of every of color flaring to match the emotions of the two people in the bed. Ursula Fletcher eyed the kaleidoscopic array with interest, but didn't try tracking them too closely for now; it was being recorded, and she would go over it later. She did note that, when the memories appear to be in sync, so do the emotions that they experience. 

Interesting.

She has never seen a couple react in quite the same manner as these two. Then again, she didn't see very many couples come in here _before_ extensive damage had been done, so that may have something to do with it. Somehow, she didn't think so. Research told her that this pair was......special. Oh yes, she wasn't as flighty as she seemed; when new patients came to her, she tried to get as much info as possible, without being too invasive. She had ignored most of the dreck that was in the Prophet, since it was unreliable at best. Luckily, she thought with a sly smile, she had an excellent source of information, and one she trusted implicitly. 

Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses as the blues and reds began to take over, blending and clashing with each other as sadness and anger fought for dominance. While she was unable to see their specific memories, she had become quite good at accurately tracking the timelines of patients, with help from her diagnostic spells. Those, along with the information she had, told her what was likely to be occurring right about now. Her face creased into a frown. Honestly, if people would just _talk_ more, and be _honest_ when they did, there would be so much less unnecessary pain in the world. Of course, it would put her out of this particular line of work, but that’s a trade she was willing to make. And, she supposed, it was to be expected at the age they were currently experiencing. An old, familiar ache stirred within her heart, but she pushed it away. No sense dwelling on her suppressed problems; those had brought her this far, and now it was time to focus on those she could help.

The couple on the bed began to move restlessly, their heads tossing from side to side. One whimpered, and the other released a low groan. This was highly unusual. Surely they wouldn't wake up again; if so, she wasn't sure how she would proceed. She thought it best to get it all over in one shot, but she didn't want to cause any undue physical or mental distress, either. Banishing her readings, she moved closer to the bed. There was a light sheen of sweat on their faces, and Hermione’s brow was scrunched into hard ridges. Ron’s throat bobbed convulsively, and the muscle along his jaw flexed and bunched like a thin, steel cord. 

A sudden spasm, and their hands, which had been clutching each other tightly, flew apart. Instantly, their signs of distress began to increase, and she knew that she had to get them under control quickly. 

_Oh, no you don't!_ She thought furiously. _You've come too far to let this beat you. I know the things you two are capable of, and I refuse to let you lose to the ghosts in your heads! I’d prefer not to speak to them directly......it might be too distracting. But how do I get them to......_

With a burst of inspiration, she lunged forward, and gripped their hands, bringing them back together. She squeezed, until their fingers began to lace of their own accord. Their harsh breathing began to slow down, and their eyelids, which had been fluttering, stilled. Their features smoothed out until they looked only mildly upset, which was the more normal appearance displayed during these sessions. Stepping back, she pulled her wand from where she had thrust it into her pocket earlier, and checked her readings again. The colors were still throbbing, but far less intensely, and the levels of emotions had dropped out of the danger zone. 

She sat at the small desk, angling herself so that the bed was in her line of sight. Pulling out paper and a pen (she possessed what many considered an eccentric love of Muggle office supplies), she began to scribble notes. The Prophet, she decided, was wrong about this couple. They had taken a few superficial, prominent qualities, labeled them, and deemed them incompatible without looking further. Foolish. So, _so_ foolish. It was true that, at first glance, there were distinct differences (why some people considered this a _bad_ thing, she was never quite sure), but love is not measured by academics or personal interests. Those things may strengthen a bond, but they create a weak base. 

These two, while different in their approaches, shared the same fundamental values. Some might scoff, but she had found that you were governed by what you valued. One person might value wealth and prestige, and another might value charity and humbleness. these differing values would lead them down very different life paths, and it wouldn't matter a fig if they shared a love of corgis. However, people who placed the same value on loyalty, family, the pursuit of justice.....they could travel far down the same path, and the fact that one adored classical music while the other raised prize-winning mandrakes wouldn't change their basic relationship. 

Differences were _important,_ as well. Everyone had strengths and weaknesses, and the best relationships were the ones where partners showcased and supplemented, respectively. From what she had learned so far, these two did a brilliant job at balancing each other out. She likened them to gears in a clock; they fit together perfectly, and worked in harmony most of the time. But every so often, the gears came out of alignment, and there was a horrible, grinding crash. It didn't mean they were broken, or that they weren't made to go together; it only meant they had to get lined back up properly. 

She set her pen aside, drumming her fingers on the rich, cherrywood surface of the desk. If the session was a success, they would be able to stop themselves before things slipped too badly. They might need to come to her for an occasional tune up, but the whole point of this treatment was to improve understanding and communication, so third party interference would be minimal. She believed that they would be able to achieve this; if, that is, they made it through the session. If her guess as to where they were in their timeline was accurate, they would soon be experiencing something far more serious than the angst of teenage romance. If half of the rumors about their experiences were true......she shuddered, her eyes dropping to their clasped hands. They had already made it through, together. They were strong individually, and as a couple. 

She hoped to Merlin that they would remember that.

 


	30. Chapter 30

_If looks could kill, Ron reckoned that he and Lavender would be nothing more than two small piles of ashes for the house elves to clean up. He watched with disgust as his younger self appeared to mine the girl's mouth like he might find breakfast in there. Hermione was standing on the bottom step from the girls' dorm, twisting the strap of her book bag so tightly it was a wonder it hadn't snapped. She abruptly stomped over to the portrait hole, never noticing the way he had angled himself to see her. Watching himself making every effort to shove his relationship with Lavender in her face was making him physically ill, a reaction he was sharing with Hermione at the moment. She was clinging to her anger to keep away the hurt, and she already had plans for revenge set in motion, although she was still hesitant about going that far._

Hermione swept through the halls, glancing at her watch to make sure she wasn't going to be late for Transfiguration. She should have stayed in the library with Harry, but she had needed to run up to her room to fetch some ink. Harry was waiting to join her just outside of the library, and he fell into step with her, raising his eyebrows at her expression.

"I take it by the look on your face that they were...uh..."

Hermione snorted. "Osculating all over the place? Yes."

Harry nearly choked on his laughter. "Sounds dirty, the way you say it."

"It sounds dirty the way they _do_ it; it sounds like something you'd hear during a competition at a plumbers' convention."

_Ron grimaced, but couldn't find fault with the comparison. He hadn't even tried for anything like finesse with Lavender; it had all been about the quick sensation and the burning need to prove something to himself and Hermione._

Hermione took her seat and kept her head down, so she wouldn't have to see Ron and Lavender come in, wearing matching smug grins. She stared so hard at her textbook that the words began to blur and swim on the page, and she only looked up once Professor McGonagall began to speak. The lesson would have been interesting, but Hermione found that she just didn't have the heart for it. She had spent years looking forward to human Transfiguration, but she now wished that rather than learning how to alter her physical appearance, she could learn how to Transfigure her heart, instead.

After successfully altering the color of her eyebrows several times, she allowed her attention to roam the room, seeing how others were faring. Dean's eyebrows were a bluish color that she didn't think he had been trying for, while Neville and Seamus had managed to lose theirs altogether; she would have to remember to see if they needed help after lessons. She skipped over Lavender and Parvati; she knew that they would have perfected this one already. Harry had managed to change his, although he looked like he wasn't quite sure how he had done it. And then she saw Ron.

His eyebrows were perfectly normal, but he had somehow sprouted the thickest handlebar mustache she had ever seen outside of old photos. Everyone had noticed and was snickering, and she couldn't help but envision him snogging Lavender with that thing on his face; would she choke on it, or would she pin it back with one of her glittery little hairclips? The image was too much, and she laughed loudly, earning a smoldering glare from Ron. For a moment, she felt guilty, then gave an internal shrug. Harry was laughing, and she was sure that if she and Ron were speaking, he'd see the humor in it as well. Besides, he was already breaking her heart, so what more could he do?

She had underestimated him.

A question was asked, and before she could even raise her hand, Ron's hand shot up, waving frantically as he wiggled in his seat, eyes wide and lower lip sucked between his teeth. Hermione felt herself choking up; she knew that was meant to be her, and she couldn't believe that something so simple could sting so harshly. It wasn't the same as when he teased her for being overeager about schoolwork. When he did that, it was friendly affection, even when he was irritated, the same as when she would give him a hard time about slacking off. But this was deliberately hurtful, when he had always stood up for her in this area before, like in third year with Snape. It burned all the more when she heard Lavender tittering behind her.

Fine. She could play nasty, as well.

_Ron watched himself, struck for the first time by how cruel that little show had actually been. Of all the things he could've chosen to do, that was probably the worst. Hermione had always been more sensitive about that sort of thing than she let on, and as someone that had self esteem problems himself, it was a particularly low blow. The thing was, Harry had been right, later, when he had said that everyone had laughed. Even Lavender had had a good snort about it. But they weren't the ones that mattered; even fighting, it was her opinion that meant something to him, and he couldn't stand to look a fool in front of her. He had been miserable about it at lunch, and he wondered if Hermione would've gone through with her date with McLaggen if he had kept his mouth shut. Whether she would have or not would remain a mystery, but it looked as if he was going to see what happened that night for himself._

Hermione observed herself in the mirror critically, turning her head from side to side to see if she had managed to catch it all in the loose bun she had attempted with Ginny's help. She hadn't used _quite_ as much Sleakeazey's as she had in Fourth year, so the ends curled a bit, giving enough body to balance things out. Hopefully, it would hold up, she thought as she adjusted the thin, dangly gold earrings her mother had given her to go with the robes she had picked out, just in case a special event popped up.

It was a shimmering, goldish red, with a deeper neckline than she normally wore. The color hurt to look at; she had picked it specifically to go with Ron's hair, and not the greasy mess that was Cormac's. The unfairness of the situation hurt. She was supposed to be dressing up in anticipation of the look on Ron's face alone, not some knuckle-dragger that she loathed.

_Ron watched forlornly from the corner of the room. He remembered the dress well, though she wouldn't realize it. He had watched her leave from the stairs to the dorm, burning with longing and jealousy. Once again, she was going to a party on someone else's arm, and he couldn't help picturing how the two of them would have looked together. The thought had driven him rather mad, and he had made sure that he and Lav were giving a performance when she got back._

"You don't have to go through with this, you know." Ginny said quietly, from where she was sitting on Hermione's bed. Lavender was God knows where, and Parvati had wisely made herself scarce.

"Yes, I do. Anytime before today I might have backed out, but his little stunt in Transfiguration sealed it. I can't let him see that he's getting me down." Hermione said firmly, sliding a foot into a gold heel.

Ginny sighed. "Alright, I know that tone of voice. Just make sure that you take your wand with you; you'll probably need it."

Her wand was still on the table, where she had been planning on leaving it. "Why? I don't plan on staying more than an hour or so."

"Because you're going with _McLaggen._ Don't tell me you haven't heard about him. And don't say it's just gossip!" She snapped, seeing Hermione about to argue, "You know him enough to know what a wad of troll slime he is."

She found herself unable to argue this point, and picked up her wand, sliding it up her sleeve, with Ginny giving a satisfied nod. Turning around to give her friend a view, she asked, "How do I look?"

"Miserable," Ginny answered with brash honesty.

"Ginny!"

"Well, you do! Don't lie, Hermione. We both know how much you wanted to go with Ron."

"Yes, well, _that_ was obviously never going to happen," Hermione muttered. "If I don't leave now, I'll be late. Thanks for helping with my hair."

Ginny only seemed to make herself more comfortable on the bed. "I think I'll wait here until you get back. I would sort of like to know what a Slug Christmas consists of."

"Liar. You just want to hear the gory details if I end up Hexing Cormac."

The younger girl grinned, her freckled face crinkling in a way that was all too familiar. "Can't say that that hasn't crossed my mind. If you get bored, you can play a game; a shot of Firewhiskey every time he tells a story about himself."

Hermione opened the door, and made a face at Ginny. "No thanks; I'd never be able to walk back up the stairs."

She shut the door on Ginny's laughter, carefully making her way to the Common Room, so as not to catch her heel on her hem. Cormac was already there, leering at an uncomfortable looking fifth year. Ugh. And Ron wasn't even in sight; at least that meant that she didn't have to play up to Cormac any more than she had to. She gave a little cough, and he looked up. Seeing that she was showing more skin than his current target, his attention quickly shifted to her, and the other girl took the opportunity to make her escape.

"Well, you certainly clean up nice! I knew there was something tasty underneath that uniform," Cormac said as he swaggered over to her.

Charming, she thought as her nose crinkled. It sounded as if he was expecting a free sample. If that was the case, he was in for a disappointment; she might be trying to rile Ron up, but there were lines that she was not willing to cross.

"You look nice as well," she lied. His robes had a slick and oily sheen that matched his hair. At least with all that grease, she had a chance of sliding right out of his grasp if he tried to grab her.

"I do, don't I? Although with what I paid for these robes, they'd be enough on their own to make even someone like Weasley look good."

She pulled away from the hand he had placed on her lower back. "There's nothing the matter with the way Ron looks," she said in a clipped voice.

Cormac shrugged, uncaring. "Sorry, thought you two had finally called it quits, now that he's got a bird."

Hermione didn't feel the need to discuss the matter with him. She might be hurt, and furious with Ron, but that didn't mean she wanted to listen to this toerag run him down.

They had made it to the portrait hole, and Hermione thought she heard someone. Quickly, she pasted a smile on her face; Ron might not be here to see it, but if word got back about happy she looked while with someone else, then that was all the better.

_Ron trailed along behind them, not sure whether the growing sense of unease was his own, or Hermione's. Most likely, it was a combination of both. McLaggen was acting like he didn't know the meaning of the words, 'personal space,' and Ron knew that Ginny had been right about what people said about him. It was bad enough that every boy in Gryffindor tower was disgusted by him, and that took some doing. He tried to comfort himself with the fact that obviously, nothing had happened, but it didn't seem to help much._

Hermione spent the first twenty minutes trying to avoid being dragged into a dark corner; it wasn't easy, but she had managed with two tricks; the first was to get Cormac to talk about himself. As long as his mouth was moving, his hands stayed where they should. The second was Neville; every time she caught sight of him, she motioned him over for more hors d'oeuvres, making sure to engage him in conversation every time. After the second time, he seemed to clue in that she wasn't doing this because she was wild about his spinach puffs, and he gave her a knowing look, and stayed close by.

_Good lad, Neville. You could always depend on him, Ron thought fondly. He would have to remember to ask Luna to be on the lookout for some sort of bizarre plant that Neville would enjoy._

As inevitable as a mouse trapped in a room with Crookshanks, she was finally maneuvered out of Neville's range, into a small, deserted corner of the room. Naturally, it was bursting with mistletoe.

"Oh, I love this song! Why don't we go dan-" she began brightly, attempting to sidle around him.

He stepped into her path, his hand circling her upper arm. "I think we'll have more fun back here."

For the first time, Hermione was made aware of the strength of the man in front of her, and how physically weak she was in comparison. The thought frightened her. She had thought that being friends with Harry and Ron had taught her what dealing with boys was like, but she had been wrong. She had learned what boys were like as _friends,_ not _enemies._ They would bump her shoulder, or smack her lower arm in a teasing manner. They would ruffle her hair, and sometimes Ron would hold something out of her reach for a few moments before giving it to her. But they had never, _ever_ done anything that she wasn't perfectly comfortable with, and they had never touched her in anger, or tried to invoke fear in her.

Cormac was entirely different. He wouldn't throw up his hands in playful surrender like Harry, and he wouldn't fall to the floor and go on and on with a melodramatic death speech like Ron. The closest she had ever come to anything like this was with Draco, but even then, she had never been alone.

"You're hurting me," she said with as much calm as she could muster, "Let go."

Cormac grinned, his face close enough that she could see a tiny nick on his left canine. "Oh, believe me, I can make you feel good if I keep holding on. We wouldn't wanna waste the mistletoe, would we?"

The next few moments were a blur; his mouth coming down to land sloppily on hers, and her hands beating ineffectually at his shoulders. Twisting and turning her head, her hair loosening from its pins. One of his hands pawed at the neckline of her robes, squeezing a breast. Her foot came down sharply on his, grinding the point of her heel into his instep, followed by a kick in the shin.

Cormac grunted and staggered back, glaring at her with blazing eyes. "Bitch! What'd you do that for? I know you're gagging for it! Or is this why Weasley ditched you? Finally decided to find a witch who wasn't frigid?"

The second part of that insult hit uncomfortably close to home, and she managed to shove him to the side, and dart out into the rest of the room.

_Ron was enraged; while he knew his actions had no effect, common sense had gone out the window the moment McLaggen had started in on Hermione. But it was like punching a shadow, and about as satisfying. Why hadn't he known about this before, he wondered as he caught up to Hermione, who had spotted Harry and was making a beeline for him. This encouraged Ron; surely she had told Harry, and he had done something about it. But listening to Harry shocked him, and he had the urge to punch him, as well. That was it?! He was just going to tell her she shouldn't have come with McLaggen? Yeah, it was true in the sense that he was a worthless bastard that shouldn't be near women at all, but that didn't mean she deserved that! Sometimes, it was painfully obvious that Harry had grown up without a proper mum or sister. His parents had raised him and his brothers better than that, and if he had found someone doing the same to Ginny, he would've yanked the fuckhead's lungs out of his nose._

Hermione didn't feel comfortable staying, after Harry had distracted Cormac, and as soon as she saw a clear path to the door, she was gone, taking some of the lesser known passages back to the tower. The night was a dismal, humiliating failure; Ron hadn't been bothered at all, and hadn't even made an attempt to see her. That would have been bad enough, but dealing with McLaggen had just been foul. She felt the worst kind of fool; she knew what kind of reputation he had, and had thought her wand would be enough. A wand doesn't do you a bit of good if you can't _get_ to it, and having someone pawing at you certainly impeded that. She would start practicing drawing her wand, and making sure it was positioned in a more easily accessible manner. The Fat Lady gave her a worried look, but said nothing when provided with the password.

Steeling herself, she only allowed herself to notice Ron and Lavender from the corner of her eye, glued to each other in one of the armchairs. Wordlessly, she stalked to the stairs, ignoring the lump in her throat when Ron didn't even bother to look up.

_That hadn't been true. He had been looking the whole time, out of the corner of_ his _eye. But he had been too wrapped up in getting a bit of his own back to notice how upset she looked; which would've been hard to tell anyway, because that was how she had looked nearly all of the time, by that point._

At least her room would be free. Parvati was staying with Padma, and Hermione planned to be in bed with Silencing Charms up by the time Lavender came in. She had forgotten Ginny would be there, and nearly jumped at her voice from behind the bed curtains.

"That was fast. I gather the party wasn't a raving-bloody hell, Hermione! What happened?" Ginny asked, taking in Hermione's appearance with concern.

"Well, I can definitely confirm that the rumors about McLaggen are true," Hermione said lightly, not wanting Ginny to get upset. Really, she just wanted to go to bed and forget tonight ever happened.

"Hermione! Do you need to go turn him in? Are there enough pieces of him left _to_ turn in?" Ginny asked, rising up on her knees.

Hermione began to take the loosened pins from her hair. "No. I managed to take care of it in the end, and I'd rather not relive it."

Ginny bit her lip, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. "Does Ron know? Because if he does, McLaggen is dead." At Hermione's snort she added, "I'm serious! If Ron hears about it, he'll flat out kill him, and he won't need magic to do it."

_His sister obviously knew him better than he thought._

Her feet ached, and she kicked off her shoes, aiming them into a corner to deal with later. "Ginny, even if he cared right now, he'd just tell me that I deserved it for going with him in the first place."

_That stung, really. It hurt to know that right now, she really believed that he didn't give two shits about her. Not that he had done anything to make her think otherwise, though. And he probably_ would have _something stupid like that. It was just that when he was worried, mental things flew out of his mouth, without him really thinking about what they meant. He would just sort of panic, and his mind would run through all of the ways it could have possibly been prevented, whether they were rational or not._

"Hermione, I know my brother. He might have his head shoved snuggly in his arse at the moment, but this...this is something else entirely. And yeah, he'd probably say something way out of line, and you'd want to smack the hell out of him," she seemed to deflate, and continued in a small voice, "but as much of a prat as he'd be, it would only be because his heart was in the right place, and he was trying to do his best."

" _Yes! Thank you!" At least Gin had tried to talk sense into her._

All Hermione could remember was what happened in lessons today, and finding him wrapped around Lavender every time she saw him. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'm not going to tell him, Harry probably won't think to mention it, and I'm sure he won't hear it from anyone else."

Ginny gave her a look, but nodded. "Fine. As long as you pick someone else to make him jealous, from now on."

Hermione barked out a laugh. "Why bother? The whole thing was a stupid idea. To make someone jealous, they have to care, first. Ron may care, but certainly not for me."

Ginny swung her legs over the side of the bed, jamming her feet into her slippers. "Maybe you should do what you told me last year. Maybe you should try to date someone else for real, and move on."

If only it were that easy, Hermione thought with a shake of her head. "No. That won't work for me."

This seemed to irritate Ginny. "What, I should move on, because I'm obviously not _good_ enough for Harry or something, but you're somehow above your own advice? Because if that's the case, then you're-"

"No!" Hermione yelled, finally having enough. "I didn't want you to end up like me, alright? I didn't want you pathetically pining away for someone who seemed to look at anyone but you, while you sit off on the sidelines having to watch! I didn't want you _constantly_ wondering what was wrong with you, why you were so unlovable! _I didn't want you walking around feeling like part of you was always being ripped apart!"_

Ginny's eyes were wide as she watched her friend fall to pieces. Slowly, she approached her, and placed a hand on one of her heaving shoulders. "Hermione, I'm sorry. Maybe-"

But Hermione was too drained, too hurt to deal with it anymore. "No, Ginny. Whatever it is, just...no. I'll deal with it in the morning, but not now."

She waited while Ginny searched her eyes, before giving her shoulder a squeeze. She appreciated that Ginny seemed to understand, and left without a word. She sat on her bed, knowing she would need to change out of her robes soon. She wished she knew what to do; she would write and ask her mother, but she probably wouldn't understand. Besides, she would be home for Christmas soon; maybe she would figure something out then.

_Ron hated this. He knew things worked out alright in the end, but he didn't want to see anymore. Why had he ever thought that doing this to her was some kind of victory? Neither of them had been happy. Really, it was a miracle she hadn't taken Ginny's advice and moved on. But he could feel what she hadn't told his sister; deep, deep down, under the pain and the anger, she still loved him._

_And she hated him, as well as herself for it._

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Helen asked worriedly, clutching her small overnight case as Richard tossed the larger suitcases in the boot of the car. It was a few days before Christmas, and they were going to a ski lodge with friends.

Hermione smiled the same stiff smile she had been using since she got home. "Really, I'm sure. You know I wrote that it's been driving me batty, since Harry started doing better in Potions, and I want to try to see where I keep going wrong. If I'm having problems now, I'll never survive next year."

Helen exchanged a troubled look with Richard, who had just joined them. "Well, if you're sure..."

Hoping to forestall any more questions, Hermione hugged her mother. "I'm positive! If it makes you feel any better, I'll behave outrageously while you're gone, staying up late and eating junk to rot my teeth."

"That would make me feel better, actually. I hate leaving you alone like this, so if you change your mind and decide to spend the last of your break with friends-"

"I don't see that happening, as I'll be going back in the morning, but thanks. You two have a good time, and call me when you get there," she cut in, failing to completely hide the brittleness that had crept into her voice.

Helen opened her mouth, changed her mind about whatever she had been going to say, and kissed Hermione on the cheek instead, before going to get in the car. Richard put his arms around his daughter, and she buried her face in his chest, taking momentary comfort in the smell of his leather coat.

"He'll come around, Hermione. He's not a bad kid. Everyone goes through a stupid patch," he said quietly.

Hermione jerked back; she hadn't spoken to her parents about her problem with Ron, and she had no idea how they had guessed. "How did you-oh, it doesn't matter; he's probably stuck in that patch permanently. He doesn't show any sign of wanting to get out," she growled.

"Maybe, or maybe there just aren't signs that you can see. Either way, I wouldn't give up just yet."

The look of understanding in her father's eyes nearly brought tears to her own, but she pushed them down. She had to stop crying over him. She _had_ to.

"Now, you get back inside before you freeze. There are plenty of leftovers, and we left money in case you want to go somewhere, or have something delivered. Take care, Hermione."

She stood in the drive and waved goodbye, staring until they turned the corner at the end of the street. Something within her told her that she should have gone; that even now, she should try to catch up with them. She shrugged the feeling off, turning to go back inside to curl up with her books.

_Ron followed her inside, the realization over just how much she had been crying hitting him hard. Hermione had a rather...stormy quality, and strong emotions brought bursts of tears, both happy and sad. Once it was all out of her system, she generally felt better. Now, not only was she having to suppress it most of the time, but it wasn't doing her much good, either. Richard's perceptiveness hadn't surprised him. From what the older man had told him, he had had a rather similar go of it with Hermione's mum. Ron was grateful for the effort on his behalf, even though he didn't feel he deserved it; neither did Hermione, judging by the emotions tumbling through her head._

Hermione didn't move far from the sofa all day, reading both for school and pleasure, and only stopping for a bit of toast and honey. It wasn't until a knock came at the front door that she realized how late it had gotten, and that the streetlights were already lit, casting eerie circles of light in the fog. Puzzled, since no one should even know she was here, she made sure to have her wand ready as she opened the door.

"Hello, Hermione. I see you're still here?"

She stifled a groan of irritation. Standing on the top step was a whispy, fine-boned blonde about two inches shorter than herself, with wide, innocent blue eyes, looking for all the world like a labrador puppy. A labrador puppy in a miniskirt, but a puppy nonetheless. Positioning her body, she leaned halfway out the door, to block the other girl's path.

Hello, Heather. Is there something I can do for you?"

Heather beamed. "There is, actually; me and a few friends are going dancing, and I was hoping you'd come!"

She would sooner fly across London on a broom. Naked.

_Ron choked at the mental image._

Thanks, but I have things to do; packing, and such. I leave tomorrow. Thanks for the thought, though, and have a good time."

A size five shoe jammed itself into the closing door, effectively halting Hermione's attempt to escape. "Really? Such a shame. Almost as much of a shame as when your parents hear that you stayed here the whole time, instead of going skiing with them."

Hermione glared. "Are you trying to blackmail me? And who says that I'm staying here?"

"Because you're still talking, so that means I was right. Your mum told mine to watch the place while they were gone, and she said you've seemed depressed. It just made sense you'd want some time alone; its what you always did when we were kids. C'mon, Hermione! You never do anything fun. Give it a chance, pleeeeeeeeaaaaase?"

Not quite sure if she was just naturally weak, or if she was feeling reckless, Hermione gave in. "Fine, let me go change into something else. But I'm coming home at a sensible hour, so don't even try to change my mind about that!"

Heather jumped forward, throwing her arms about her. "You won't regret it! We'll have so much fun, just like when we were little! I've missed that, you know."

Well, that was just dandy. Now she felt guilty, and didn't have the heart to say that what had been fun for Heather had always been sheer boredom for her. She knew Heather had been teased a bit for being flakey, but never on the same scale as Hermione. Still, she knew the other girl didn't have many true friends, from what her mother had said, and she had always been kind to Hermione, if irritating.

Wait in here, and I'll be right back," she said, quickly climbing the stairs to her room. Opening her closet, she searched for something appropriate. She settled on a black skirt that was short, but not as short as Heather's, and a fuzzy moss green jumper that she had gotten for Christmas. Working quickly, she pulled back some of her hair into a clip, and dabbed on a bit of plum colored gloss, before digging out a pair of black heels. She might not be excited about this, but she might as well look nice. After all, why _should_ she sit home all by herself, as if _she_ had done something wrong? At the least, she might hear a few decent Muggle songs, which she often missed while at school. She had no burning passion for music, but it was one of those things you didn't realize you actually appreciated until you couldn't have it.

_Ron, who had been introduced to Muggle music in the last few years, agreed. It was vastly different from the music he had grown up with, but he had discovered that he liked much of it, and the way 'magic' wasn't worked into every song._

Returning to the living room, she found Heather seated on the sofa, flipping through one of her mother's magazines. A magazine that had been lying right next to her Potions book. Fortunately, Heather didn't pay that much attention to books that didn't have interesting covers, so no damage had been done.

"Alright, I'm ready," Hermione announced, going to the closet to fetch her coat.

"Oooh, you look nice! You won't suffer for dance partners tonight!"

Hermione shook her head firmly. "I don't plan on dancing. You might've gotten me to come, but that's it."

Heather pouted as she stood up, tossing the magazine on the coffee table. "I swear, sometimes I worry about you, Hermione. You need to get out and live a little. You're smart and pretty and fun, and there are lots of nice boys out there that will see that."

And yet, all I can think of is one horrid boy who doesn't, Hermione thought glumly. But Heather's words caused a surge of grateful affection for the girl, who did seem genuinely concerned about her.

_Ron plodded along next to them, feeling apprehensive. Hermione hadn't admitted to seeing anyone during the break, but there were lots of things, he was finding, that she hadn't mentioned. Heather seemed like a nice enough bird, but Ron wasn't too keen on the way she was steering Hermione towards other men. Not that it really mattered now, or would change anything; it was more a matter of just how close he had come to losing her interest entirely was being driven home. What if she_ had _met someone that night? Someone who wasn't a complete tosser, that would come right out and tell her how amazing she was, instead of going off to sulk and snog another girl? She wasn't dressed particularly sexy, but a nice bit of leg was showing, and the clingy jumper had a fairly deep scooped neck. It might not turn a lot of heads, but no one would doubt the fact that she was a girl, either._

The club was loud, though not as bad as Hermione had feared. There was a lull between just before Christmas and New Years, when the crowd would be thickest. Noise, however, would make an excellent cover if she did decide to go through with strangling Heather.

"You didn't say _anything_ about a double date!" She hissed, leaning over the table.

Heather giggled. "You wouldn't have come! Besides, it's not really a _date,_ date. Well, it is for me and Aiden; I just didn't want Kyle to feel awkward. He needs to get out more often too. Y'know, you might give him a chance. He's super smart, and I think girls like you are _totally_ his type."

"Girls like me," Hermione said flatly, wondering what _that_ meant.

"Well, I've been friends with him since I was little, and he's never hit on any of my other friends; he's always said he prefers them smarter. And since you're as smart as they come, it looked like a good match!"

She looked so pleased with herself that Hermione didn't have the heart to tell her that that wasn't how it worked. Just because you shared the same level of intellect didn't mean there would be attraction, anymore than you would fall in love with someone because they were the same height as you. There were so many different factors, including the little understood truth that there were different kinds of intelligence as well.

Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of the boys with the drinks; the other three were having beer, but Hermione was sticking to Coke. She didn't know these people, and didn't trust them enough to let her mind get clouded around them. She nearly gagged on the fizzy beverage when she saw Heather and Aiden slobbering all over each other, and she glanced at Kyle, who shot her a look of mutual revulsion. Good. It didn't look like he was expecting anything similar.

_Yes, good. Hermione could make whatever choices she wanted; he might not like 'em, but she could. He just didn't want a repeat of McLaggen._

Kyle was tall and lean, with messy, spiky black hair and green eyes, the glasses making him resemble a stretched out Harry. He was quiet but sarcastic, though his derisive tone never ventured to the offensive. He seemed likable enough, and a bit uncomfortable to be there; that in itself made Hermione comfortable, actually. A new song started up, and Heather dragged Aiden out of the booth and onto the dance floor, where they began to gyrate like worms in hot ashes.

Hermione looked away, nastily reminded of a similar couple she was doing her best to to forget. She traced the condensation on her bottle, the cool moisture a welcome sensation from the stuffiness of too many bodies in too small of a place.

"So, does he know you're alive, or is he too thick to see you standing right in front of him?"

Her head turned sharply at his words, finding him propping his head on his fist to face her, a sardonic but not unkind smirk on his lips.

"What makes you think that there is a 'he,' or that I even want him to notice?" She asked, striving for a casual tone.

"I could give you a line about how a girl as pretty as you always has a 'he' around, but truth? It's the way you flinched when you looked at them. My bet is this is a recent thing, and you're not too good at hiding it yet."

"And what would you know about it?" She bit out, stung by his accuracy.

Kyle shrugged, his attention turning back to the dancing couple. "Plenty. I just hid my flinch better than you did."

Something about his tone made her look at him more closely; then Heather, then him again.

"Oh my God...you're in love with her!"

He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Heather said you were smart. Yeah, I am. Have been for a few years now."

"Does she know?"

Kyle snorted. "Hell, no. That," he nodded at Aiden, "is the type she's always gone for."

Aiden was tall, but much more muscular than Kyle. He was also loud, obnoxious, and the way he had treated Heather so far made Hermione's skin crawl. He was constantly belittling her, and acted as if she was a toy for his sole amusement.

"But he's so...so..."

"Uh-uh," he waggled a finger in mock reproof. "No judging by appearances. It's only fair to get to know him first. He'll still be a douche, but at least you made the effort, all politically correct, like."

Hermione laughed, trying to ignore the fact that he had Ron's sense of humor. She couldn't help asking, "Then why do you do this? Come and watch them, I mean."

There was a pause, and she thought she might have gone too far, then he shrugged. "Because I'm her friend. It's not like I invite myself, or anything. And there have been some that won't take no for an answer, and she's not exactly built for defense. I might not like the choices she make about who she dates, but the least I can do is defend her right to say no."

Somehow, his answer made Hermione feel ashamed, and she quickly tried to rationalize that it was different in her case. Ron could say no in the unlikely event that he would want to, and he didn't need her for anything he couldn't get with Lavender. He had traded up, plain and simple.

_That didn't sit well with Ron. Even when he was being a complete arse, he hadn't considered it trading up. They had been completely different, and it wasn't fair to compare the two. Which, of course, he_ did, _even if it wasn't on purpose. But no one could live up to your expectations when it was someone else you wanted. The whole time he had been missing things about Hermione, and she had really thought that he didn't need her at all? Mental._

"So, what, are you just going to keep waiting on her forever?"

Kyle tipped back the last of his beer. "That'd be rather pathetic, don't you think? Nah. I'll keep doing what I'm doing because that's what friends do; hopefully, with time, the feelings will fade away, and I'll move on from there. I'm not waiting for her, I'm just not rushing to forget her. Love is a natural thing; might as well let it die a natural death."

That was a lovely thought, in theory, but Hermione felt that she had a distinctly more homicidal leaning. Which was too bad, because while she could see that he was clearly hurting, he was handling it much better than she was. Obviously, this constant, boiling anger couldn't be kept up indefinitely. She was going to have to find new way to move on, though she wasn't ready to go this route yet. And even if she was, it was too late; Ron had rubbed it in her face too many times for her to back down quietly.

Ruefully, she said, "You're a much better person than I am."

He threw back his head with a loud laugh, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Not bloody likely! I've just had years of practice."

They sat in companionable silence for several moments, before he slid to the edge of the seat.

"Hey, let's dance," he asked suddenly.

"I...what? No, no thanks. I didn't come here for that. Besides, I thought..." she motioned her head at Heather.

"Yeah, I do. But I also like to dance. And why should we sit here? Just 'cause we can't be with the person we want doesn't mean we can't have fun. I'm not interested in you, and you're not interested in me; there aren't any expectations we have to live up to, and we don't have to worry about hurting anyone's feelings. Wouldn't it be nice to get off of the sidelines?"

She hesitated a moment. The things he said were true. She _would_ like to have a good time, and like he said, they both knew where they stood. This wasn't like with Cormac; she wasn't trying to do it to make Ron jealous. She also wasn't trying to use Kyle to move on. Once it was over, she would go back to feeling as miserable as she had before, and he'd probably do the same.

"Alright," she said simply, sliding out after him. She had been observing the other dancers, and while she wasn't going to be doing anything remotely suggestive, she was glad she had her old dance classes to call on, along with her night of the Yule Ball, and a few things picked up from Ginny.

_Ron stood by as they began to move, dancing well enough to get appreciative glances, but not enough to draw too much attention. He supposed that he might have been upset if he had heard about this back then, but there wasn't anything to be upset about. For one thing, she wasn't dating him. And...there really was no attraction on her part, other than simply acknowledging the fact that Kyle was good looking. But she didn't see him as anything but another person who understood how she felt, and it was nice for her not to have to pretend. It wasn't like some of the cheesier films they liked to make fun of; they weren't 'taking comfort' in each other, and they weren't about to fall for each other over something like this. they were simply two people having fun, something that was in short supply for both of them. And someone should probably tell Heather, because she was looking green around the gills, frozen on her corner of the dance floor, with Aiden staring at her with cow-like confusion._

The tube ride home was awkward; Somehow, Heather had gotten into a fight with Aiden, and they had broken up, but she didn't want to take up Kyle's offer of a ride home. Her smile had been forced when she had told Hermione to go with him, and she had been silent ever since Kyle had left, a worried look on his face. Now, as they neared their houses, Heather seemed to come back from wherever her mind had wandered.

"Well, my night was a bust, but it certainly looked like you hit it off with Kyle!"

Hermione stopped, staring at her suspiciously. There was something _too_ bubbly about her tone, and her eyes were shimmering with something other than happiness for a friend. A thought hit her.

"Wait a minute...you _like_ him!" Why did this seem like deja vu?

Heather froze, her breath coming out in little cloudy puffs, her eyes as wide and unblinking as a frightened deer. "What? No! Don't be ridiculous! Why would I... _Kyle?_ No!"

Her perky ponytail bobbed as she shook her head in denial. Heather was an excellent dancer, but a lousy actress. The fake smile was a dead giveaway, as was the familiar pain in her eyes; Hermione recognized it, as she had seen it herself every morning in the mirror.

"Heather, I'm not interested in Kyle, and he's not interested in me. Why don't you just tell him? Besides, you've gone out with other boys, so did you just realize it tonight?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms in an effort to keep warm.

The blonde's shoulders slumped, giving up all pretence. "No. I've liked him for ages now. _Years."_

That was exasperating. "Then why haven't you told him?"

"Because he deserves better than me! He deserves someone _tall,_ and _smart!_ Being around a stupid bint like me would probably drive him mental," Heather poured out.

"That's absurd. He's been your friend this long without being carted away, hasn't he? And what he _deserves_ is someone that loves him, and likes him for who he is. So why did you try to set me up with him? And why do you keep going out with people you don't like, instead of the one you do?"

Heather looked embarrassed, dropping her eyes to the pavement. "I know it's stupid, but I sort of hoped that if he saw that others were interested, he might show a little himself."

Hermione snorted. "Or, possibly, he just might think that those were your type, and that you wouldn't be interested. That still doesn't answer my other question."

It was clear that Heather had never considered that point. "Well, I knew he'd find someone _eventually,_ and I thought it would hurt less if it was someone I liked, that I knew would treat him right. I was wrong," she finished in a small voice.

"Oh, for the love of...Heather, listen to me; get inside, call him, and tell him to come over. You two need to have a long talk. Don't give me that look! You know I'm right!"

Heather gave her a small half smile. "Of course; you're Hermione. Alright, I'll give it a try, if you think that's best. Anything has to be better than hunting up another troll to date."

She hugged Hermione, and Hermione was surprised to find herself hugging back. "I probably won't see you before you leave, so thanks for being such a good friend. I hope you figure out whatever's been bothering you."

Hermione patted her back, muttering something about promising to write. She wished solving her own problems were that easy, and would end as happily, but she knew better. She was happy for Heather, but knew things would go far differently for her.

" _Hypocrite," Ron stated, with a bit of heat. She hadn't done much different than Heather, and she sure as hell hadn't taken her own advice, but that was Hermione all over. Knew what was best for everyone else, but was piss poor at applying it to herself._

Unlocking her front door, she felt the ache in her chest intensify, now that there was nothing to distract her. With a heavy heart, she knew what she would do when she went upstairs, though she wasn't proud to admit it. Something had to be done about that as well; just one more time couldn't hurt, though...

_That was confusing, and made him nervous. Ron couldn't quite make out what had brought on the feeling of self disgust, but hoped that the next memory would clue him in. As the Granger's house melted away to be replaced by the front of his brothers' shop, his confusion grew; he could tell he was going to learn what it was all about, but he had no clue how his brothers could be involved._

Hermione clutched the small paper sack with the double 'W' logo at her side, and entered the building belonging to people she had been trying to forget about since she left school. Which wasn't entirely fair, since they had done nothing; but they were a reminder, and remembering was the last thing she wanted to do. The shop was doing a brisk business for a weekday, and she hung back, making sure she didn't see anyone she knew. Verity was busy at the register, and it looked like Lee Jordan assisting customers; she edged around to the other side of the shop, planning to dart up to the front, do what she had to, and rush back out.

As if summoned, a hand landed on each shoulder, belonging to the twins. She jumped, startled, then tried to compose herself by smiling politely.

"Hello, Fred, George. I didn't see the two of you there."

"Well, that's because you were to busy sneaking around to notice," Fred explained.

"We know you got a late start in the arts of skulduggery, but you should at least be able to creep across a room without looking like someone who is... _.up to something._ Is there some sort of super secret mission going on that we should know about?" George asked, nearly blinding in his lime green dragonskin jacket, the tackiness which was only matched by Fred, in complementing grape.

"I was just dropping by to return a few things," she muttered in embarrassment. She should have just gone straight to the front and gotten it over with, or, better yet, not come at all.

"Why didn't you say so? Is there something wrong? We don't want to be selling defective products." Fred asked, the both of them all business.

"No, it's just that I...have no use for them anymore. Look, it's nothing to bother you with; I'm sure there are other customers that need you. I'll just go up front, and have Verity sort it out."

Once again, two hands landed heavily on her shoulders. She wished they wouldn't; it was like being bookended by a hallucinogenic nightmare.

"Now, this wouldn't be like when you were a third year, and avoided every Weasley because one of our nearest and dearest was being a git, would it? Because that would just hurt. We thought you might have dropped in because you missed us."

She rolled her eyes at their cocker spaniel impressions, but she couldn't help a small giggle.

"That's better! Come on up to the office, and we'll take care of this and catch up a bit," George suggested as they steered her up the stairs.

Giving in to the inevitable, she resolved to get this over with with a minimum of fuss. The office they led her to was surprisingly nice, with two large desks facing each other, and charts, lists, and diagrams pinned to boards mounted on the walls. There was a large filing cabinet, a safe, and a sofa pushed up under the window. Fred sat behind one of the desks while George perched on top of it, motioning for her to take a seat on the sofa. It was striped in various dark shades of brown and red, and was like sinking into a cloud. Her body nestled into the cushions, and she wondered where she could find one like it.

"So, what is it you need to return? Might as well get business out of the way," Fred began.

Trying to act nonchalant, Hermione tossed the bag onto his desk. George picked it up and tipped the contents out next to him, Daydream Charms rolling about in brightly colored wrapping. Each picked one up and turned them over, carefully examining them for any type of fault.

"What is the problem, exactly? Is there something wrong with the duration, or has using them made you feel sick in any way?" George asked.

It was always disconcerting when they acted professionally; she knew that they had to sometimes, or they never would have made it so far. But it was a far cry from the grinning boys she had met in first year, and the inescapability of their adulthood made her long to go back, to a time when things were simpler, and all she had to worry about was getting Harry and Ron through their lessons, with the occasional hair-raising danger thrown in.

"No, there's nothing wrong with them. I just don't want them anymore," she stated briefly, hoping they would accept that and move on.

"But you've been ordering them regularly since the start of term," Fred asked in a puzzled tone, "are you sure they haven't gotten boring?"

"I just think it's foolish to waste your time daydreaming. It's not like any of it has a chance of ever happening, so what's the point?" She snapped more bitterly than she had wanted.

"Sometimes, that's the point," George explained, "and sometimes the point is to motivate you to get what you want. Do y'think Fred and I had anything other than dreams to begin with? At least they were free, and they managed to push us this far."

She wanted to point out that that was different; everything had been up to them. She had to rely on a non-interested second party, but she bit her tongue.

The twins exchanged glances.

Fred tossed the Charm he had been holding back onto the desk, and leaned back into his seat, the burgundy leather squeaking with his movement. "Let's level; we have it on excellent authority that our baby brother is being a sockwank. Is that what has you in your current gloomy state?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's none of my business if he wants to go around sucking the face off a squid in a short skirt."

"Interesting, since I never mentioned what he had done specifically."

She flushed, and dropped her gaze to the hardwood floor, staring at a small ball of lint on the otherwise clean floor.

George came over to sit by her. "If it makes you feel any better, he was pretty miserable without you coming over. He slunk around like a whipped dog when Harry and Ginny got your presents, and there wasn't even a letter for him."

"He looked even worse when he snuck a look at their letters; I think he was hoping you had asked after him."

This revelation pleased her momentarily, but she refused to get her hopes up anymore. "I'm sure he was just disappointed it wasn't something from Lavender."

Again, they exchanged a look, this time with growing smirks.

"Show her, Fred," George urged.

Fred rummaged in one of the desk drawers, before pulling out the ugliest, _tackiest_ necklace she had ever seen. It was made from a cheap, bright gold that almost had her skin turning green from the sight of it alone, but what made her sick to her stomach was the looping letters spelling out 'My Sweetheart.'

_Ron nearly gagged. He hadn't thought of that thing in years, supposing it to have gone out of this world from his wastebin. If anything, it was even worse than he remembered it; who would wear something like that, with letters that big? You might as well wear a billboard. He had seen pictures of Muggle rappers wearing more tasteful jewelry._

"What...what is that _thing?"_ Hermione asked with curiosity and revulsion.

The twins cackled, and Fred explained, "This, if you can believe it, is Lavender's gift to Ron, whose reaction, from what we can gather, had been to chuck it on sight."

Hermione couldn't take her eyes off of it.

"It seems that while his taste in women has become temporarily questionable, he hasn't developed an equal taste in neckwear," George drawled.

Her shoulders heaved, and her body rocked back and forth, shaking with silent mirth. "It...It looks like a collar for a...spoiled little lap...dog!" She gasped out. "His face! I can just picture...his face! Every time she c-calls him _Won-Won!"_

The twins joined in, obviously picturing the same thing she was. "Our brother, the poodle!"

"No, Ron's more of a grumpy little Peke!"

It took awhile for the laughter to die down, and Hermione's stomach cramped slightly from the strain. She hadn't laughed like that in a long time, and she knew that she would remember this later, when she needed to.

"Trust us, Hermione. Ron won't take much of that; he'll get fed up soon, and it'll all be over," George said bracingly.

The smile melted from her face. "I doubt it. He's getting too much _incentive_ to stay with her."

Fred tossed the necklace back in the drawer, and waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, things haven't gotten that far. He hasn't come to us for the Charm," he said confidently.

Hermione stood up, and paced a few steps in agitation. "That doesn't mean anything. He could easily learn it from someone else. Usually he comes to me..." She swung around to look at them, a crazed, murderous expression on her face. "If he asks me, I won't kill him; I'll Transfigure him into a giant spider, and lock him in a mirrored room," she stated in an eerily calm voice.

_Ron, who had been next to her, skipped several steps away, practically feeling the extra legs beginning to sprout. Thank Merlin things had never gotten that far, not that he'd have been stupid enough to bring it up with her. But she would have known. Hermione_ always _knew._

Fred and George recoiled nervously.

"Blimey, I think she would, Fred!"

"Talk about a woman scorned..." Fred muttered, before brightening a little.

"Even Ron isn't that stupid, and besides that, he really, truly _can't._ Each older brother has to give the next in line the talk and the Charm; that's how it's always been," he said soothingly.

Hermione, still quivering in rage at Imaginary Ron's actions, rolled her eyes. "Ron's never going to come to you; you'd give him too much grief over it."

It was their turn for eye rolling. "Yeah, but that's part of the package. Even Percy had a good go at us, forcing us to memorize all these stupid charts before he'd tell us. He made the whole lecture dry as dust on purpose, you could tell by the smug little smirk he wore. Pretty good, for someone with such a poor sense of humor."

"True," George grudgingly admitted. But that was before the sod stopped being a Weasley."

"Oh, come now. You know he's still family," Hermione said. She was angry with Percy herself, but she hated to see the family torn apart permanently.

"No, he's a Weatherby now. Good luck to him. But anyway, it's not just a tradition. It's to ensure that none of us went messing about before we knew what was what. Dad even made it so that anyone who doesn't ask is Jinxed. With Mum, you know where you are; a lot of yelling and extra chores. But Dad..." George trailed off.

"Never push a quiet man. They have imaginations you don't want to mess with."

Both men stared off into the distance, their expressions telling her that they had tangled with that imagination, and had regretted it. She already respected Mr. Weasley, but it went up several more notches.

_Ron had always been too afraid to ask what the Jinx was; obviously nothing life threatening or painful, because cruelty was out. But that still left a lot to work with, and he had never been tempted to test it._

It wasn't a subject that Hermione wanted to dwell on any longer, and she felt suddenly embarrassed for even bringing it up.

"Well, I should be off, since I did what I came to do..."

Her eyes strayed to the pile of Daydream Charms still on the desk, twinkling at her temptingly. They had been the main thing getting her through the pain; several times a day, she would use one and all of her troubles would just...melt away. She would be transported to a world where she didn't hurt, and Ron said and did the things she had always dreamed about. Maybe she was being too hasty. Surely, a little escape wasn't such a bad thing? Perhaps she could take just one back with her. Maybe a few for school...

A hand obscured her vision, and she blinked as Fred swept them into a drawer. He must have seen something it her expression, because the look on his face was hard and troubled. She shuddered, knowing she needed to make a clean break. Daydream Charms were fine in the normal course of things, but there was a problem when you used them to completely avoid the reality outside them.

George was saying goodbye, and Fred got up to walk her to the door. "Take care of yourself, Hermione. Alright?"

He sounded gruff and awkward, and she knew that he was worried, but wouldn't press her. She promised that she would, and she meant it; if felt wrong, somehow, to see such looks on their faces. There was enough going wrong with the world, and the twins had always been a bright light shining in all of that. Mental, and irritating, but a light; she didn't want to dim it.

"Keep an eye out for an owl; you never know when something might come along to cheer you up," George winked.

She doubted it, but she appreciated the thought.

_Ron was shaken. Hermione was usually so careful about things like that. She had gone mental after the war, when she found he had been taking more Dreamless Sleep than he should. She had rationed it in an almost obsessive way, and he guessed that this was why. She didn't have a problem, but she had seen the potential and stopped before it could turn into one. She had been right about Fred noticing; it had been around this time when they had put an age limit on them, and restricted the number each person could buy at once. As for the surprise George had mentioned, he had a faint memory of his own, hovering just out of reach..._

About three days into the new term, and Hermione was sitting in the common room with Harry and Ginny. She was enjoying a brief period of feeling like herself, but that ended when Ron and Lavender came in from lunch. Hermione gathered up her things, ignoring the protests from Harry and Ginny. There was a tapping on the window, and she went over to open it on her way up. To her surprise, it was a package for her. Curiously, she sat down to open it; the packaging was from the shop, but she hadn't ordered anything. Once she had torn into it, she gingerly reached in, her hand coming into contact with something soft and fluffy. For a horrible moment, she thought they had sent her a Pygmy Puff, before remembering they didn't send pets by post.

From the small package, she pulled a ball of electric orange fur, with something bright and metallic glinting around part of it. Combing out the hair, she found herself confronted with a small stuffed dog, with a hideous gold and rhinestone collar, with two giant Ws in purple and green. The dog's facial expression was one of embarrassed anger, matching perfectly with the one she had seen on the face of a certain human many times. She held it up for Harry and Ginny to see. Their eyes bugged out, and then began to tear up as realization dawned; soon, the three of them were howling and cackling loudly, nearly sliding from their seats. Lavender, who couldn't bear to be left out, had looked over to see what the fuss was about.

"Ooooh, Hermione! That's adorable! I know that's not really _your_ sort of thing; I'd be happy to take it off your hands."

Harry and Ginny sobered instantly, with Ginny glaring at the other girl with barely concealed anger. Hermione gripped the dog, before speaking to Lavender in a tone of sad amusement.

"You might not think it's my type, but I rather fancy it. At the very least, it'll serve to remind me that some things are too ridiculous to hope for. So thanks for the offer, but I'll be keeping _this_ one."

Lavender glared at her, catching her double meaning. Ron, she noted as she swept from the room, looked completely confused. Well, that was alright. He would get the message she planned to send, soon enough.

_Merlin, that dog had been spot on! He'd have murdered them for it, had he known, but they had managed to capture just how he felt. He wondered if Hermione still had it. He also wondered, as the grin slid off his face, exactly what message she was talking about. Because it was around about now that Hermione had changed._

Not for the first time, Hermione contemplated taking a pair of shears to her hair; it would be cooler in the summer, reduce the money spent on shampoo, and more importantly, cut down on the time spent brushing it out of a morning. This usually wasn't much of problem; however, over the past few months any minute spent in her room was a minute too many. Especially now that Lavender was getting more pointed in her insinuations.

"Oh, Parvati, do you think you could start waking me up in the morning? I'd cast a Charm, but I swear, by the time Won-Won gets through with me, I'm absolutely _worn out._ It may be from all of that Quidditch playing, but he certainly has _stamina."_

_Ron nearly swallowed his teeth. She was almost saying that he had...that they...what the bloody hell had she been playing at? He'd groped her a bit through her bra, and she'd rubbed him some over his trousers, but that was it! No wonder Hermione had looked like she wanted to fry him up like a sausage! He tried to calm down; Hermione had to have twigged on at some point._

Hermione brushed harder, clenching her teeth at Lavender's sly smirk in her direction. She wouldn't give her the satisfaction of crying in front of her, and she tried to tell herself that the stinging in her eyes was from the hairs she was viciously pulling.

"Um...sure, Lav. Are you about ready to go down to breakfast?" Parvati asked with an uneasy glance at Hermione.

"I have to run back and grab my spongebag from the showers. I need to take my _you know what_ as well. You know I _love_ ginger babies, but it's still a bit early for that. Be right back!"

As she left the room, Hermione threw down her brush, the sound of wood cracking against wood echoing around the room.

"Hermione? Can we talk?" Parvati asked quietly.

This was surprising; Parvati had been very quiet lately, a fact which Hermione appreciated. She could tell that the other girl had grown tired of Lavender's displays, and was probably feeling a bit left out herself. Still Hermione wasn't exactly in a talking mood; it took everything she had to dig up the vestige of politeness that she had left.

"Alright. What is it?"

"It's about this whole thing with Lavender."

That was the _last_ thing she wanted to discuss; however, Parvati seemed upset, so she might as well get it over with now.

"Yes?"

"I just...I know you sort of hate her right now, but you _know_ she's not usually like this, and I just want to explain."

Hermione sank back into the small chair at the dressing table, aware that she might be here awhile. She said nothing, but waited for Parvati to continue.

"You know how everyone has something they're known for, something that makes them special? For Lav, it's always been the fact that she's pretty. Ever since she was little she's heard it, from her family and others. She's never been the smartest, or the most athletic, but she's been _pretty."_

"Well, she is pretty. I've never said otherwise," Hermione broke in impatiently, failing to see the point.

"Do you remember at the end of last term? When that Ravenclaw seventh year asked you out?"

Hermione had to think a moment. "Derek? What about him? I didn't even really know him, and anyway, I turned him down."

Parvati sighed, playing with the tip of her plaited hair. "Yes, but that's not the point. Lav had been crushing on him, and she asked him out. He turned her down. It hurt her terribly, but it was worse seeing him ask you, not three days later."

"So she does this, as some sort of-of _revenge?_ That's so stupid! _I_ didn't ask _him!"_

Parvati leaned back, as if the flames of Hermione's anger might manifest physically. "No, you didn't. But Hermione...you've always been the smart one. Not that you aren't pretty; we figured that out in fourth year. This was different, though. It's not just about a boy. It's the fact that he chose you over her, and that's never happened to her before; he wanted something that she couldn't compete with. It scared her, even if she won't admit it. Because if she's not the pretty one, then what is she? What does she have to offer besides that?"

Normally, Hermione would consider the injustice of this; no one should think that all they had to offer was a pretty face, or to feel like that was their sole worth. If Lavender had picked anyone besides Ron, she'd say so.

"And she couldn't have chosen any of the other boys to boost her ego?"

Parvati shrugged uncomfortably. "Part of it was to bother you, that's true. To prove to herself that she could beat you. And Ron is fanciable at the moment, the way he's been playing. But you know Lav; it won't last."

If anything, this angered her more. "Are you telling me that she's just _playing_ with him?" She asked dangerously. "Because if that's the case, I can assure you that she'll never be pretty again."

She might be hurting. She might be furious with Ron. She might want to set a flock of swans on him herself. But as mad as she was, there was years of caring for him, of being his friend, and _loving_ him, that couldn't be pushed aside so easily. Even if she never spoke to him again, she'd still rake Lavender over the coals for hurting him that way.

"It's not like that! I mean, she doesn't really love him, but she _thinks_ she does. She's not setting out to hurt him, and if she does, it'll be by accident."

"I don't care! That conniving, manipulative little-"

"She didn't do anything wrong, Hermione," Parvati cut in, her voice much sharper than before. "It's not great, what she's doing, but she had a perfect right to go after a boy that's single. Just because you were too scared, or whatever, to make a move, doesn't mean that no woman would ever have a try for him. If you're smart, and you really care for him, you'll wait for all this to blow over."

Hermione released a harsh bark. "Sure! Because he'll want plain, boring Hermione after he's been with someone like Lavender. Do you really think he could ever be content with that, knowing what he could have instead? Don't make me laugh."

There was an angry, pitying look in Parvati's eyes. "Is that what you really think? Then maybe it's good that you didn't get to him first. Because you'd always be wondering if he wasn't going to leave you for someone better. That's a horrible way to live, and it's a horrible way to think of Ron. Now. Lavender is my friend, and while I'm not happy with the choices she's making, I am supportive of _her._ I just thought you should know that this isn't really her. I'll try to get her to ease up and quit exaggerating so much, but that's as far as I'll go. I know this is a lot to take in, so I'll leave you to it."

She hopped off her bed, picked up her bag, and left without another word. Hermione stayed where she was, feeling ashamed and resentful. Ashamed, because she knew that Parvati was right. Resentful because she couldn't lie to herself. But if Lavender had just talked to her...she knew what it was like to be put in a box, to feel like you only had one thing to offer the world, and how it felt when that one thing was threatened. But Lavender hadn't gone that route, and she had lost Ron because of it. Maybe Parvati was right about that; maybe it would have been unfair to him. But she would have been with him for awhile, and she had thought that at least she could have a taste of that kind of happiness before he moved on. She shook her head. It didn't matter now, and wouldn't do any good to dwell on. If she didn't hurry, she would miss breakfast.

_Ron was mad. At Lavender, Hermione, himself...the whole situation. It surprised him to hear Lavender's reason, and it was hard to take in. She had never been so bitchy before, and it didn't suit her. She had always been bubbly and cheerful, and got along with most people. That went a lot farther that some might think; she was never in any real danger of ending up alone. And she had done a lot with herself that had nothing to do with how she looked. She had found her place in the world, and she was happy. It just made all of this seem so...pointless._

_Did Hermione still think he was looking for someone better? Had he made it clear enough that, to him, she_ was _the best? He hoped so, because he couldn't stand to think that she still went around with this heavy feeling in her heart. Being with her wasn't settling. She had to know that._

The day passed slowly, the hours seeming to drag by at a snail's pace. She sleepwalked through her lessons, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise when Professor McGonagall asked her to stay back after Transfiguration. There were a few gasps of surprise, and a few unkind sounding giggles; Professor McGonagall quelled them with a look.

"If there are those of you that are jealous, I'm sure I could find time for a private chat with each one of you as well. No? I thought not. Good day, then."

Hermione walked to the front of the room, completely missing the way Ron had hung back, glancing over his shoulder with a worried expression before Lavender yanked him out the door. Hermione stood in front of the wide, dark wooden desk, it's surface covered with various items arranged neatly, looking organized when it should appear cluttered. She focused on an ornate teacup, tracing its lines and curves as the sounds of her classmates faded away. It was likely that she was going to be called out for not paying as much attention as she should, although it was hardly fair; she had answered every question that had been put to her correctly, even if she hadn't volunteered the answer.

As the silence ticked on, she was finally forced to look up, to find the Professor regarding her with a strange look. There was concern and compassion, and an understanding that made her squirm. McGonagall was her favorite professor; she had been the one to explain what it meant to be a witch, and had made sure she had all the information she needed, and encouraged her in her studies. She was a member of the Order, and she greatly admired how she handled Umbridge last year. In short, she was the kind of adult that Hermione aspired to be, and she didn't want to disappoint her.

_Fat chance of that, Ron thought. McGonagall had been universally liked (not counting the Slytherins), and everyone knew she was hard but fair, and they respected her for it. She pushed you, but she also always made sure you had the help that you needed, and she didn't make you feel like shite because of your limits. But it had always been clear, at least to Ron, that she had a soft spot for Hermione, much like Lupin had for Harry. He wasn't sure what it was; he sort of had a feeling that Hermione reminded her of a younger version of herself._

"Stop looking so worried, Miss Granger. You aren't in trouble; the conspicuous absence of Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley should tell you that."

Hermione managed a weak smile, but wasn't totally reassured. If she wasn't in trouble, then what was wrong?

Professor McGonagall rolled up a scroll that had been laying in front of her, and put it to the side. She folded her hands on the empty space it left behind, and stared at Hermione with a penetrating look.

"Ever since you began attending Hogwarts-indeed, ever since I first met you-your keen love of learning has been apparent. Even in the darkest of times, that has always remained steadfast. However, that has not been the case as of late. You are distracted, and seem to take no joy in your lessons."

Hermione felt her shoulders slump. It was true; although she continued to throw herself into her studies, the passion that had always fueled her was missing. Which was absurd; she should be able to block her feelings out, and concentrate on more important matters.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I'll try to do better in the future."

Professor McGonagall blinked, and sighed harshly. "Child, that is not the _point._ There is something that is obviously troubling you in your...private life, and you are not attending to matters there. Rather, you are burying yourself in your books to escape. I may be an educator, Miss Granger, but I can assure you that there are more important things in life than education alone. You need to confront the problem and sort things out. Happiness can be had, if only you reach out to grasp it."

Wonderful. Her sorry excuse for a love life had drawn the attention of the staff. "Thank you for the advice, Professor. But I'm afraid that happiness doesn't want to be grasped. At least, not by me," she spoke in a clipped voice, as sour as an unripe lemon. "And I'll be fine. School is for learning, after all, and that's what I'm here for. There will be time for...other pursuits once I've graduated."

The older woman shook her head, realizing that her words were falling on deaf ears. "If that is your wish. You're free to go, Miss Granger."

Hermione made her escape, her hand on the door when Professor McGonagall's voice stopped her.

"Just remember that there are lessons you can only learn by living; keep reading your books, by all means, but you won't find those answers there."

Hermione shot out into the hall, her temper pushed to the max. Everywhere she turned, someone was constantly shoving Ron in her face. Couldn't they tell by the way she was acting that she was trying to remove him from her life? Didn't they see she was using her coldness the way one would freeze off a wart?

_Not the best comparison, but it could be worse, Ron thought sadly, clearly remembering this part. Her anger had gone from hot to cold, and it had confused him. Before, she had always taken pains to let him know he was being ignored; now, she simply acted as if he didn't exist, and the fact didn't bother her in the least. It had scared him._

Wanting to be alone, she made her way to a blocked off area of the castle, climbing up one of the towers until she reached an odd section that led outside, to a small nook invisible from the outside. She made it just in time, as the sky, which had been dark and threatening, began to spit fat drops of water, creating a dull roar. She was tucked up on a bench that was just barely out of reach of the weather, and she stared out at the sky, moodily watching the lightning flash.

She was so tired. She wasn't sleeping well, and she was constantly on edge. One of her ways of...relaxing was out of the question; not only did it hurt her heart, but it felt wrong, thinking of Ron like that while he was with someone else. It might be foolish, but she didn't feel as if she had any right even to the part of him that was in her imagination. Many nights, she had tossed and turned under the stifling heat of her thick duvet, and a hand would creep into her knickers. Warm thoughts that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room would overtake her, and there was a blissful moment of peace before she remembered how things really stood. His girlfriend was just on the other side of the room, for Merlin's sake; even if she couldn't hear her, there was something about it that was indecent.

_Bloody...no wonder she was so irritable! Hermione, he had discovered early on, needed to work out her emotions physically. He was always keen to help, but he knew that going without any kind of relief always had her in a lather. And he certainly hadn't held back himself. Guiltily, he had wanked as usual; he tried to think of his girlfriend, but years of habit, and the fact that he still wanted Hermione, always ended with him thinking of her, instead._

She was hungry, too; talking with Parvati had made her late, since she had needed to stop by the library that morning, and she had missed breakfast. Between losing herself in the library, and avoiding Ron, she had lost several pounds. Not enough to cause worry, but she could tell a difference in the waist of her skirt. Over the years, she had come to rely on Ron to either snap her out of her quest for knowledge long enough to go eat, or to sneak her some food instead. Relying on him was something she needed to break herself of. Besides, wasn't that rather pathetic?

_Of course it wasn't, he thought impatiently. For one thing, it wasn't as if she_ couldn't _do it for herself. But when you poured so much of your energy into something, it was nice when someone took the strain off in some way; that was what he did. He couldn't shovel whatever she was learning into her head, and he couldn't learn it for her. But he could help in little ways, ways that showed he cared._

There was a muttered curse, and then a figure slammed into the small alcove with her, water dripping from their hair. With a smothered gasp, she realized it was Malfoy; it was odd to see him, since he hadn't been around much as of late. For a moment, she was nervous; then she shook it off. She had been listening to Harry for too long. Malfoy might be a bigoted wad of snot, but nothing that she couldn't deal with. He was alone, and he was the sort to stick to words when he didn't have anyone to back him up. She stayed silent, refusing to flinch away when his eyes landed on her, and he realized who he was trapped in here with.

To her surprise, he sat on the bench facing hers, watching her warily as he kept his body as far away as possible. Up close, she could see that he was faring badly; he was thinner, the skin on his face stretched over his cheekbones. The circles under his eyes were large and dark, but it was the eyes themselves that gave her pause. There was fear there, and a hopeless, half mad look as well. Whatever Harry thought he was up to, it was obvious that it was taking its toll on him. The chill in the air had very little to do with the weather; The only thing heavier than the rain was the hostility. Like two tigers thrust unexpectedly into the same cage, they watched the other for any sign of attack. Maybe it was the strain that he was under, or perhaps it was habit, but Draco was first to strike.

"Aren't you afraid to be wandering around alone, Granger? Bad things happen to little girls that go off by themselves." His voice was hoarse and cracked, evidence that he spent most of his time in silence.

She knew he was referring to Katie; even if Harry was wrong, and he had nothing to do with it, his delight over something so horrific made her skin crawl. "Not really. There's nothing here that I would consider a threat," she answered coolly, happy to find a release for her anger.

Malfoy leaned back against the damp wall, his head lolling to the left, a malicious smirk pulling at his lips. "Big talk, Granger. Hope you have something to back it up, since it doesn't look like there's anyone in any hurry to come save you. The Chosen one is busy running around in circles, and the Weasel is getting the kind of tongue lashing he never got from you."

She glared at him, her fingers twitching for her wand. "Shut up."

His smirk widened. "Is that what has you up here? Still pining over the Weasel King, who was too thick to see that you were gagging to be his queen?"

There was something inexplicably foul about hearing her private feelings drip carelessly from his poisoned tongue, and it had her up on her feet, looming over him with barely contained fury.

" _I. Said. Shut. UP!"_

Malfoy laughed, a mad sound that brought to mind lightning and reanimated corpses. "Even he wasn't desperate enough to stoop to using a filthy little Mudbloo-"

"That's a lie!" She yelled; even if Ron cared nothing for her, the state of her blood wasn't the issue.

Almost bonelessly, Draco stood up, not much taller than herself, but with enough inches to be able to look down his nose. "Maybe it is. Maybe he's so witless that it wouldn't matter to him. So I guess that means there's just something really wrong with you, doesn't it? Something so disgusting that makes it where he wouldn't spare you a second glance."

Hermione took half a step back, swallowing hard at hearing the words that had been circling in her head spoken out loud.

"He's set himself up to be just as pathetic as his father; Brown will be sloppy fat in a few years, constantly barefoot and pregnant. He'll be just like a farmer, porking his own pig; fitting, since he's only good for living in squal-"

He was cut off by the wand poking him in the throat. She wasn't sure when she had reached for it, or what she was planning on doing; all she knew was that she had to bring his foul litany of vicious lies and painful truths to a stop.

"Go on, Granger," he whispered, a strange light dancing in his pale eyes. "Do it. You know you want to. I can't do anything to stop you, and you're clever enough to do it in a way you won't get caught. You could even tell them I slipped and fell, and they'd believe you. One little word, maybe two, and you could end me. _Do it."_

And she wanted to. All of the pain she had been feeling boiled up with the hatred she felt for the boy in front of her; she wanted him to hurt as badly as she was hurting, to twist and turn within himself, desperate to escape something that he carried with him wherever he went. She wanted to expel the dark, negative feelings that had been clouding her heart; she wanted to let loose the destruction she had been carefully repressing.

Shaken, disgusted with herself, she staggered away, keeping her wand up in case he tried anything.

Disappointment flitted across his face. "No? You'll regret giving up your chance, someday."

She shook her head, edging closer to the exit. "No. I'm not like you. I don't take pleasure in things like that."

Draco sat back down, the smirk back on his face, though there was no joy in his eyes. "Aren't you? I wonder. Pain and jealousy are ugly things, Mudblood. Carry them around inside long enough, and some of that ugliness will seep out. We'll see if you're still so sanctimonious then."

Her stomach was roiling with sickness, and she ran, nearly slipping on the slick stone stairs. Her shoes squeaked as they sought for purchase, and her heart thudded before she was safely inside again. Hurriedly, she made her way back to Gryffindor tower, planning to dry off and crawl into bed, even if it was too early. She needed to shut the world out while she dealt with her latest encounter. Her reaction had frightened her; this wasn't who she was, and this wasn't how she acted. She was letting her emotions take control, and that was dangerous. This was so unlike her, to let her feelings control her head. Or was it? It certainly wasn't the first time she had lashed out. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she regain control? Why did she feel like a stranger in her own skin? She hadn't been afraid of Malfoy, but she was afraid of herself.

_She wasn't the only one on shaky legs; Ron was reeling himself, dealing with her feelings along with his own reactions. For a few minutes, he had been afraid for her, being out there alone with Malfoy. Things could have gone badly, especially if he had thought that she had caught on to what he was doing. Then he had been angry; he knew the ferret was a foul, sorry excuse for good honest shite, but the things he had said...well, he didn't care much about what had been said about him, but he had wanted to crack his skull for what he said about Hermione._

_Somehow, she kept coming away with the idea that he didn't think she was good enough, and that had never been what he was after. He had been trying to prove his own worth, and in the process, he had torn hers down._

She closed her door, relieved for a moment to find herself alone; that is, until a head of ginger popped out of her curtains, and Ginny waved at her.

"Hello, Hermione. I've been looking everywhere for you, then decided that you had to come here sooner or later."

Hermione dropped her bag, grunting out a terse greeting.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Wow, I didn't realize the freeze was being extended to all Weasleys. I just came up to ask if you'd trade prefect's rounds with me, since practice got rescheduled. But if you'd rather, I can just-"

"It's fine, it's fine. Sorry, Ginny; I'm just in a foul mood, and nothing seems to be going right today."

With a hop, Ginny exited the four poster, sliding her feet into a worn pair of green carpet slippers. "I can see that. What's Ron done now?"

Hermione wrung out her robes viciously. "Why does everyone keep bringing _him_ up? Isn't there anything else in this blasted castle to talk about?"

Ginny stopped short. "You really _are_ having a bad day...Hermione, why don't you just let this thing with Ron go? You're both miserable, but one of you has to quit being stubborn-"

"No, Ginny, we actually _don't._ If we never speak again, that's perfectly acceptable to me," Hermione declared in a shaking voice.

Sighing, Ginny rubbed her nose. "You know, I'm beginning to think you really _want_ to hate him."

"I do. It's the only way we can be friends," Hermione answered honestly.

"You...fly that by me, again?"

"Don't you understand? If I hate him, it means I don't love him. If I don't love him, it means none of this will hurt. If I'm not hurting, we can be friends again."

Ginny's mouth flopped open. "I'm not sure which is more disturbing; your twisted logic, or the fact that I followed every turn. I might not be as brilliant as you are, but somehow, I don't think your plan is going to work."

"Well, it's just going to have to, because it's the only thing I've got!" Hermione answered shrilly, as a throbbing sensation developed in her temples.

The other girl raised her hands. "I'm not going to try to talk you out of it; I'm already late as it is. If you need anything, I'll be downstairs with Harry, going over some plays we've been working on."

Hermione said nothing as her friend left, too drained to form words. Sinking onto the mattress, she buried her head in her hands. She just had to make it to the end of term, she thought. Tomorrow was March, and she was one month closer to getting away from all of this.

_The mention of the date had Ron's full attention. At last, things would begin to change, or rather, he hoped so. He had always wondered what had brought her back to him; it looked like he would finally get to find out._

Hermione lingered in her room after Lavender and Parvati went downstairs. Either her emotions were playing more havoc than she realized, or else Lavender was making a mistake in the girlfriend department. She went to her bedside and checked the small calendar she kept there; yes, there is was, perfectly clear. Today was March the first, which happened to be Ron's birthday. She had expected Lavender to go on endlessly about it and whatever unsuitable present she had gotten him, but she hadn't said a word. Somehow, either the date had slipped her mind, or she didn't even know her own boyfriend's birthday. You'd think it would have come up in conversation; then again, they didn't really _have_ much conversation. From what she had noticed, the only one who did any talking was Lavender, usually on subjects that left Ron looking dazed and fearing for his masculinity.

_She didn't know the half of it. He used to be perfectly happy knowing about a dozen colors, tops; now he knew just about every shade there was, and how to match his shoes to his robes, and pick jewelry that didn't clash. He knew things had gotten totally out of hand when, one day at Quidditch practice, he had thought Harry would look better in a darker shade of red, like rust. And the fact that Lavender was clueless about what day it was had been deliberate on his part. After Christmas, he wasn't taking any chances of receiving something like that necklace in public._

This was an important birthday, and she had planned to treat it as such. First, she would invite him to a nice lunch for the day in Hogsmeade; Ginny was going to keep Harry distracted for at least that long. And she knew his parents were going to get him a watch, as that was a family tradition, so she had picked out a rather handsome Muggle pen set, since he was always spilling his ink everywhere. On a less practical note, she had hoped that their relationship would have progressed after the party, and she had been in favor of a more adult celebration during prefect rounds...

_I could have had birthday sex? Hermione in school robes birthday sex? He nearly whimpered. Birthday sex, in his opinion, was the best. It was make up sex without the fight; it was I-missed-you sex without anyone going anywhere. It was purely, I'm-so-glad-you-were-born-I-want-to-shag-you sex. And he had missed out because he had been an insecure, stubborn twat._

Oh, well. Maybe he'd see what a mistake he made when he realized he had picked a girl that hadn't cared to learn the bare basics about him. Now all she had to do was get through the day without Harry making pointed little comments about what a good birthday present forgiveness would be, and she'd be fine. She planned to spend the next several hours in the library, where she would split her time doing some fascinating research into animating objects, and helping Ginny prepare for her O.W.L.s.

_She might have thought she was being slick by avoiding Harry, but she didn't know that Gin was trying to soften her up for him. She had finally taken pity on him for being so miserable, and had told him that she would at least see if she could get Hermione to speak to him. He hadn't told Harry, because if it didn't work out, he wanted to be able to crawl off and lick his wounds, and pretend it never happened. But then he'd gone and made a pig of himself with the boobytrapped Cauldron Cakes, and things had gone tits over arse from there. 'Course, it had actually ended up working out better than having Ginny run interference for him, so being poisoned had been a more positive experience than he would have imagined._

If felt as if she had barely gotten started with her research when Ginny banged into the library, earning a reproving glare from Madam Pince. Hermione waved her over to the table in the back corner, where they would have some privacy.

"Hey, Hermione. Sorry I'm late, but I got caught up listening to Lavender whining to Parvati."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "And that was interesting, why?"

Ginny grinned, leaning over the table conspiratorially. "Because, my dear friend, she was cheesed off at my brother. Not only did he ignore her when he came down to breakfast, but he actually pushed her out of the way, and was talking about wanting to meet another girl."

An unkind grin broke out on Hermione's face. "Oh dear, poor Lavender...maybe I should lend her that article on 'How to Keep Your Wizard's Wand in Your Own Cauldron.' But who was the other girl?" While the news that Lavender's time in the sun was fading was welcome, she was curious to know who had caught his fancy now.

Ginny looked puzzled. "I can't have heard that part right, because it sounded like Romilda. Even Ron's taste isn't that bad."

"Ugh. On the whole, I think I prefer Lavender. But enough of that; what subject do you want to work on first?" She asked, becoming all business.

"I guess History of Magic; might as well get it over with," Ginny grumbled in a very Ron-like way, dumping her books onto the table.

She had just taught Ginny a trick for remembering all the names of the Goblins in the Goblin War, when Professor McGonagall entered the library, her face set and drawn. Hermione fell silent as she approached, sensing that something was wrong. The Professor sat down beside Ginny, with that unmistakable air of an adult delivering bad news.

"Miss Weasley, I'm afraid I have something very serious to tell you-no, Miss Granger, stay. You might be needed," she paused to collect herself, "It seems that somehow, your brother got ahold of some poisoned mead. It was a very near thing, but thanks to the resourcefulness of Mr. Potter, his life was spared. He's in the hospital wing, and your family has been notified; I thought you might wish to be there-"

Hermione and Ginny had both frozen as they were given the news, Ginny looking as small and frightened as she did her first year. Hermione could hardly focus on anything other than the words, 'it was a very near thing.'

He had almost died.

She had almost lost him forever.

_Ron had almost died._

Not waiting to hear anymore, she tore from the library, uncaring of the books left scattered behind, or the disturbance she caused in a room that was almost a temple to her. People leaped out of her way, but she didn't pause to apologize; the world was blurred through the haze of her tears, and her heart pounded with each footstep, threatening to burst from her chest. Distantly, she was aware of the fact that Ginny was behind her, but the only thing on her mind was Ron.

The hospital wing had never felt so far, but she she still made it in record time. Fred and George were waiting outside the door, With a large gift basket dangling from George's hand. Ludicrously, she wondered how they had gotten a hospital gift so quickly, before realizing they must have been bringing something for his birthday. George wrapped his free arm around Ginny, muttering something about only family being allowed in for now. Ginny gripped her brother's arm tightly, and he lead her in to be with their parents.

Wildly, Hermione turned to Fred, her hands coming up to grab the front of his robes and pin him to the wall.

"How is he? What's happening? Is he going to be alright? Professor McGonagall seemed to think so, but poison can be tricky, and there can be side effects-"

Fred tugged her hands down, and smoothed his robes from where they had been tightening around his throat.

"Ease up, Hermione, or they'll have to lay me out in the next bed. I don't know much more than you do; doesn't sound like anybody does. I haven't seen Harry, and he's probably the one that can tell you. But Ron's going to be fine. It was...it was really close though."

"How close?" She asked, not wanting, but needing to know.

Fred blinked, as close to tears as she had ever seen him. "If Harry hadn't known about bezoars, or if there hadn't been one in the supplies, Ron would have died right there."

Hermione let out a sound much like the keening of a bird, and swayed into him. Fred patted her back awkwardly as she sobbed, and she released a strangled, blubbery laugh; it was a gesture very reminiscent of Ron. While Fred wasn't her first choice of a shoulder to cry on, he was a Weasley, and that would do.

_It was odd, watching the two of them like this; it was almost like he had really died, and was floating around like a ghost. When he remembered that it was actually Fred that ended up dying, he was even more uncomfortable. He wasn't too surprised that Fred had waited outside; he had always hated hospitals more than George, and avoided them when he could. Ron knew they were both there later, from what Harry had told him; he just wished he could remember. He also wished he could tell Hermione it wasn't her fault. Even if they hadn't been fighting, he still would've been poisoned. That was the fault of Malfoy, and Romilda, a budding sex offender if he ever met one._

The doors opened, and the family began to file out, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley pale and red eyed. Mrs. Weasley spotted Hermione, and she let go of her husband's arm to take the girl into her arms. Hermione clung to the other woman; after all the time spent at the Burrow and Grimmauld Place, she was almost like a second mother, and she very much needed a mother right now.

"They've just gotten him settled in; we're going up to talk to Dumbledore right now. You go on inside and sit with him, Hermione dear."

Hermione stepped back, sniffling. Suddenly, she was hesitant; she wasn't actually family, and after the way she had been treating Ron lately, she didn't feel as if she deserved to go in, no matter how much she wanted to.

"I...maybe I should come back later..."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head firmly. "Nonsense. I've heard about what's been going on from Ginny, but I know my boy, and I know he'd want you to be in there with him now. Please, Hermione? I'd feel better with someone I trusted with him, right now..."

The thought that someone might try to finish the job they had started had Hermione's feet moving on their own, barely hearing George saying something about going to Floo the shop to let Verity know they'd be gone longer than planned. Madam Pomfrey nodded at her kindly, before going off to write up the schedule for Ron's medicine, and to enter his case in the records. After she was gone, Hermione finally let herself look at the body stretched out in the bed. The covers were pulled up to his chest, with his arms on top showing that he was only wearing his vest. His skin was chalky, and the scars on his arms, as well as his freckles, stood out like some form of exotic runes. She could see his chest rise and fall, and she watched it for a time, her thankfulness growing with each breath he took. There was a chair at the head of the bed, and she sat down in it, drawing it as close as she could.

His hair was soaked with sweat, and before she knew what she was doing, she brushed his fringe away from his forehead, the first time she had touched him in months. She couldn't bear to take her hand away; instead, she stroked it over his forehead, and down to his cheek, rough with stubble from where he had forgotten to shave. In his sleep, he gave a quiet moan, his head turning to nuzzle closer to her hand. Her hand, which was shaking. Looking at his face, she couldn't remember why she had tried so hard to hate him. Flashes of memories came to her; the way he looked when concentrating on a chess game, the time he belched slugs for her; swimming in the pond at the Burrow, and the way he smiled at her right before he made his Patronus for the very first time.

All of these brought the love she had tried to repress welling up in her chest, expanding until she thought she couldn't contain it within her body. She loved Ron. There was no escaping it; as much as it hurt, and as futile as it was, she loved him. And now, she knew, she had to let him go.

Because he didn't love her back. And why was that his fault? Just because she loved him didn't mean he owed her love in return. He couldn't help his feelings, any more than she could hers. She had been the one to pull away when he had moved on to a place she couldn't go; she had been the one to shut him out completely. He was her best friend, and she had thrown that away because she was selfish for more. And that...that couldn't go on. For a few moments, she had been faced with a world without Ron, and that was a world she didn't want to experience. She wanted him in her life, any way he was willing to be in it. And if that was just as friends, then she had to accept that.

That didn't mean she would try to stop loving him. Look where that had gotten her. She would continue to feel as she always had, but with the understanding that he wasn't purposely not returning her feelings. She would grit her teeth over Lavender; oh, she would dance when they broke up, but she knew that didn't mean anything for her. And Ron would probably find someone else. But if she could make it through these next few months, and their last year of school, things would get better. She wouldn't have to see him every day. They would have jobs, and his love life wouldn't constantly be rubbed in her face. Maybe they would have lunch, once a week or so. Maybe there would be enough space that the love would fade naturally, over time, and she could move on to someone that she actually had a chance with.

Just thinking about it hurt, but it hurt more to think of her last words to him being so hateful, for him dying while thinking that she didn't care about him. As she tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, she was overcome by a sense of peace. No more looking for little signs that he was interested. No more planning ways to get his attention. No more doing anything for him that she wouldn't do for Harry. No more hurting him. Because that's what she had been doing with her love, wasn't it? She had taken something that was supposed to be beautiful and special, and had twisted it into something sour and selfish. Love was putting the other person's needs over your wants, and she hadn't done that at all. Ron needed her there as a friend, as she had always been. So when he woke up, that's what she would be. She would do her best to be the Hermione he had always known, the one he could count on. She would accept her own feelings, but she wouldn't act on them. And Ron...Ron never needed to know. They didn't need that awkwardness between them, and it would serve no purpose. She dropped her hand down to take his, rubbing her thumb over the back as his long fingers reflexively closed around hers.

Maybe she had finally learned what it really meant to love someone.

_While Hermione was feeling peaceful, Ron in no way felt the same. He was frightened by just how close he was to losing her. Because she really meant to stop trying; not in a nasty way, and not in a poor me way, either. She really and truly thought that the best thing for him was for them to go back to normal, and for her to stop hoping for something more. Since they got together in just a little over a year, he knew that didn't work out._

_That didn't stop him from panicking now. He felt cold, and he was shaking. What if she had been able to move on? What if he hadn't done whatever it was that changed her mind? How could he ever be satisfied with once a week lunches, when he knew what it was like to wake up with her every day? And alright, yeah; he could see how keeping her jealousy in check and respecting his choices was a good thing, but to just give up? He didn't want her to let go. He didn't want her to move on to someone else, thinking that that was what he wanted._

_He felt tears stream down his face as his imagination ran away with him, and for a short time, he got his realities mixed up, and he really believed that Hermione had left him for good. What was he doing here, again? Why was he seeing this? Dizzily, he moved away from his younger body, trying to suck air into his lungs. He saw her squeeze his hand, and somehow, he felt a matching warmth in his own. He stood still. There was a pressure in his hand, although he wasn't touching...but he was, wasn't he? Hermione was lying in a bed next to him, and they were getting ready to be married in a few months. This was just a memory. Whatever she had felt like at the time, she hadn't given up on him, at least not completely._

_He moved to stand behind her, his hands resting unfelt on her shoulders._

" _He's a daft bugger, Hermione. But the last thing he ever wants is for you to let go, because you holding on is the best thing that's ever happened. Just...give him a bit of a chance, and you'll feel him holding you right back..."_

_And he wasn't ever letting go._


	31. Chapter 31

Life was funny, the way it threw random changes at you in the blink of an eye. You could go to bed, excited about something the next day, and wake up with a spot on your nose that looked like it should've taken a week to build up. You could be walking across the Great Hall, and have a boner pop up midway. Your sickly, moth-eaten rat could turn out to be a grown man trying to kill your best friend. Or you could go down for breakfast and discover that you now had a girlfriend.

Ron had been completely baffled when Lavender had bounced up and attached herself to his arm; he had figured the heated snogging session she had started the day before would've been as far as things went. But there she was, going on about how proud she was to be going out with the Gryffindor Keeper, and all he could do was try to replay things to figure out how this happened. At one point, he nearly told her she had made a mistake; after all, he figured Hermione had gotten the point he'd been trying to get across. Before he could get a word in, she kept going on and on about how amazing he was, and he wondered...why not? Why chase after a bird that didn't want you, when you had one that did? Why not let Hermione _really_ see what she was missing out on?

As the days passed, he thought it was a brilliant idea. He couldn't string two sentences together without Lavender saying how witty he was, and she was always feeling up his biceps and cooing about how Quidditch practice had worked wonders on him. And the snogging...well, he couldn't blame Ginny for how much she had gotten in. It was hard, for awhile, to remember why he had put it off for so long. Hermione helped that along by ignoring him at every turn. Maybe not ignoring, but being pointed about not speaking to him. But every time he had a cuddle with Lav, he made sure Hermione saw, and the flash of anger was like a Quaffle going through the ring.

_Hermione squirmed. This was a part of his life that she hadn't wanted to be privy to, and she hoped she would be spared the more sordid bits to come. And as much as she understood Ron's motivations here, she was disappointed, too. Because his feelings for Lavender weren't genuine at all. There was an impersonal sort of lust that could have been interchangeable with any other girl. She had been furious and focused on her own feelings at the time, but she saw now how very unfair this was to Lavender; her feelings for Ron had been a mix of schoolgirl fancy and a need to prove something to herself, but she had_ thought _that she had feelings for him, and that was what was important. No matter what your motives, being with someone who thought you loved them when you didn't was a rather horrible thing to do. She knew, because she had almost done it herself with Viktor; and if she was honest, she might have that year if he had been available. McLaggen had been one date, and she had never pretended it was anything more than that. But Ron...she knew Ron well enough to know that he would be ashamed when he came to his senses._

The annoying thing was, she still mattered to him, as he discovered during Transfiguration one day. He didn't know how she had done it, but she had managed to worm her way in so deep, that he couldn't seem to shake her. He had just been getting ready to give Harry a matching mustache when he heard her laughing, and it set him off. There he was, looking like a complete numpty in front of her again! But why should it matter? He had a girlfriend. It shouldn't matter what Hermione thought.

But it did.

And then that look on her face, when he mimicked her...she looked so betrayed that he had had to turn away. Stubbornly, he refused to apologize; all of this was her fault, anyway. She's the one that hadn't believed in him. She's the one who thought he was a cheat; she was the one that only invited him to the party out of pity. Well, who was pitying who now? He had someone, and she didn't. That is, until lunch, and hearing that she was taking that animated pile of troll shite, McLaggen. When the hell had _that_ happened? And what was that remark about Quidditch players supposed to mean? He tried to puzzle it out all afternoon, during lessons, and later in the Common Room sitting with Lavender and Parvati (apparently having a girlfriend meant you got her friends in the bargain, even if that meant sitting there like a big girl's blouse while they weighed the merits between two lines of nail varnish; one Charmed to be more chip resistant, the other coming in more colors.) Once he was asked his opinion on matching or contrasting colors for fingers and toes, he mumbled something about salmon and escaped to the boys' dorm, where he hoped he could hear himself think.

The only one inside was Neville, putting on a pair of spiffy dress robes.

"Hey, Nev. You Slugging it up tonight as well?" He asked as he plopped stomach down onto his bed.

"Neville smiled sheepishly. "Not good enough for an invite, but I was asked to help serve. I thought Gran would at least be pleased to hear that I went."

Ron grunted in response. In his opinion, Neville's gran didn't give him enough credit. He wasn't his dad, but so what? How was he ever supposed to make something of himself in his own right, if he was constantly being judged for something he wasn't? But it was a personal sort of subject, and he couldn't really think of the right way to say it.

"Neville?"

Neville looked up from knotting his tie. "Yeah?"

"Your, um, Mimblyhalitosis is looking good," he said, pointing to the plant on Neville's bedside table.

A smile lit up Neville's face as he began to talk about the trouble he'd had for a while with the soil, and Ron nodded along as if it made perfect sense. Neville always sounded a lot more confident when it came to plants.

_Hermione beamed. Even at his worst, Ron could be so incredibly sweet. It was moments like these, when he unconsciously reached out to help people, that had drawn her to him. She knew that she often got so wrapped up in causes that she overlooked the individual; when she was younger, it frustrated her that Ron didn't seem as interested in those causes. It took her awhile to realize that Ron cared as much about people as she did, but he expressed it on a more personal level. He didn't expect any gratitude for it, and in fact didn't even realize how much his actions meant to others; for someone to take an interest in a subject that was important to him was rare for Neville, and it was a confidence boost that he needed._

Once Neville noticed that he was late to go help set up, Ron glanced at his watch; the party would be starting in about two hours. He wondered if Hermione was going to fancy herself up like she did for the Yule Ball. He also wondered if she was going to kiss McLaggen. He shouldn't care. He had a girlfriend. It shouldn't matter, and he should just ignore it. He glanced at his watch again. He had just enough time for a short kip before he had to be downstairs to watch her leave.

_There was a flicker of darkness, before Ron woke, fuzzy headed and confused. Hermione could tell that he had slept longer than he meant to._

Ron blinked, yawning as he rubbed at his head. The room was empty, and he wondered where everyone was. Then it hit him, and he sprang off the bed with a curse. He was probably already too late, but he was going to check anyway. He restrained himself from running down the stairs. If Hermione noticed him, she'd leave before he got a good look. Quietly, he tiptoed down, stopping a few steps up when he heard a murmur of voices. Peeking around the corner, he saw McLaggen leering at a girl he recognized from Ginny's year, and she didn't look too keen about the attention. Filthy tosser. He had a date, and here he was chatting up another girl! And couldn't he tell that she wasn't interested? Although from what he had heard, that didn't make much difference.

Hearing someone else enter the room, he ducked back; when he poked his head out again, Hermione was standing there, and the other girl was gone. He nearly tripped down a step. He had been wrong when he thought she would look like she did the night of the Ball. She looked even _better._ There was enough life in her hair to tell that she was Hermione, and her robes...her robes showed that the last two years hadn't treated her badly. She was all red and shimmery, and he didn't know what that exact shade of red was called, but he knew it would be burned into his memory for a long time to come. She looked like...he didn't have words for it. He also didn't have words for the aching feeling in his gut when, for a second time, she walked off on someone else's arm. It had almost been him. So, so close, and he could have...but she made her choice, and it wasn't him. It was never going to be him, he thought fiercely. She wanted a creep like that? Fine; He'd show her that he didn't need her pity. Just because she didn't want him didn't mean that he wasn't fanciable. He strode down the stairs and over to the ones that lead up to the girls' dorm.

"Hey, Lav!" He shouted, picking out the seat that would give Hermione the best view...

_She had thought that he hadn't even cared enough to notice; that he had been so wrapped up in Lavender, that he didn't have a thought to spare for her. Had it been like this the whole time? Had every move been calculated, like some bizarre game of chess? It made her uncomfortable to watch the way that both of them moved other people around to suit their needs, rather than being up front about things. Thankfully, that part had changed; they still had tiffs, but they didn't drag anyone else into it, aside from a sympathetic ear to complain to until they made up._

_It was also apparent that Ron was very confused. He thought he was getting what he wanted, but he couldn't understand why it wasn't enough, or why there was an undercurrent of guilt. He was doing a champion job of avoiding it, but that wouldn't last long; Ron was an honest sort of person, and he didn't do well when he knew he wasn't quite on the level. It wasn't going to take long for those feelings to surface, however, as the next memory began to play out._

Being a star member (or as good as) of the Quidditch team didn't count for much outside of school, and even less at home. Winning game or no, it was back to chores, and having to run downstairs every time someone bellowed his name. Which was too bloody often, now that the twins weren't living at home to do their share. 'Course, he usually ended up doing what they managed to get out of, but it was the principal of the thing. He shared an eye roll as he passed Ginny, on her way to look for the tablecloth his mum saved for Christmas. Ginny muttered something under her breath that he didn't catch, but it sounded like 'good luck.' Brilliant. Mum must be in fine form tonight. He stepped into the kitchen, where he could smell dinner nearly ready, along with a few things that had to cook overnight for the Christmas meal tomorrow.

"Yeah, Mum, what is it?"

Molly looked up from the cooker. "There you are; Could you please go up to the attic? I know there's some ornaments missing from the tree, and I'm sure your father put them up there last year."

"Up with the ghoul? They'll be smashed to bits by now!" He complained; he hated going up there.

His mum wiped a small spatter of grease on her apron. "You know he never breaks anything really important. Poor thing only wants a bit of attention now and then. Go on, and put them on the tree when you find them."

"Alright," he said, then muttered under his breath once he was out of the room, "Thinks I'm a bloody house elf."

"I heard that! I have yet to mount your head on a wall, and don't swear!"

The reminder of the heads at Grimmauld Place made him shudder; at least this Christmas was shaping up to be better than the last. Everyone was safe and home. Or almost everyone, he thought with a frown. Hermione wouldn't be coming this year. Wouldn't be coming because of him. He knew she had been invited, and he had expected her to come for Harry and Ginny, but she hadn't. In truth, he had thought this stupid fight would've been over by now. But it wasn't, and she hadn't even said goodbye. He had wanted to, but Lavender had been pretty insistent about getting his full attention, and when he had finally surfaced, Hermione was gone. It made him feel...not quite right. there was the nagging feeling that something was missing, a hollowness he couldn't shake off. He tried to dismiss it; they had had fights before, and they always made up. There wasn't any reason for this time to be different.

_He was lying to himself, she could tell. There was already dissatisfaction, but he was in the early stages; the part where you fought against it, and tried to fool yourself into believing you were happy. That had been her worst Christmas to date, and, unlike Ron, she knew that things between them could very well be over for good. She had been too hurt to make the first move, and he had been too proud. With neither one willing to bend enough to compromise, the only alternative had been to break._

The attic wasn't as bad as it was in the summer, and Ron quickly found the box he was looking for. He tried to lift it, and nearly dropped it; What was in here, Aunt Muriel's fruitcakes?

"Merry Christmas," he called to the ghoul as he staggered to the ladder. The ghoul moaned, but it was a festive sort of moan. Maybe they were bonding.

He managed to get all the way downstairs without killing himself, before nearly running over Charlie in the doorway to the sitting room. Charlie grabbed the box as it was rammed into his chest, and Ron gratefully let him take the weight.

"Merlin, Ron! Is there a body in here? Where are you going with this?"

Ron rubbed his numb fingers. "It's supposed to be more ornaments for the tree. It wasn't my idea, but Mum had to have them."

Charlie turned back to go the way he had came. "I'll just go ahead and put them in here, then. I'm surprised a beanpole like you managed to get them this far," he joked.

"We can't all be slightly less hairy gorillas like you," Ron retaliated with a grin.

"Oi! the correct term is 'stocky.' And I'll have you know, the ladies love a bloke with a bit of muscle," he added, setting the box down by the already heavily laden tree.

"Apparently, some witches like blokes with all the muscles between their ears. Hey, Charlie! When did you get in?" Called Fred, followed into the room by George.

"Hey yourself, Misery and Agony!" The three brothers pounded each other on the back. "And what's this about witches and muscleheads? Am I missing something?"

George threw himself on the sofa, claiming the coveted spot where the springs didn't push through when the Charms wore off. "You're out of the loop; Ronniekins here managed to pull his first bird."

Charlie grinned slyly, punching Ron on the arm. "Why didn't you tell me? Hermione finally succombed to the Weasley charm, eh?"

"It's not Hermione. He had to aim his sights a little lower," Fred cut in before Ron could answer.

"It's...not? But I thought you'd been carrying a torch for her for years," Charlie asked slowly, his face full of confusion.

Ron felt his ears go hot. Since when were they all so interested in his love life? And just how the hell did Fred and George know all about it? Their Extendable Ears weren't _that_ long. Not that he'd put it past them to sneak into Hogwarts to pull some kind of prank...

"My girlfriend's name is Lavender," Ron told Charlie, trying to ignore the way the words didn't fit right in his mouth.

His second oldest brother sank into their dad's favorite chair, a neutral look on his face. "I see. So, when did you fall for this one?"

The question threw Ron off balance. He...hadn't actually fallen for her. He had just sort of expected that to come later, or something.

"I...um...well..."

"Ok, not everyone can remember the exact moment," Charlie allowed, "but how did you ask her?"

Ron scratched his head, becoming more uncomfortable. "I didn't exactly ask her. She...she snogged me after a Quidditch match, and then said we were going out, so...yeah."

Charlie leaned the chair back, crossing thickly muscled arms behind his head. "Nothing wrong with a woman making the first move; might even make it easier to know where you stand," he shot a look at the twins, who had both snorted, "What kind of girl is she?"

"Um, She's...pretty, and...uh,...sort of good at Divination, I think?"

"Alright, but what else? Does she play Quidditch? Does she get good marks? What does she want to do after school?"

"Doesn't play, I guess her marks are alright, and...I dunno. The subject's never really come up," Ron rattled off, growing more frustrated.

"What did you get her for Christmas?"

"Nothing. Was I supposed to?"

_Hermione groaned. How was it that boys could be so thick? It didn't have to be big or expensive, but a token at the holidays is always welcome. Come to think of it, she'd never had that sort of problem with him; aside from this year, he had always gotten her something, even if it was just sweets._

"Ron, you charmer! How is it you don't have a harem by now?" Fred laughed.

Angrily, Ron stomped over to the box, yanking open the flaps and pulling out the ornaments that had been packed inside. "Bugger off. At least I _have_ a girlfriend." He knew that was a low blow; Fred and Angelina weren't seeing each other at the moment.

Fred's features hardened. "At least I can get the right girl to go out with me, instead of having to jump at the ones I don't want."

Charlie gave a sharp whistle. "That's enough, you two! You'll have Mum down on us if you don't stop, and I don't know about you, but I came to have a _relaxing_ Christmas."

"Yeah, whatever," Ron muttered, trying to figure out who the wooden ornament with red and green splotches belonged to.

_It was obvious that this wasn't the sort of reaction Ron had expected from his siblings. He had known they'd take the mickey out, but he hadn't thought they would mention her, or really care who he was with. It was funny, really; he should have known better. While all of them got on each other's nerves from time to time, and argued, as siblings did, they were all protective of one another as well. Ron might go at it like cats and dogs with Ginny one minute, but he would also try his best to cheer her up when she was upset. His brothers were good at giving him a hard time, but, as George had told her not long ago, they had worked out who Ron had wanted, and really just didn't want him to muck things up for himself. It wasn't welcome at the time, but Ron came to appreciate it later._

"Ron? You in here?" Harry asked, popping his head in the doorway.

Ron looked up, embarrassed to have forgotten that he had left his friend alone in his room. "Sorry, Harry. You know how Mum gets when she has a chance to work us to death while we're home."

Harry came over to squat next to him, picking up a glittery ornament to hang from one of the few free branches. "No problem; Ginny warned me, and said to come looking for the body if you weren't back in twenty minutes."

George joined them, looking rather muted in jeans and a regular striped jumper. "As if Mum would leave a body behind. Didn't you know we used to be triplets?"

They all laughed, and the mood seemed to lighten now that Harry was there to distract them. If he ignored the careful way that Charlie was watching him, he could even pretend things were normal. After all, it wasn't as bad as things had sounded. He and Lavender were fine. He knew enough about her, and the way she carried on, she certainly had to know him fairly well, didn't she?

She bloody well did not, he thought disgustedly the next morning, staring in horror and at the only thing to rival the sheer loathsomeness of his fourth year dress robes. Briefly, he hoped it was a gag by the twins, but even they wouldn't dream up something like this. Did she actually expect him to _wear_ this? In _public?_ She did. He might not know her as well as a boyfriend should, but he knew that much. She probably thought it was cute. Well, he wasn't having any of that, he thought firmly, chucking it into his wastebasket, hoping it would burn with the rest of the trash later. No amount of snogging was worth that. At least, not the snogging he'd experienced so far. Was it normal for things like that to be better in your dreams than they were in real life? And even if they weren't, shouldn't you at least picture it happening with the girl you were going with?

_Oh. Oh, my...could it actually be possible for that necklace to be worse than she had remembered? How could anyone think that Ron would actually put that thing around his neck? And how was it that someone normally as fashionable as Lavender had picked something so tasteless? On a more important note, she was both pleased and saddened that Ron thought about her so much; pleased for the obvious reasons of having her feelings returned, but saddened for all of them that he had dragged things out as long as he had. He wasn't happy, even though he was enjoying the snogging and the attention, so what was the problem?_

Nice to see Harry getting a laugh out of this. The wanker better not tell anyone, or else he'd end up with a new scar to talk about, Ron thought with a scowl, tromping with Harry down to breakfast. The necklace was forgotten as the smell of his mum's spicy stuffed sausages hit his nose, the sizzling from the cast iron skillet music to his ears. Nearly everyone was already at the table, but he was happy to see he had made it down before the food was served.

"Merry Christmas boys! sit down and get ready to tuck in; eat it all, because I'm going to need room for the dinner tonight," his mum said, piling up plates and passing them around. The room was filled with Christmas greetings and the sound of cutlery hitting the plates, a perfect way to start the day, in his opinion. Harry kept looking at Ginny in a funny way, and he wondered if he had missed something. The thought that he should ask what was up left his mind completely at the arrival of the post, along with several packages.

He paused on his sixth sausage when his mum began to pass everything around. "Charlie, here's a few for you from Romania. Fred, Here's one for you; looks like someone didn't hear that you're not living here anymore. Odd that the owl would make a mistake, though. Harry, Ginny, these look like they're from Hermione. And look, Arthur! She sent us a lovely card, as well! Such a nice girl...Here's a note from Bill, he and...Fleur will be over tonight, hopefully. Ron, is something wrong with the food? You've stopped eating."

Quickly, he swallowed the large bite in his mouth. "Isn't there one for me?" He asked, trying to sound as if he didn't care. The look on his mum's face said she wasn't buying it.

"No, dear. that's all there was. Were you expecting something?"

He slumped back into his seat. "No. No, I wasn't expecting anything."

But that was a lie. Or, if not expecting, he had _hoped._ Hoped that Hermione had realized she missed him, and had decided to patch things up with a letter. At this point, he would've been happy with an impersonal card. Harry looked guilty when he caught his eye, returning his gaze to his letter, the Quidditch poster that must have been her gift resting beside him. Ginny gave him a glare that implied he had only himself to blame, before going back to examining the collection of girly looking bottles of something or other she had gotten. The twins remained oddly silent, although something passed between them that he couldn't understand. His parents were pretending they hadn't noticed, and he was grateful for that. That left Charlie, who kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Ron went back to shovelling his food into his mouth, but with much less enthusiasm than before. Being left out hurt more than he thought it would. He had thought that things would be going back to normal about now, and he couldn't figure out why nothing was turning out the way he had planned. Once breakfast was over, he lingered behind everyone else, tiptoeing back to where Harry and Ginny had left their letters. With a nervous look at the doorway, he picked them up and began to scan them. He could practically hear her voice in his head as he followed the words, and it caused a pang in his chest.

But as carefully as he read, he didn't find any mention of himself at all. Not even an insult; like she didn't even care enough to-

"Finding anything of interest?" Ginny drawled from the door, where she was standing with a bemused looking Harry.

Ron dropped the letters hastily, though it was too late to pretend he had been doing anything other than snooping. "I just...I just thought she might have sent a message, and you had forgotten to tell me," he admitted lamely.

Harry looked disbelieving. "Forget? With you sitting there, looking like the world's most depressed Basset hound? Not very likely, is it?"

Ron drew himself up, mildly offended. "She might have! She sent all your stuff along, so I might have at least gotten a line in one of the letters!"

Ginny pushed up the sleeves on this year's Weasley jumper, which happened to be periwinkle. "Come off it, Ron. Why should she send you anything, they way you've been acting? And it isn't as if you got her anything yourself."

He stepped away from the damning letters. "I did too! Got her the set of limited edition Sugar Quills, didn't I? I was going to send them once she sent a letter or something," he huffed.

"You really don't get it, do you? You might as well enjoy those Sugar Quills yourself, because they aren't going anywhere anytime soon."

Harry appeared to agree with her, though it was hard to tell by the way he was keenly studying the kitchen ceiling.

"Come on, Ron; join your loving family in the living room. You know how big Mum is on the whole 'togetherness' thing, especially since Weatherby won't be coming this year," Ginny said in a kinder tone, using the nickname the twins had given Percy. One of the nicknames. The one they'd get in the least amount of trouble for if Mum heard them.

_Hermione shook her head, as the three of them left the room. Ron still didn't realize that things couldn't be fixed so easily at this point. He still believed that one day, she would just get tired of being mad at him, even though he continued to poke the hornets nest by throwing his relationship with Lavender in her face at every opportunity. He truly didn't understand how much he was hurting her, and that it was much more than a petty tiff on her part, although there had been a heavy dose of pettiness in there, as well._

The day passed rather quickly, as Christmas always seemed to, and if Ron didn't have quite his usual appetite that night, he pretended to ignore it. There was enough people at the table that it went unnoticed, although his mum looked a little confused when she was cleaning up the leftovers. Bill and Fleur had already left, Bill barely managing to escape their mum, who kept trying to get him to stay the night. She and Fleur had clashed on several points throughout the night, and Ron didn't envy Bill being stuck in the middle. The twins were staying over in their old room, and Ron mentally reminded himself to be on the look out in the morning for anything they might have set up for innocent victims. Charlie was staying through the New Year, and he was hoping that would give his mum someone to fuss over, instead of finding things she wanted him to do.

He had just finished brushing his teeth, wiping his face on a faded green towel, and he was wondering if it was any use trying to sleep tonight. He'd been sort of keyed up all day, but it wasn't just because of the usual Christmas excitement. It was all that talk about Hermione, and the irritating way his family seemed to think he was making the wrong choice. But it hadn't been his choice, not really! Hadn't he tried to show her that he wanted more with her? She just never seemed interested, or, at least, not for long enough to give him any real hope. He hadn't gone looking for Lavender, she had come to him. He wasn't with Hermione, so he had a perfect right to go along with it.

Then why did he have the niggling feeling that his family was right?

_Hermione felt herself knotting up in frustration. What was she supposed to have done? Should she have gotten Weasley is My King tattooed in magical flashing letters on her forehead? Knowing Ron, he would just think she was after one of his brothers. She was as confused and inexperienced as he was, even if she gave the impression of having it all together. It was easier helping others with their love lives, because she could be emotionally detached and rational. She couldn't emotionally detach herself from Ron; he made her feel too much. Most of the time, she liked that. She loved how alive and open he made her feel, allowing her to leave the confines of her sometimes stuffy head. She had genuinely thought that her actions had been clear enough for him, but when it came to his heart, Ron didn't like a lot of uncertainties. He would throw himself into something completely, but he wanted to know that you wouldn't let him hit rock bottom and shatter._

He tossed the hand towel back on the sink, reasoning that he had only used a small corner of it, so it was still clean enough to use again. Stepping into the hall, he was surprised by how quiet it was. He couldn't even hear his parents moving down below, although he knew his mum had to be letting off steam to his dad, still not happy with Fleur becoming a part of their family. taking the flight of stairs that separated his room from the rest of the house, his foot squeaked on the third one up, and he heard a door open behind him.

"Hey, Ron? Can I talk to you a minute?" Charlie's voice said quietly.

The stair squeaked again when he turned. "Sure. What's up?"

Charlie came to stand at the foot of the stairs, wearing only a pair of pajama pants, the muscles in his chest bunching as he absently reached behind him to scratch his back.

"I just wanted to say sorry for last night and all; I didn't mean to get everyone riled up talking about Hermi-"

"It's alright," Ron said quickly, not wanting to talk about it any more, "I know you didn't know, so it's fine."

His brother looked at him. "Is it really? I've gotten the whole backstory, so I think it's a little more complicated than that."

"How did you know that?" Ron asked inspite of himself.

"In a family of nine, there's no such thing as privacy, you know that. News travels fast, so it didn't take long to piece everything together. Ron...are you sure you know what you're doing?"

The temper he had been trying to keep in check snapped. "Why does everyone think I'm too thick to know what I'm doing? It isn't like Hermione and me haven't had fights before, and they were probably worse. Why do I have to take all the blame, when she's the one that shut me out?"

Charlie crossed his arms in a familiar way, letting Ron know that he planned to say his piece. "Putting that aside for the moment, I actually was talking about the other girl. I don't know her side of it, but you don't make it sound like the grand passion of the ages."

Bushy hair and stormy temper. Inky smudges and happy tears over something completely mental.

"Lavender's a great girl," he muttered, flushing for more deeply than he had before, not quite meeting Charlie's eyes.

"All the more reason to ask, then. Because, what it sounds like, in my admittedly inexpert opinion, is that she came along at a convenient time for you to get a dig in at Hermione, and you might not have been too particular about who filled that position. So I'm asking you; do you have any feelings for her, or are you just using her to get some of your own back, and to fit in some snogging practice?"

Was his face capable of a deeper shade of red? "It's not like that. Not really."

Charlie shook his head. "That's what I thought. Look, for time's sake, let's say that there are two types of girls. The first one is happy, eager even, to go along with anything. Casual, no strings; fine for fun, but expect your heart to get broken if you fall for her. The second type puts more weight on things like that. You might be their one true love or not, but at the time, they believe you are. At the very least, you have to be special to them. And if you go very far, they expect a certain level of commitment from you. Are you ready to handle that?"

Eyes bugging out, Ron hissed, "We've snogged, and...uh, a little groping, but nothing that I'd have to marry her for! She can't expect that, can she?"

"No, but she might expect to be in your life for a good long while, and she won't take kindly to sharing head-and heart-space with another girl."

Ron felt some of the tension leave his body. Not a lot, but at least he could breathe again. "I'm telling you, there isn't anything between me and Hermione, so that's not a problem."

"No, that's a problem all in itself, isn't it?" Charlie agreed. "Don't lie, Ron. We all know you've been tits over arse for the girl for a long time. But it's not just a matter of love anymore. You might not realize it, but you're in serious risk of losing one of your best friends. You're almost seventeen, and you need to start realizing that you words and actions have weight with other people, and it affects their lives, too."

Was he really getting a lecture on responsibility from someone who had run off to live with dragons?

"Look, Charlie; you haven't been around here long enough to know how things are. Hermione and me, we'll be fine. We have rows every once and a while, but they, they don't really mean anything. The fighting part is hell, but we always move past it. I mean, we're best friends; we aren't going to end it over something like this."

Charlie opened his mouth, then closed it. "You're still very young, aren't you?" He said, almost sadly. "It might not seem serious to you, but I have a feeling it is to Hermione."

"That's just because she's mad! Once she gets a chance to cool down, she'll be fine; she'll probably be ready to talk when we get back to school."

"And what if she isn't? What are you going to do then?"

" I'm not the one that started this! She practically called me a cheat, she only asked me to the party out of pity, and then she goes mental when someone wants me! How am I supposed to keep up with what's going on inside her head?"

"Maybe you should try a little harder to figure that out, hopefully before things get worse. But I've tried to give you advice, and it's up to you on whether you take it or not."

He turned to shuffle back to his room, and Ron thought they were finished, until Charlie called quietly from the door, "But even if you can't figure that out, you might want to consider why you didn't even think to buy your girlfriend a Christmas present, but you did for a girl that isn't even speaking with you."

Ron stood on the same step for several long moments after Charlie had closed his door. The honest part of himself knew that he had gotten the present because he wanted to have things right between them again. He had always hated when they rowed, and this time was no different. But Charlie just had to be wrong; things had to get better, didn't they? Hermione out of his life for good was just...it was just...he couldn't get his head around it. How could it be that bad? She didn't fancy him, not like he did her, so it wasn't as if she was going through the same pain. And he had dealt with it, hadn't he? He had Lavender now. Somehow, that thought failed to provide any comfort.

He had made it to the top of the stairs, coming face to face with Harry, who was stumbling in his direction, not wearing his glasses. Harry was still talking to Hermione; he'd be able to tell him that things would turn out alright. And that was something, Ron discovered, that he very much needed to hear.

"You're still up?" Harry mumbled, scratching at a tuft of hair that was sticking up more than normal.

"Was on my way to bed. Harry? I was talking to Charlie, and he said something mental about Hermione having enough this time, and not forgiving me. But that's not possible, is it? I mean, she always gets over it."

The sleepiness had evaporated from Harry's eyes, and he was trying to edge his way past down the stairs, but Ron blocked his path.

"It's mental, isn't it?" He asked again, with a bit more desperation.

Harry finally looked him in the eyes, and his expression wasn't comforting at all. "Ron, I...I think that everyone has a limit to how much they can take. For how much they can hurt, you know? And maybe...maybe this time you finally found Hermione's limit."

Ron sagged into the wall, letting Harry slip by him. With slow steps, he finished the climb to his room, his heart constricting painfully. If Harry had actually given him a straight answer instead of avoiding it like he usually did, then things were a lot worse than he had thought. For the first time since this mess had started, he was afraid. Hermione was important to him, more important than he wanted her to be, even. The thought of them going on like this for the rest of their time at Hogwarts made his dinner turn over. Had he really screwed things up too badly to be fixed this time?

He crouched in front of his dresser and opened the bottom drawer, reaching to the back. He pulled out two packages. One contained two bottles of ink; silver, and one that changed colors depending on the mood of the person that used it. He had gotten them on sale, since they had been returned. They had never been opened, so it was a good bargain. The other box had the Sugar Quills, which he knew Hermione loved. This box was more expensive than their usual ones, because it was a special limited edition flavor pack. He had cut back on his sweets this year so he could afford to get her something better than last year, but it looked like he needn't have bothered. The thought that he would never get to watch her nibbling on them made him sad, somehow, along with knowing she would never send him a letter using the ink he had gotten her.

He put the ink back, but he opened the Sugar Quills. He pulled out one that looked like it would taste like some sort of chocolate, judging by the brown color, and popped the end into his mouth. After a few sucks, he held it up to look at it. It looked like it would taste really good, but it just seemed sort of...bland, and there was a sort of strange aftertaste coating his tongue. He knew that the box was fresh, so he tried it again, thinking he might just need to get used to the taste, but it didn't seem to work.

Harry returned to find him sitting on his bed, the uneaten Sugar Quill still in his hand.

"Mind if I try one? I thought I was full, but that looks pretty good."

Ron shrugged, and held out the box. "Have as many as you like. Careful, though; they taste funny, so something might be wrong with them."

Harry selected the same kind as Ron, tentatively licking it, then began to eat with more enthusiasm. "I thought you said it wasn't any good? It's the kind of flavor you like, so I'm surprised you don't love it."

He looked down at the Sugar Quill in his hand, the top still slightly wet and sticky. "Yeah. I thought so too. It looked good, but...I dunno. I guess it just wasn't what I thought it would be."

Harry crawled into his camp bed, and glanced back over at Ron. "Hm. Maybe you just like the original better," he suggested, the tone of his voice implying he was talking about more than Sugar Quills.

"Maybe so."

He sat there while Harry rolled over, not sure what to do with the uneaten sweet. He didn't really want it anymore, but it seemed like a shame to waste it. He plucked a tissue from the box on his bedside table, and wrapped it in that, telling himself he would save it for later. Leaning over, he blew out the candle, and then curled under his covers, the room silent except for the deepening breaths coming from Harry, telling Ron that he was falling asleep. It didn't feel like he would be sleeping anytime soon, though. He wished he could talk about this to Harry, but there was always something holding him back. Mostly, the subject left him feeling like a tit. If Charlie and Harry were right, then he needed to do something, but he didn't know what. Half formed ideas floated through his head, but he didn't know which was the best to act on, and they ended up twisted and tangled until he found himself at the same point he had started. Rolling onto his side, he figured he would just try to get her to talk to him; If he kept it up long enough, she was sure to answer him...wasn't she?

_No, not really. Because this wasn't like their other fights; even if she did talk to him, it wouldn't be about the main issue, and Lavender would still be between them. She needed him to make a choice, and Ron didn't even know that there was a choice to be made. But he was starting to feel miserable, and the shiny newness of the relationship was wearing off, as anything without any real substance is bound to do sooner or later. She recalled a few attempts on his part to talk, but that hadn't lasted long, and she wondered what that meant._

"Won-Won? Don't you want to go for a walk with me? I missed you soooooo much while we were apart!" Lavender trilled at him, hanging off his arm.

As gently as he could, he detached himself. He had to be more careful with Lavender than he ever had to with Hermione; when he got in a temper, Hermione would bow up and tell him where to get off if he got too shirty with her. Lavender just got teary and upset, and her bottom lip would slide out and quiver. It was hard, having to keep himself contained all the time, but when she did that it made him feel like he had just kicked a Pygmy Puff.

"I have to study for the Charms test tomorrow, Lav. and we've been back nearly a month, so I think it's safe to stop missing me now."

She pouted at him; he had the feeling she was trying to be sexy, but it just didn't have that effect.

"It felt like such a long time, and anyway you haven't spent much time with me lately. Can't you put it off for awhile?"

"If I put it off, I might not pass," he said with a bit more heat.

Lavender shrugged. "What's one test? It's not that big of a deal."

Privately, he agreed, but he wanted to be alone for awhile. "Just let me have this afternoon, and we can walk later tonight, okay?"

Her eyes lit up, and her face broke into an odd smile. "Perfect! I have something I wanted to talk about, and it'll be better if we're _alone."_

She stood up on her tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. "I'll be waiting in the Common Room, so don't be long!"

He waved at Harry and Ginny, who were still on the pitch, and signalled that he was going inside. Harry looked oddly enthusiastic as he waved back, but Ron didn't think too much of it as he made his way back to the castle, his muscles aching from the workout they'd just been put through. Once he was out of sight, he felt his shoulders slump, and he didn't bother to hide the troubled look on his face. Practice had been fine, and he wasn't as worried about the exam tomorrow as he made out. His problem was more...personal than that. When he had told Lavender that they had been back to school for a month, what he really meant was that they had been back for twenty-two days.

Twenty-two days of Hermione still not speaking to him.

It was different than before, he could see that now. It was even worse than it had been before Christmas. Before, Hermione's anger had always been hot and fiery; even with the silent treatment, he could always see the flames of anger burning below the surface, directed at him. Now...now it was cold. A couple days after they were back, he had attempted to say something to her in the Common Room. He couldn't even remember what it was anymore; something stupid and pointless, just to get her attention. But he hadn't gotten it. Instead, her eyes had looked through him like he wasn't even there, before she walked by him and out of the room. Without a huff, without a glare. Just...left. He had looked in her eyes for any hint to what she was thinking, and had nearly taken a step back. All he could make out was hate, without even the faintest of glimmers to show that they had been friends for six years. It wasn't even a personal hate. It was more the kind that you felt when you passed something in the street that completely disgusted you, but affected you personally so little that you'd forget about it by the time you turned the next corner.

He had tried twice after that, each attempt more feeble than the one before. It was like he couldn't even touch her. He was ashamed to admit that he had even tried the old trick with Lavender, but that didn't work anymore, either. As for Lavender herself...things weren't going so well there, either. She was always _on_ him, always in his space. Snogging was brilliant and all, but not being able to walk two feet without her squealing and launching herself onto him? Not so much. Other people weren't exactly thrilled with it either, if the looks of annoyed disgust were anything to go by. Hermione wasn't the only one who left the room when they were together anymore, and he had already heard several unkind jokes about it. And the sickening name she called him didn't help anything. Won-Won? What, was he a toddler? Not that he could protest much, because she was always talking. About a new set of robes she wanted, about some lipstick she was trying, about who was seen with who in the broom closet...nothing that interested him in the least.

Not that he had a lot to say, and he was even less inclined by her reactions. When he did get a word in edgewise, she giggled at everything he said, whether it was funny or not. With Hermione, when she laughed at something, he knew he must've said something really clever, and it had sort of made him feel warm all over. He thought he'd feel the same with Lavender, since she was more affectionate, but it didn't work that way. There was no challenge, no point in putting any effort into it. One day, just to test her, he had paused in the hallway, and said "Eggcup," in a morose sort of way. She had let out peals of laughter, and he had had to use the loo as an excuse to get away. Instead of feeling clever, he felt like a ninny.

_She had always thought Ron was clever. While Fred and George had been prankish, Ron had always had a dry wit that she found attractive, and he always seemed to effortlessly come up with a sharp observation that couldn't help but to make her laugh. Then there were times he said something completely weak, and the most she could muster was an eye roll. She had never felt the need to laugh at everything he said, because what was the point of faking a reaction? She had been comfortable enough with him that she could be honest about things like that, and buttering him up with something she didn't mean felt like it would cheapen things. And she had been right, because Ron was definitely seeing the tin under the gold foil of what he had assumed would be the perfect kind of relationship._

Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all in their room, sprawled on their beds with various notes and books spread out around them.

"Practice over already?" Dean asked in surprise, checking his watch.

Ron tossed some of the gear he had stripped off on the way up onto the floor by his trunk. "Yeah, finally. I think Harry's become possessed by the spirit of Oliver Wood, the way he's been drilling us," he groaned, rubbing at a bruised spot on his ribs where the Quaffle had hit him.

"Aye, but it's doing wonders for yer girlish figure," Seamus said, batting his lashes.

"You want to talk girlish figures, keep stuffing your face with the boxes of junk your Mum sends, and you'll be growing a fine set of tits of your own," Ron shot back, flinging the sock he had just taken off at Seamus.

Seamus dodged it, letting it sail past him to land on the other side of his bed. "None of that! Don't want your Quidditch stink on me before I go meet up with a fifth year Ravenclaw who's lookin' to spread her wings a little, if you know what I mean."

Rooting around for his Charms book, Ron said, "How do you have time for that? I thought you were stumped on that Transfiguration assignment we had?"

There was a slightly uncomfortable pause.

"Actually, Hermione helped us out with that. Surprised you didn't run into her on the stairs, as a matter of fact," Dean finally volunteered.

Ron stopped looking for his quill. "Hermione was up here? Helping _you?"_

"Hermione'd help a Blast-Ended Skrewt if it asked for help with an assignment," Seamus shrugged.

That was true enough, but still. She had been up here, sitting on someone's bed...maybe even his, and he hadn't been here. Hermione used to help him with _his_ work, and now he seemed to be the exception to the rule, even less appealing than a Skrewt.

Neville pushed his books aside. "Speaking of Hermione, I'd better get going."

"Wait, where are you going?" Ron asked.

"Prefects are taking turns sorting some of the donations to the library, and Hermione asked if I'd give her a hand."

Ron pushed himself off his bed quickly. "You're not a prefect, so you shouldn't have to do that! I'll go inst-"

But Neville was shaking his head. "No, Hermione said she didn't want to bother you, since you were probably too...um... _busy,"_ he blushed, "and that you wouldn't want to help her, anyway. And I don't mind; Hermione's always interesting to talk to."

He flopped back down on the bed, suddenly acutely aware that Neville had asked Hermione to the Ball fourth year. What if he decided to try his luck again? What if Hermione started going out with him?

"Wouldn't have minded," he muttered, staring hard at his pillow.

Neville shrugged as he walked to the door. "Then maybe you should think of a way to fix things between the two of you. You might be too busy playing Siamese twins with Lavender to notice, but Hermione's been pretty sad lately."

Ron's head shot up as the door closed, surprised at the irritation in Neville's parting shot. Neville was usually pretty easy going, but he bristled like one of his weird cactuses if something was wrong with someone he considered a friend.

"Yeah, Ron. You should do that; but when you do, just make sure Lavender doesn't end up as sad as Hermione," Seamus added, his smile hard and not quite reaching his eyes.

Seamus might be making the rounds of all the single girls between fifth and seventh year, but Ron had been told by Dean that he still carried a torch for Lavender.

"No need to worry about that," Ron said with a sickly smile, not wanting to fight if he didn't have to.

The shorter boy nodded. "Good enough. Dean, are you coming down with me? I thought you were supposed to meet Ginny after practice."

Dean shot Ron a nervous look, before hurrying after his friend. Ron waited till he got halfway out the door.

"Six brothers," he said darkly, as he did every time he knew Dean was off to meet his sister. He knew it probably didn't stop much, but Dean could never say he didn't warn him.

_Hermione giggled; Ron looked like an overprotective terrier, much like his Patronus. Neville had been rather sweet, but that wasn't much of a surprise. It was obvious he knew there was something going on, and he had shyly offered to listen if she ever needed to talk. This might have earned a snapped reply for anyone else, but she had known that his concern had been genuine, and her confidences would have been treated with respect. She hadn't taken him up on his offer, but it had meant a lot that he had bothered. Even Dean and Seamus, whom she knew she sometimes irritated with her hard nosed attitude, had been unexpectedly kind. They hadn't said anything, but they hadn't teased her nearly as much as usual, and they at least pretended to listen when she said something._

Ron worked on his revisions halfheartedly, his mind straying to what Hermione and Neville were doing in the library. If it had been him, he could have used the opportunity somehow, maybe by showing her how helpful he could be. It was Hermione, after all, so carrying around a stack of books might be her kink. It would have been a perfect chance to talk, and maybe...what, a small voice asked, try to pick her up, when he already had a girlfriend? Maybe he should trade in his red and gold for green and silver.

But what if she did end up dating Neville? He wasn't sure he could stand that. Not that he didn't like Neville, because he did; he was a nice bloke, and he'd probably make Hermione happy, or at least try his best to. It was just...he wanted her to be happy, he just didn't want her to be happy without him. And alright, he knew that was wrong, knew that he was being a twat; he shouldn't care because it was none of his business, and he should thank his lucky stars that it was Neville and not _Krum._ But that was how he felt, and no matter how he tried to fight it, he just couldn't change it. To make matters worse, he knew Lavender would go on about it endlessly, as she did with every new couple, and she would want his opinion on this one. Somehow, he didn't think she wanted to know how he'd really feel about the subject.

_How could he think that she would start dating Neville? It was true that Neville was kind, and considerate, and sweet, but someone with her temper would be the worst thing for him. He had needed someone like Hannah, who was bright, cheerful, and uplifting. How was it that Ron could match her up with anyone except himself? He could make a case for anyone, but when it came to him, the idea that she would be interested just seemed hopeless. Moreso, right now, since she was refusing to have anything to do with him._

None of this was helping him with his revisions, and finally he gave up, deciding he would sneak a look at Harry's notes. Harry had been cagey about helping him, since Hermione hadn't wanted to give him a hand through a middleman, but that didn't mean that Ron couldn't have a look at whatever Harry 'accidently' left lying around. Although judging by the lack of light coming through the window, he didn't have time. He would just make it to dinner, and then he knew he would have to spend some time with Lavender to keep her happy.

Dinner was difficult, since Lavender insisted on feeding him about half of it, and he ended up pretending he was full just to get her to stop. Didn't she notice how everyone was staring at them, and moving away so they wouldn't be sick while they tried to eat? He knew she was the affectionate sort, but this was just downright embarrassing. Just the other day, someone two stalls down in the loo was unblocking a toilet, and another person called out asking if 'Weasley was sneaking birds into the toilets now.'

_Hermione gave a hoot of laughter. She shouldn't find this funny. But it was funny, although she was sympathetic to how he felt, more now than she would have been at the time. Ron had had his own reasons for making his goings on with Lavender private, but it had come with a price. He had just been lucky that the twins hadn't still been at school, because she had no doubt they would have invented something specifically for him._

Promising himself that he would borrow the Cloak from Harry for a run to the kitchens later tonight, he reluctantly left the table with Lavender, with a quick peek at the end of the table, where Hermione sat alone. She sat alone most of the time now, he thought. It reminded him uncomfortably of her first months at school.

"Where are you taking me, Won-Won?" Lavender asked excitedly, grasping his arm.

He was momentarily distracted as it sank into the depths of her tits, before her question registered. Where did she think he was taking her? On a tour of Paris? They were confined to the castle and grounds, and on a January night, that pretty much meant the castle.

"Hadn't really thought about it," he said with a shrug.

She looked disappointed, then smiled. "Let's go up to the Astronomy tower...I have something I want to tell you."

There was something about the way she had practically purred that set warning bells off in his head, but he only nodded, and started walking in that direction. If she was going to do something embarrassing, it was for the best if there wasn't any witnesses. There were less people the further they went, and soon the noise died out completely, except for Lavender describing in vivid detail a reading she had had with Trelawney. It was a good thing she was carrying the conversation herself, because he pretty much agreed with Hermione on the whole subject of fortune telling. Lavender, on the other hand, bought into it completely, and would plan her entire day around colors and objects that were supposed to either bring her luck, or to be avoided. Briefly, he wondered what would happen if she was told that the color red was extremely unlucky for her, but he cut himself off. He shouldn't think like that...

"...And I just know I should skip Transfiguration tomorrow after what she said about cats; obviously she means that nothing I do will please McGonagall, so what's the point of even going?"

...but it was becoming really, _really_ hard not to.

_Hermione would have been amused, had she not suspected where the evening was leading. Her footsteps were slow, and as hard as she tried to tell herself that these events were in the past, she was having a difficult time not feeling as hurt as she had back then. Was this really necessary? She knew how things went from here, so what was the point of having to watch? She wasn't sure she could do it without ripping herself out of the memory._

The tower was deserted, though Ron was aware that could change at any time. It was a popular spot for couples, and he had cleared his share of them out during his prefect rounds. Well, if Lavender wanted to do some snogging, he wouldn't complain; it was the best way he knew how to keep her mouth busy. It also meant he could avoid whatever it was that she had wanted to say, because he suspected that he wasn't going to be as pleased about whatever it was as her.

"Hm. We should probably conjure up a few cushions and a blanket...oh! And candles! We definitely need some candles to set the mood!" She said excitedly, pulling out her wand.

He grabbed her wrist before she could use it, wondering what it was with girls and candles. "Erm, Lav? What's with all of that stuff? 'S'not like we've ever needed it before."

Lavender blushed, looking up through her eyelashes coyly. "Well, this is different, isn't it? A first time should be special."

Below the waist, Ron was ready to go. It was as if the stars had finally aligned for it to be put to the use it had long been practicing for. They were alone, he had a pretty witch asking him for it, and there was nothing to stop him.

Except he must've been getting just enough blood to his larger head, because stopping is exactly what he did. There was a very real struggle going on, and he wasn't sure his zipper would hold under the strain of it. Why was he hesitating? This was what he had always wanted. Alright, so it wasn't with who he had always wanted it to be with, but that obviously was never going to happen; he'd be daft to save himself for someone that had no interest in him, when he had someone who did. He didn't know the Charm for himself, but he was sure Lavender knew hers, and he had heard her talking about being on the Potion, so that should be alright.

"So you're saying you want to...you want us to..." he asked ineloquently, wanting to be clear.

She twined her arms around his neck. "Of course! That's what people in love do, isn't it?"

And just like that, He had shrivelled like fruit left out in the summer sun. He might not know a lot about love, but he knew that he wasn't in it with her. If he was, he wouldn't still be thinking about Hermione, and probably would during the act itself. When it came right down to it, he knew Lavender wasn't in love with him, either. She never tried to get to know him; never asked him anything about himself, about his family or what he wanted to do when he left school. And that had been alright, because he hadn't particularly wanted to share those things with her. But he had also noticed how she was always introducing him as 'Ron, the Gryffindor Keeper,' as if that was the only important thing about him. He had wanted to tell her that anyone who cared about Quidditch already knew that, since there were only four teams, but he had let it go. It still made him feel like that was what her feelings for him were based on, and that she'd drop him if his game suffered or he was cut from the team. That didn't feel much like love.

But she thought she was in love with him, and that was basically the same thing, wasn't it? It meant she'd be just as hurt when she found out he didn't feel the same. She had mentioned first times, and he knew she was the type that wanted it to be special, and have some kind of meaning. She'd be putting her heart into it, and to him, it would only be a fuck. A good fuck, but a fuck all the same. The randy bit of his brain tried to tell him that it didn't matter; he'd never told her he loved her, and she had been the one to ask for sex. True, but she asked him under the assumption he loved her, so wasn't it like he'd be doing it under false pretenses?

He blinked, the voice in his head sounding suspiciously like Hermione. Most people he knew would tell him to go for it, that he was mental to waste the chance, quibbling over a shade of grey or two. But he recalled something his dad had told him once, during one of the rare times they had been alone out in his shop. He had told Ron that he and his mum had raised him to know what was right and what was wrong, but there would most likely be times when thing were murky, and not very clear cut. Times where he would be tempted to lie to himself, that whatever he was doing wasn't really wrong. At those times, his dad had told him to ask himself what he'd do to a boy who was doing the same thing to Ginny.

Ron didn't even have to think about that one. If some tosser tried to get a leg over with her when they didn't care about her, and were using her because they couldn't have someone else, he'd kill 'em, plain and simple. Because that's exactly what he'd be doing, isn't it? It had all been fun up until now, but with a sick feeling, he knew he was putting Lavender in a position he had always dreaded being in himself. She would be a replacement, second best. All his life, he had been making do when he couldn't get what it was he really wanted, from wands, to rats, to brooms. But people weren't brooms. He couldn't ride her a few times and then stick her back in the closet. Lavender wasn't what he wanted, but she was a nice girl, and she deserved better than this. He might not be ready to give her up completely, but he didn't have to make things worse than they were going to be.

"i don't think it's such a good idea," he said, his cock screaming at him to reconsider.

Unsurprisingly, Lavender looked hurt and confused, her carefully plucked brows bunching in a frown. "But why? Don't you want to?"

"Well, yeah," he answered, bending the truth a bit, "But here and now isn't really the best choice. I mean, the floor of the tower isn't exactly...you know. Besides, it's not even all that late, and half the couples come up here at one point or another. Sometimes even the professors slip up to have a drink at night. You wouldn't want any of them walking in, would you?"

Lavender's eyes widened, obviously never having considered that possibility. He repressed a frustrated sigh. Hermione would have known all of the risks, and she'd either come up with a contingency plan, or an excuse if they were caught.

"The professors really come up here to have a drink?"

"Yeah." If by 'professors' you meant 'Trelawney', and by 'a drink' you meant 'a bottle.'

She nibbled her lips, her expression telling him that she didn't find the idea of an audience to be the same sort of mood enhancer as her candles.

"I just thought it was time that we sealed our love, to show how serious we were..."She trailed off, possibly thinking of a way around his protests.

"It's just, I thought you'd want something more than a quick go at school; everyone does that, and it doesn't have much meaning when you think of it like that, does it?" He wasn't sure what he was babbling, but he was pleased to see it was having an effect.

"That's true; maybe it would be best to wait this summer, when you come for your visit."

Ron felt his mouth go dry. "My...visit?" He squeaked.

Lavender giggled. "Of course, silly! Mummy and Daddy will want to meet you, you know!"

Merlin, he could practically hear Charlie roaring with laughter now. He had tried to warn him, hadn't he?

"Um, I'm not sure my mum will let me; she can be pretty funny, with things the way they're going," he tried to explain his way out of what could only be a visit to hell.

She shrugged. "I understand; if it makes her feel better, I can come to yours."

That was comfortably out of the realm of possibility; going on her reaction to Fleur, there was no way she was going to have Lavender anywhere near the Burrow. He was congratulating himself on a narrow escape when Lavender pulled him to her.

"Thank you for wanting my first time to be special," she breathed, just before she kissed him.

He did want it to be special, he thought as he worked his tongue into her mouth. Just not with him.

_Hermione, while relieved not to be treated to live action porn starring her fiance and another girl, was deeply confused. Lavender had been alluding to Ron's prowess at lovemaking for awhile by this point, each teasing description another knife in her heart. She knew Parvati had said she was exaggerating, but she hadn't believed it at the time. When she had first slept with Ron, she put down his awkwardness and inability to last longer than expected to several things; he hadn't been with Lavender as often as she said, and it had been over a year since he had last had sex. That, and he might be nervous with a different girl. But now it looked as though this might not be the case at all, which would explain rather a lot, including his confusion about some of her comments._

_It also explained a lot about Lavender. While she had had many boyfriends, and some people might deem her a 'slut,' they seemed to forget that just because you were dating someone didn't mean you were having sex with them. It wasn't that Lavender wasn't interested in the physical aspects, but it was only how they related to the romantic aspects. Lavender was very big on romance and having things being significant and meaningful, and she had always had high expectations for her first time. Ron was wonderful, but he wasn't the hero from a paperback novel, and it had been hard to reconcile Lavender's descriptions to what she knew of Ron. This new knowledge fit perfectly to what she already knew about Lavender going through a period of attaching her self worth to her physical allure, and striking out at her when it looked like she had 'beaten' her in that area. It was foolish, and it was sad; but then, so very many things about being sixteen could be described that way. She was glad that they had all grown past that._

_She was also proud of Ron. While she was aware of the lust that anyone in his position would have felt, he had made the right choice in the end, even if he hadn't been to the point to bring himself to break things off completely. He might not have loved Lavender, but he did care about her as a person, and she was glad about that. Ron knew better than most what it felt like to think you were never good enough, so it wasn't surprising that he wouldn't make someone else feel like that if he could help it. Of course, the panic that Lavender had inspired when she had told him that she was rushing the 'meet the parents' stage had played a large part as well. That reeked of commitment with a big C and that rhymed with T and that stood for Trouble, she chuckled. She had been hard on him back then for not breaking things off after his birthday, but she could see now that he was as clueless about the right way to end a relationship as he had been about how to start one. But it was coming closer, all the more so once he had the right incentive..._

The grass was cold and damp under Ron, the moisture seeping through the material of his uniform trousers. It was a small price to pay for solitude, though, and he merely wrapped his cloak tighter around himself against the sharp breeze. The silence was a blessed relief, and he had no intention of going back inside a moment sooner than necessary. Really, it was a miracle he had managed to escape at all. He wasn't even sure what flimsy excuse he had fobbed off on Lavender; all he knew was that if he had to listen to any more high pitched giggling today, he would go completely barmy. Although he probably already qualified for that solely on the grounds of saddling himself with a girl who called him 'Won-Won.' The thought made him grimace with distaste. Dean had the nerve to ask him that if she squealed like that when she came, and the resulting imagined scenario was enough to wilt his morning stiffy. 'Won-Won' was not a name to inspire raging lust, and neither was the shrill tone in which it was usually uttered.

Feeling exposed, he shuffled around to the other side of the Gryffindor changing tent, hopefully out of the line of sight from the castle. He didn't think Lavender would come looking for him here, but he was taking no chances. He had things to think about, and they were too important to be interrupted.

He was lonely. No one harrassed him to get his homework done... No one reminded him of prefect meetings, encouraged him when he was feeling down, or brushed the fringe out of his eyes in exasperation. Harry was great, but he wasn't…he wasn't Hermione. In her absence, it was becoming clearer that she wasn't just a passing fancy. He was in love with her. Her absence in his life was hard enough to deal with alone, but the fleeting glimpses he had, along with the memories of how things used to be, made it nearly unbearable. This morning at breakfast, while having to endure Lavender and 'here comes the broom!' with his fork, he thought longingly of the way breakfasts had been with Hermione. She read the interesting bits of the Prophet out loud, tucking the Quidditch section into his bag when she was done. She always grabbed a few extra slices of bacon before they were all gone, to pass to him later, because he always misjudged how many he wanted. On the days she had eggs, which she was never able to finish, she left a small portion without pepper, because she knew it made his nose itch. Without a word, she would slide her plate over to him, before reminding him what his schedule was for the day.

It struck him now how intimate that was; she did all of these little things for him without drawing attention to it, or even seeming to be aware of it. It was a stark contrast to Lavender, who hadn't bothered to get to know him enough to see that her soppy displays were bothering him more and more. Lavender was more like a little girl playing house, while with Hermione, he had felt a closeness he was coming to realize that he valued, and wasn't getting anywhere else. The things he thought he wanted were turning out to be all flash, while he might have lost the substance that truly mattered.

He was pulled out of his private pity party by the sound of someone approaching, their footsteps light and quick. Panicking, his eyes darted around, searching for a place to hide. Please don't be Lavender. Please. Don't. Be. _Bloody. Sodding._ Lavender. Pleasepleaseplease.

Long, red hair popped around the side of the tent, and he whimpered a sigh of relief, the tension seeping from his body and leaving him boneless. Until he fully realized that it was his sister standing there. She hadn't been all sweetness and warmth to him lately either.

Ginny stopped short, scowling down at her brother. "Oh, it's you. I suppose I should've guessed."

Ron looked up at her, trying not to look like a small child hiding from being punished. "What do

you mean by that?"

Ginny shrugged, shifting her broom to her other hand. "Hermione was coming down with me, but she saw something that made her go over all funny, and she refused to come any further. Practically ran back to the castle."

He slumped back down at the news. "She did? Even though I was alone?" He asked in a small voice.

She arched a fine eyebrow, cocking one hip forward to rest her fist on. "As opposed to being out here measuring the depths of Lav-Lav's throat with your tongue? Of course she did! Honestly, what else did you expect?"

Her scathing tone made him flinch. "I just thought….that maybe, you know…." he muttered, plucking up blades of grass, shredding them between his fingers.

"What? That she was going to trot out here and give you an early birthday present? Sorry Ron, but the only girl giving you anything tomorrow is going to be Lavender."

"Please, I don't even want to think of that right now."

She shrugged. "You should have thought of that before you became permanently attached to her face."

"This wasn't how it was supposed to turn out!" He said forcefully.

"How was it supposed to turn out? No, wait, don't tell me; Hermione was supposed to see you, become wildly jealous, and throw herself into your arms?"

The skin of his ears turned a deep shade of red in humiliation. It sounded so stupid to hear it said like that.

"Sorta, yeah…."

Ginny threw her hands up in the air, her disgust evident. "For Merlin's sake Ron! Do you have any idea how much you hurt her? What were you thinking? Oh, that's right, you weren't! You were too busy trying to prove a stupid point about something that happened _two fucking years ago_ to realize you finally had the chance you want-"

"Stop!" He bellowed. "Just stop it, alright? I know I fucked up! I'm well aware of the fact that I don't have a chance with her anymore! It's obvious even to a total pillock like me that I've lost one of my best friends! If you're here to make me feel worse, you don't need to bother, because it's impossible to make me hate myself more than I already do. I get it. It's hopeless. Now, just go away and leave me alone."

She was clearly shocked by the raw despair in his voice, the tears that barely clung to his eyelashes. Softening, she leaned her broom against the tent, and sat down beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders.

"Ron….look. you're my brother, and Hermione is my friend. I love you both, and I hate to see you hurting like this. You know…..it was never hopeless. Now, I honestly don't know. I never thought telling you about Viktor would make you this upset, or have you treating her in a way that would have you lined up with the other five if a boy ever did this to me."

Ron choked back tears of frustration. "What do I do? Tell me how to fix it, Gin! If I just knew the right words…."

Ginny shrugged. "maybe you shouldn't be with her, at least until you're more interested in making her happy than hurting her. Goes for her, as well, really. And I'll even try to get her to see reason, tomorrow. But whatever you do, it won't matter until you ditch Lavender. Honestly, I think she's getting worse as time goes on."

"She wants to come over during the summer," Ron admitted.

His sister looked at him in horror. "With mum shitting kittens over dealing with Fleur and the wedding?" She paused, looking thoughtful. "On the other hand, if anyone could scare her off, it's Mum..."

"Part of me thought that might be the best idea, and that Mum might even say I couldn't see her anymore. But with my luck, Lavender would think that was even more 'romantic.' How is having a pissed off mum breathing fire down your neck romantic?"

"Apparently, it is to people that've never met ours. But maybe things can cool off over the summer; I don't think any of her other boyfriends have lasted that long."

Ron nodded. "It'll have to, because there's no way in hell that I'm going to meet her parents."

Ginny stood up, wearing a wry grin. "Keep that in mind, or else you'll find yourself in a double wedding with Bill. I'm going to get some practice in; want to join me?"

Ron glared at her unwelcome joke. "Thanks. As if my nightmares about it aren't bad enough...nah, I think I'll take a walk; I don't want to be to, erm, visible out here."

Ginny continued on to the pitch, while Ron stood up and tried to amble farther away in an unassuming manner as possible.

_With his hair and height, Hermione thought, he was just about as unassuming as a neon giraffe. It was nice to see that Ginny had given him some sympathy. Ron could hold a grudge with the best of them (herself included), but he also knew that Ginny hadn't meant for this to happen, and she had just ran off at the mouth because she was mad. He had done that himself enough times that he couldn't hold it against her long; he also knew that when it came right down to it, he had been the one to make the choices he had, and being upset was no excuse. It would've been one thing if he had said something harsh to her as soon as he found out, but he had let it stew for days, and then had added Lavender to the mix. By then, 'heat of the moment' no longer applied._

_Had he really felt things were that hopeless? At the time, she had thought she was the one left with the pain, but that wasn't true at all. The way she had treated him had hurt Ron badly as well, but she had never stuck around long enough to see it. And the heartbreaking thing was, she had enforced the idea that he wasn't good enough for her. Instead of seeing her actions as being motivated by jealousy, he really believed that she cared nothing for him, and was fine without him in her life. Was it any wonder that they hadn't gotten together sooner, when they were both so wrong-headed?_

He avoided the usual high traffic areas, skirting close to the Forest without actually entering. Hardly anyone ventured out this far, so he was pretty much guaranteed to be alone.

"Hello, Ron. It looks as if you have more Wrackspurts than even Harry has most of the time."

Or not.

Ron jumped at the sound of the unexpected voice, twisting his neck to spot Luna, who was sitting on a fallen tree he had just past. The sight of her made him realize that he didn't really want to be alone with his thoughts, so he waved hello, carefully stepping over some roots to join her.

"'Llo, Luna. Feeding the Thestrals?" He asked, knowing from Harry that she did that from time to time.

Her large, pale eyes seemed to focus on something over his left shoulder, and he had to keep himself from turning to check if Wrackspurts were actually floating around his head.

"Not today. Some of the girls were arguing about something in the Common Room, and I felt like avoiding that today. It seems to be a good day for avoiding people, doesn't it? At least, that's what you looked like you were thinking at breakfast."

He had forgotten about Luna's knack for bringing up the exact thing you didn't want to talk about. He averted his eyes to his fingers, which were slowly peeling strips of bark from the log.

"Well, yeah. Sort of. Just thought I'd take a walk and sort out the mess about...yeah."

Luna nodded. "About Hermione, and how you hurt her feelings by not going to the party with her, and kissing Lavender instead."

"Dunno if 'instead' is exactly the right word," he muttered, flushing at her bluntness.

"It was a shit move," she said serenely.

Ron nearly fell off the log, goggling at her like she had just turned into one of those Crumpled Snackbox things she was always talking about. Luna had never used that sort of language before, and it sounded strange, the way she said it almost innocently.

"At least, that's what Ginny says," she continued.

Yeah, that was the sort of thing his sister would say; trust Luna to latch onto the most shocking bits.

"That seems to be the popular view."

"Which is odd, because the popular view is usually wrong."

"Since it sounds like a hot subject, is there any word on what my chances are?" He was only half joking; he needed a little hope from somewhere.

She tilted her head, as if searching for the information. "Most people seem to think it's over for good," she proclaimed as if she was relaying the weather, "but that's just a case of the popular view being wrong."

He slowly tore a strip of bark to pieces, flicking the bits away into the tall grass at his feet.

"No, I think they're two for two," he said glumly.

"Patronuses are very interesting things, aren't they?" She asked dreamily.

Ron blinked at the change of subject, but at least it wasn't something that would have him wanting to hang himself with his scarf from the nearest tree.

"I...guess so?"

"Oh yes, they're very interesting. The way they take on the shapes peculiar to the characteristics or significance to the person conjuring them, and how they're affected by that person's emotions. Even love can make a big difference in someone's Patronus."

Her enthusiasm for a subject was very different from Hermione's. With Luna, it was almost like she was telling a story.

"I've never really paid much attention. I was just happy that I wasn't the last person to figure out how to make one," he admitted.

"What's Hermione's Patronus?"

He started at the question. "Um, an otter."

Luna smiled slightly. "Otters are very clever. In fact, they're one of the few that use tools, showing that they have a knack for problem solving."

Ron couldn't help but smiling at that; suited Hermione down to the ground.

"And your's is a terrier, right?"

"Yeah. An annoying little dog," he snorted, not exactly impressed, but figuring that meant it was a good match for him.

"Dogs are very loyal and devoted, and there are many cases of them showing incredible bravery."

"Sounds better when you put it like that. So, what, are you saying we're like our Patronuses?" He asked, not sure what she was implying.

"Hm. Yes, but you know what I find really interesting? Otters are very playful, and sometimes give the appearance of being lazy. Doesn't sound much like Hermione, does it?"

He frowned and shook his head, trying to piece that together to what she had said about how a person's Patronus related to them.

"And terriers can be relentless when they're going after something, refusing to let go of it and sometimes losing sight of everything else."

"I wouldn't say that I-"

"No. But Hermione is, just as you're more lighthearted, like the otter. It's pretty amazing how the both of yours are mixed together like that," she finished, brushing off her skirt as she stood.

"What is all that supposed to mean?"

She looked back over her shoulder, looking him straight in the eye for the first time that day.

"It means I think you still have a very good chance," she stated simply, before wandering back in the direction of the castle.

And how she came to that conclusion, Ron didn't know. Somehow, he didn't think walking up to Hermione and telling her that they had compatible Patronuses so they should be friends again was something she'd find particularly convincing. Ginny was right; Hermione wouldn't be showering him with presents tomorrow.

He had never wanted a lesson planner so badly in his life.

_Hermione was astounded. Not that Luna had noticed those subtle connections; only that she was too thick to see them herself. But it fit together so neatly, didn't it? Instead of taking on one or the other's Patronus, as many people did, they kept their own, yet integrated the traits from the other that balanced them out. They were still very much individuals, but they blended together well. She wished Ron had been able to understand what Luna had meant, but he wasn't seeing himself in any kind of positive light at the moment, or how he could possibly relate to her. Sadly, she admitted that she carried a good deal of blame for that. For someone as emotionally driven as Ron, shutting him out had been cruel. Ron thrived on contact, and she needed to learn that this wasn't the way to get her point across; it only ended up hurting both of them._

He wasn't sure how he expected to feel when he woke up that morning, but he had thought he'd feel at least a little different. Supposedly he was an adult, but he still felt like the same gangling prat he was yesterday. Possibly because he _was_ still the gangling prat he was yesterday, but he thought he'd at least feel like an _adult_ gangling prat. Opening his presents, he tried to stay upbeat and pretend like he didn't notice that he was short one, even though he was keenly aware of the fact that there should be another package with small, neat handwriting somewhere in the pile. He let himself be distracted from that by the watch his parents had sent; just in time, he thought as he strapped it on. His last one wasn't even right twice a day somehow, and he only really wore it out of habit.

Making sure it was set right, he wondered if he should go down to breakfast late, to give Ginny a chance to talk to Hermione. He wasn't sure if it would work, but he didn't want to risk ruining it by showing up to early, and having her run off somewhere. He also had to keep Lavender distracted from the fact that it was his birthday, because he wasn't sure which was worse; a gift of jewelry straight out of a six year old girl's dream, or the Loving Girlfriend routine she would put on for everyone. Between his thoughts and his conversation with Harry, He noticed a box on the floor, and picked it up. Cauldron Cakes. Excellent. They must have fallen off of his pile, but he could use a few right about now.

The first one tasted sort of funny, but not bad enough to make him worry. The second and third were the same, but by the fourth, he was used to it, and didn't even notice on the fifth and sixth. In fact, by then he was starting to feel pretty good; his troubles seemed to melt away, to be replaced by a warm, fuzzy glow. Or was it the room that was getting fuzzy? He blinked, swaying on his feel at the box slipped from his fingers.

_Hermione watched the scene unfold, torn between concern and amusement. That many doses of the Love Potion might have been dangerous, and it would have been horrible as well if it had started a serious fight between him and Harry. But the gormless, almost drunk expression on his face as he dithered on about Romilda drew snickers from her, and she could see Harry was trying not to laugh as well._

_Mirth, though, was the last thing she felt as they went off to find Professor Slughorn, because she knew what was coming next, and through the haze of the second had effects she was experiencing, there was a panic growing at the knowledge that she was going to have to watch him nearly die, as well as feel it. She knew that Harry came through, but it was so easy to imagine what could have happened if he hadn't, and her trembling knees were making it hard for her to walk._

Ron felt his head clear, wondering how he had gotten from his room to...wherever he was. He had a glass in his hand and a foul taste in his mouth, and the sudden recollection of the past twenty minutes slamming into his head like the Knight Bus through a brick wall, and he fought the urge to be sick all over Slughorn's doubtlessly expensive rug. Merlin, what would've happened if he'd been alone? He might be in a broom cupboard right now, shagging that slag Romilda Vane! Had anyone ever had a narrower escape than that?

He took the mead he was offered, although he had never been a big fan. He needed something to mask the taste of the antidote he'd been given, and he could use a buzz to get him through the hassle that Harry was going to give him, if that smarmy grin was anything to go by.

" _Don't drink it!" Hermione shouted, putting her out out uselessly to stop him._

As soon as he had swallowed, he knew it was a mistake. The air was suckd from his lungs as he began to choke, darkness rolling in at the edges of his vision. His muscles jerked and seized as he fell to the floor, but he was powerless to control himself. Distantly, He heard Harry and Slughorn, but he knew they would be too late. Millions of thoughts fought for space in his head; what would happen to Harry? Would his family be alright, now that things were getting serious? And would Hermione care that he was gone, or would she be happier without him?

" _Of course I wouldn't!" She shrieked, holding his shoulders and trying to shake him, demanding that he take in a lungful of air. Where was Harry and that damned bezoar? Ron was dying! Dying! And it hurt, hurt so bad; she didn't know whether it was from him or her heart or both, but she could see his eyes beginning to gloss over, his skin turning blue, and she wanted nothing more than to tear the world apart. With a whimper, she buried her face in his chest, desperate to feel a heartbeat. It was so faint that she might be imagining it, and at any moment, she expected to find him dead. What if he died? He couldn't die! They needed him!_ She _needed him! Oh God, why wasn't he waking up? How could he die thinking that she didn't care? She had been such a fool, thinking that they had plenty of time, as if it couldn't be cut short by senseless accidents. Every moment of life was precious, and she wouldn't forget that if he just woke up! Please, please wake up, pleasepleaseplease..._

_As she began to spiral out of control, she felt a warm presence in her hand, applying pressure. Confused, she looked, but Ron's hands were still digging into the floor. The distraction had been enough for her to get ahold of herself, however, and to remember that Ron,_ her _Ron, was safe and whole next to her in the present, and he wasn't going to be taken from her now._

_this must have been the point he had passed out, because the world around her swirled to black, before brightening once more, predictably leaving her in the hospital wing once again._

Ron reached weakly for the glass of water, but only the tip of his middle finger could brush its surface, taunting him with the cool moisture beaded on the glass. With a groan, he dropped his arm, wishing someone would show up now that he was finally able to take some kind of notice. As if summoned by his thoughts, familiar heels tapped quickly outside of his door. Instantly he shut his eyes, letting himself go slack like he was asleep. Thank Merlin he had learned how to play dead from the twins at a young age, Because he didn't think he was well enough to stand up to the ministrations of his overenthusiastic girlfriend.

"Oh, Won-Won! I'm here now; everything's going to be alright!" She grasped his hand and held it to her chest. "Professor Trelawney said the energy from my love could help you heal. Do you feel the power of our bond, Won-Won?" She asked dramatically.

He forced himself to remain limp. Should he let out a snore, or would that only give him away? And could she use the bleeding power of her love to levitate the waterglass over here, before he dried out into a withered husk?

"Won-Won? Can you hear me?"

That's it; one Won-Won too many. He snored, as loudly and rudely as he could manage without sounding like Fang with a snoutfull of bogies.

Lavender dropped his hand, sighing in disappointment. "Well, she said it might take awhile to work. I suppose I'll come back when he's awake," she said, in a much more normal voice, before leaving him to stare after her through one slitted eye.

_Hermione stuffed her fist in her mouth, unsure which performance had been better. She would take note of Ron's talents for later. And she couldn't help but think that If Lavender hadn't been laying it on so thick, she might have gotten a lot farther than she had. Not that she was complaining, but it was sad to see her trying so hard, when she would have been more than good enough had she just been herself._

He wiggled slightly higher on his pillow, pleased with his success. Now, if he could just get someone useful in here...footsteps sounded again, and he feared it was Lavender coming back. Before he was able to get back into position, the door had opened, and he found himself staring into Hermione's startled face.

"Oh! I...didn't think you were awake," she said, her cheeks turning bright pink.

What did that mean? Would she have stayed if he was asleep? Why was she even here? Or maybe he was in a fever dream, and none of this was real. He wanted it to be real, wanted it so badly that the air choked in his throat from the force of it. She was looking at him, really _looking,_ She hadn't looked at him like that in months, and he didn't want her to stop.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" He asked. Or, tried to ask. What actually came out was, "'Er...ne? Wha' 're ooin' 're?"

"What did you-oh! You must be parched!" She exclaimed, rushing forward to hand him the glass, hovering over him to make sure his shaking fingers didn't drop it.

He gulped several mouthfuls, nearly choking, then moaning at the way the liquid trickled down to soothe his throat.

"Thanks," he spoke in a stronger voice once he had drained the contents. "Needed that for awhile, but it looks like Madam Pomfrey's off somewhere."

Hermione took the glass and set it back on the table, fussing with it as she avoided his eyes. "Yes, she's helping Professor Sprout sorting out a group of first years who got tangled up in some Fire Nettles. Apparently, they thought it would be fun to sneak into her private greenhouse."

Ron rolled his eyes. "As if the stuff in class isn't trying it's best to kill you. What'd they expect?"

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Yes, well, Madam Pomfrey asked me to come check on you on her way out, and she shouldn't be very long."

The boost of energy he had gotten upon seeing her drained out of him, and he sagged back into his pillow. "Oh. That's why you're here." He said in a dull voice. He had been stupid to hope; Hermione would never turn down anyone in authority.

"No! I mean, yes, but I was coming later anyway, after dinner."

He perked back up. Not only had she been coming to see him, but she was actually talking to him like she considered him more than a lower life form! Who knew all it took was a small case of nearly dying?

"Is there anything else you need?" She asked, twisting the strap of her bag like she always did when she was nervous.

He didn't need anything, but he didn't want to say so. If she thought he was fine, she might leave, and he wanted to drag this out as long as possible.

"Don't think so, but it's still sort of hard to think," he answered as pathetically as he could, cheering inwardly at the concern that bloomed on her face.

"Are you not feeling right? But Madam Pomfrey said you should be fine, once you completely woke up! Here, let me make sure you don't have a fever."

She leaned closer, her hand sweeping up under his fringe to rest on his forehead. Her skin was deliciously cool, and he sighed, letting his eyes drift shut. All too soon, she pulled away and he opened them again in disappointment.

"You don't feel like you have a fever, but if you start feeling bad at all, you need to tell us. I've looked up several things about poisons with your symptoms, and some of them can have secondary-"

Unable to help it, he began to chuckle, causing her to frown.

"What's so funny?"

"You," he grinned, "What did you do, set up a library around my poor lifeless body?"

He had been joking, as her research had been a very typical Hermione thing to do, but he cut himself off when her face drained of color, and tears welled up in her eyes. Fuck. Just when things were going his way, he cocked them all up again.

"Don't joke about that. It was awful!" She demanded in a harsh, choked voice.

A thrill shivered up his spine at the heat in her voice, like the sun after an ice storm. "Yeah? It was awful?"

She closed her eyes, one tear leaking out to leave a bright trail down her left cheek. "It was the most awful thing I'd ever seen."

"Oh...um, sorry about that."

He didn't know what else to say. Hermione had seen some pretty horrible things; he knew, since he had been right there with her. To hear that this was the worst, when he had thought she was done with him for good, nearly had him up and doing somersaults around the room.

Hermione appeared highly uncomfortable at her admission, and began to squirm. "I forgot; I brought you all your assignments, and I have some notes to help you catch up," she said briskly, sounding more like herself.

Like a puppy, he practically wiggled with happiness, the grin creeping back onto his face. "Assignments? Wicked!"

She had brought him work to do! And, more importantly, she had brought her _notes!_ For Hermione, that meant he was back in her good graces, at least for now. It must be some sort of birthday miracle, or maybe whatever Harry had shoved down his throat had been coated in Felix Felicis, because that was the only thing to explain his luck; he certainly hadn't done anything to deserve it.

One of her eyebrows arched up. "Are you absolutely sure you don't have a fever?"

Feeling daring, and needing as many tangible signs as this was real, he said, "Maybe you should check again. Just in case."

To his surprise, she did just that, and he leaned into the palm of her hand, watching her eyes. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that her breath caught, but there were limits to impossible and he was already pushing them.

"You feel alright," she pronounced quietly.

"I feel great."

Too much of his feelings must have leaked through in his voice, because she flinched away, rummaging in her bag and bringing out a stack of books and scrolls, which she set on the chair next to the bed.

"Well, I should go, and let you get some rest," she said, putting her bag back over her shoulder.

"No!" He blurted, scrambling to sit up, "I was only pretending to be asleep earlier, because I didn't want to talk to-well, I'm fine with you staying," he finished lamely, not wanting to jinx things by mentioning Lavender's name.

"I should still go down to dinner," she protested, but it was weak.

"But You'll come back after? And help me with this stuff?" He pleaded, motioning to the pile on the chair.

Hermione edged closer to the door, nibbling her lip. "I should really let Lavender be the one..."

"Please, Hermione? You're the only one that can get anything into my head." And his heart, he thought silently, watching as she debated with herself.

"Alright; I suppose it wouldn't be good to let you fall behind. I'll be back later."

He returned her small wave, his eyes never leaving her until the door closed behind her. It was probably best that she left, because having her here suddenly felt like too much, too soon. It was like having a shot of Firewhiskey after living off of watered down Butterbeer. How could he have ever, for one second, thought he could be alright without her in his life? He couldn't go back to the way things had been. Not now. One little visit wasn't going to be enough to satisfy him. He needed the sound of her voice, to watch her emotions shifting in her eyes; to feel her arm brushing against his as she reached for another piece of parchment. She had left a crack open for him, and he was determined to make his way in deeper; he couldn't lose her again, because his heart just couldn't take it. He didn't know where to go from here, but he was going to do his damndest to show her that he wasn't the same fuckup as before. Yawning, he settled onto his side, facing the door. He wanted to see her as soon as she walked in.

_Hermione linked her fingers through his as he dozed, letting his feelings for her wash over her heart. His love was maturing, becoming that of a man, rather than a boy. He still had to figure out what to do about Lavender, but he had a goal, even if he was unsure of the path. She laughed, and it was a sound of pure joy at the hopefulness of the future he was moving towards, a future with her._

" _I think you managed to worm your way in quite well. And there's no way I'm letting go now."_


	32. Chapter 32

**A.N.: Sorry this is a few days late; power outages kept setting me back. To the guest that expressed confusion about why Ron and Hermione didn't talk about certain things: there were reasons for that, and they will be explained in future chapters, I promise! Also, shout out to Meirka in Bashkortostan! Thanks for reading!**

A shrill voice could be heard from the Common Room below, although it wasn't quite loud enough for the words to be made out. Hermione paused at one particularly loud burst, before calmly returning to organizing her notes, color coding the ink for Ron to look at later.

"You do realize that you're probably next, right?" Parvati asked from her bed, where she was knitting a brightly colored jumper.

Hermione placed her finger on a page to mark her spot. "What for?" She asked evenly, though she already knew the answer.

"You know, what for; don't pretend. Now that you and Ron are friends again, he doesn't seem to want to spend any time with her, and she thinks you're doing it on purpose."

"I'm not doing _anything._ Whatever is going on between them is their business, and has nothing to do with me."

"Hm." Parvati glanced up from her needles with a look that said that she didn't quite believe that, but she didn't press the point.

Hermione hadn't lied; she was very careful not to be around whenever Lavender tried to spend time with Ron (just because she was trying to get over him didn't mean she wanted to see him slobbering all over Lavender), and she never did anything to try to get Ron to break up with her. While she admitted to being pleased that he seemed to prefer her company over Lavender's, she knew that it was only because he was glad they were friends again, combined with the fact that his shallow feelings for Lavender had finally run their course. Lavender wasn't helping herself by being at turns either as clingy as a barnacle, or as shrill and accusing as a fishwife. Ron was beginning to resent both, and had very little reason to stay in that relationship. No, as far as she could tell, the end was coming soon, and it was going to happen regardless of anything she said or did.

_That was only partially true. While that hadn't been her intention, the fact of the matter was that she had had an influence on him. The more he was around her, the clearer it was that she was the one he wanted to be with. And the clearer it was, the harder it became to put up with Lavender. Lavender had sensed that, and had by turns done everything she could to win him over, or tried to punish him for not being the type of boyfriend she had wanted. Neither had any effect on him; a kind look from Hermione, or a private conversation reminding him how comfortable he was with her, and what had once been an uneasy temptation became no more than a guilty annoyance._

The sound of feet stomping up the stairs preceded the door being slammed open, revealing a flushed, sulky looking Lavender, her angry eyes landing on Hermione, who met them steadily.

" _You!"_

Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from asking who she expected.

"You just...just stay away from my boyfriend, you hear me?" Lavender demanded.

"No. I won't."

Lavender reared back at her quiet reply, clearly not expecting it.

" _Excuse_ me? Are you actually going to sit there and tell me that you're going to _deliberately_ try to steal _my_ boyfriend?"

The book in her hands snapped shut, the sound startlingly loud. "I'm not _trying_ to do anything! Ron is my friend, and you'll have to deal with that, whether you like it or not, just as I'll have to deal with him seeing you. And even if I wanted to, I couldn't _steal_ him. You can't steal a person's feelings unless they want you to; and if it comes down to it, if you can't trust him, then you have no business being with him."

The other girl tossed her head, flicking back strands of hair that had come down from her bow. "His friend? Don't make me laugh! You ignored him for months, and you're only talking to him now because he's _interesting!"_

_Ron took a few brisk steps away from the bed; he might not be able to feel things much in this state, but his instinctive reaction was to get out of the line of fire. Hermione's temper had reached the point where he could fair feel it burning off of her, her hair practically crackling with raw magic as she jumped off the bed, and slowly began to advance on Lavender. It looked like a fluffy little bunny being stalked by a large, bloodthirsty feline._

"Interesting? _Interesting?"_ Is that what you call nearly dying? Because I don't find that _interesting_ in the least! And coming from you, that absolutely reeks of hypocrisy! Ron has _always_ interested me, but I notice that you didn't have time to spare for him until recently. Suddenly the 'shabby way he dresses'- I think those were your words? Doesn't matter now that he's made a name for himself as Keeper."

Lavender had the grace to look ashamed, and Hermione took pleasure in it.

"But that's the difference between us. I was interested in Ron for his sake; you're only interested in how good he can make you look." It was a low blow, but Hermione didn't care at this point.

The other girl wore a stricken expression, as if Hermione had slapped her with her hand, rather than the truth. "That's not...I mean, I didn't..."

Suddenly sick of the whole thing, Hermione stepped back, missing Lavender's sigh of relief, echoed by Parvati.

"I don't even see why it matters, anyway. Ron could have had me at any time, but he chose you. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Well, you got it. He's not going to leave you for me. What boy would?"

_Ron winced at the dejected slump of her shoulders, as did Lavender. There was a moment where her pain was out in the open, her vulnerability stark and bare. Then it was gone again, replaced by a flinty hardness he was familiar with; it was the look she always had when she was about to do something she personally thought was nasty, but she would do it for a higher cause._

"It's not fair of you to make Ron choose between a friend, and yourself. That's your business, and whatever happens between you has nothing to do with me. But let me tell you this, just once; if you deliberately hurt him, there's not a place on this earth where you can hide from me, and I'll see his pain returned with interest."

Lavender licked her lips, edging back to the door. She knew what Hermione was capable of, and the look on her face said that she didn't want to test it.

"I'm going to go wash my makeup off. Parvati?"

"I'll be there in a minute," Parvati said, to the already closing door.

Parvati stood, giving Hermione an appraising look. "So that's it, then? You're really not going to fight for him?"

Hermione shrugged angrily. "Like I said, it wouldn't make a difference; you can't make someone love you if they don't. I don't know where she get's the idea I was even trying to, in the first place! _She's_ the one that fawns all over him. I just nag and bicker with him like I've always done. That's not exactly inducement for him to leave her for me, is it?" She asked bitterly.

Her roommate paused at the door, head tilted thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so," she admitted, stepping out into the hall, "but I think Ron does."

The door closed, and Hermione clenched her fists. That little scene with Lavender had been draining, but Parvati's parting shot had nearly knocked the air from her lungs. Quickly, she fought down the stubborn flicker of hope; Ron didn't feel that way about her. He might want to ditch Lavender, but he would find someone else. Someone that wasn't her. With a shaky sigh, she began to clear away her needed to sleep.

And to forget how good it felt in those two seconds that she believed Parvati might be right.

_Until now, Ron hadn't realized exactly how much strain all of this had put on Hermione. He had always had a way out; he could duck into a restroom, or the dorm, and Quidditch practice took up time, too. Hermione didn't have that luxury. At the end of a day of having things rubbed in her face, she had been forced to share a room with Lavender, with her only escape being the moments she could spend in the library. There wasn't much privacy for her, and it was no wonder she had spent months tighter than a fiddle string. And after all that, she had still been willing to defend him if he got hurt. No wonder she had seemed lighter once Lavender had finally chucked him. They hadn't talked about it, and he found himself wondering exactly what had gone down between the two girls, after Lavender had finished reaming him over the coals. He wouldn't get to see yet, it seemed, since the next scene had taken place before that night, as far as he could tell._

Hermione was in her element; amidst all the chaos and frightening things she had been through, the moments spent revising in the Common Room had been an oasis of peace. She didn't know whether it was the orderly nature of committing facts to memory, or if it was the blessedly normal task of keeping Ron and Harry on track; whichever, it always made her feel more in control of things, even if it was only an illusion.

Harry was making a fuss over Malfoy again, And she chanced a glance at Ron, who had lifted his eyes from his essay to look at her, the corner of his lip twitching as they wordlessly expressed their thoughts about Harry's theories. She had to smother a stupid little smile, as warmth suffused her. That had been one of the things she had missed most about Ron. They might squabble over petty things, but they were so in tune over what really mattered. Harry was important to both of them, and while they approached that in different ways, they each realized that the other had something to offer him that they themselves couldn't, and they seemed to take a certain pleasure in the fact that they balanced things out between them. There were moments when it almost felt like Harry was their son, in a weird way. Quickly, she broke eye contact, crushing that thought and the others to which it would lead.

_Ron knew what she meant, because he had always felt a little like that himself. Not that he had ever felt...fatherly to Harry, but it had almost been like the three of them had made up a family unit all their own, with him and Hermione joining forces to give Harry the protection and support he had never gotten at home. The moments he thought about it had been fleeting; a shared worried look, or a wordless agreement about the best way to handle him. Even the small arguments along the same subject brought him to mind of his own parents, and the thought of having that connection with Hermione had made him feel warm all over._

She thought that she had her feelings under control, and that she had smoothly settled back into familiar patterns, content for them to remain so now that she had made up her mind.

And then Ron had said four words that set off a small explosion in the region of her heart, a place he had no business affecting.

'I love you, Hermione.' Those words echoed in her head, chasing each other around and around, until she thought she'd go dizzy from it. With a strain, she had managed to paste a small smile on her face, even if she couldn't control the light blush; she was even able to answer him, sounding almost as though she was joking. She wasn't, though. Even if Ron had meant the words, he wasn't free to say them. She needed that reminder as much, if not more, than he did. Ron didn't love her, she told herself harshly. Or rather, he did, but the same way he loved Harry or Ginny. She was a close friend, maybe even a sibling, but nothing more. And that was enough. It was. It had to be.

FIrelight glinted off the golden strands in his hair, reflected from the sheepish gaze of his bright blue eyes as he looked up at her, mouth quirked in a weary smirk over his troublesome lovelife, causing her chest to ache as she restrained herself from brushing the fringe from his forehead. It had to be enough.

But it wasn't.

_He had missed the signs, that night, although he had seen glimmers of them at other times. Her eyes were just a touch too bright, the smile too stiff. Her voice was pitched slightly higher than usual, and she had seemed to pull back, in a way he couldn't quite describe. He had meant the words, though. More than she had imagined, or that even he himself truly understood. He wasn't sure why they had tumbled out the way they had, after years of keeping them trapped in the safety of his head. Maybe that had been part of it. He had been so tired of keeping it a secret, that he had wanted to get it out in the open somehow, even if she didn't take him seriously. He wanted to say it, and he wanted her to hear it. He had never told Lavender that he loved her, and after everything, it felt only right that he should finally say it to the person that mattered._

_He hadn't given it much thought, and had just assumed that Hermione wouldn't take him seriously. He couldn't_ be _serious until he was shot of Lavender, but it was...something to start with. He didn't know that the words were going to tear at her insides, shock rippling through her like someone that had had a bucket of ice water dumped over them. In a way, it had been almost cruel, although he had no way of knowing. And as much as he hated to cause her pain, he couldn't quite bring himself to regret it, either. Because against her will, it had kept a crack open in the defenses she had been trying to raise between them; a weak point in the wall for him to chip away at. The words had nested in her head, and they only got louder once he was free; they weren't the only things to get loud though, by any means._

It was with a sense of deja vu that Hermione listened to the strident shrieking from downstairs; the Lavender situation sounded as if it was being cleared up once and for all, and Hermione kept switching back and forth between guilty, and immensely pleased. She shouldn't feel guilty, since neither of them had done anything wrong. She had said as much to Lavender, before Ron had asked her to leave. The pleasure came from knowing that the Won-Won days were at an end, and she wouldn't have to endure Lavender's suspicious glares, or taunting innuendoes anymore. Not that the last few had really bothered her; Ron spent most of his time either with her or Harry, and no one that avoids their girlfriend the way he had can possibly be getting up to half the things she suggested. She supposed the guilt stemmed from being happy that it was over; even if it was a sham of a relationship, it still felt rather nasty to wish it on someone.

There was a particularly loud explosion, where she could clearly hear what Lavender was calling Ron, and it definitely wasn't Won-Won. She flinched, catching Parvati's eye. The other girl shook her head in resignation.

"I knew it was going to end soon, but I had hoped it would be less...vocal. On the bright side, she may burn herself out before she comes up and decides to have a go at you."

Hermione snorted. "I shouldn't think it likely. After the look she gave me downstairs, I think I'll be Warding my bed every night for the rest of the year."

"You're lucky; You're not the one that's going to have to be there for the cleanup. I know Lavender, and she's going to be a mess for days, even though she knew it was coming, too."

That made Hermione frown. "Then why didn't she just end it, instead of dragging it out?"

Parvati hugged the hot pink pillow to her chest. "Lavender hates to lose, and this will be the second time she's lost to you."

"But I never-" Hermione began indignantly.

"I know! But that's how she'll _feel._ It didn't help that the two of you looked like you had been up to something."

"We weren't doing anything of the sort! I understand why she might want to believe it of me, but doesn't she know that Ron would never do that?"

They both paused as a deeper voice rang out briefly, followed by quiet.

"She knows. She knows that about both of you. But it's easier for her to accuse you than admit that she couldn't keep him no matter how hard she tried, and you ended up with him without trying at all."

Hermione squeezed her thighs, feeling her nails even through the thick wool of her skirt. "I haven't ended up with Ron. There's nothing like that between us, and there never will be."

Her fierce tone seemed to dissuade Parvati from pursuing the topic further. Instead, she changed the subject, as the quiet from below continued.

"Do you suppose she's killed him?"

"I doubt it. He might be wishing she had, though."

Parvati shrugged. "As long as he's smart enough not to look too relieved, he might come through it with all of his limbs attached."

Just as Hermione thought she might have to go looking for the body after all, the sound of footsteps marching up to the dorms had her sitting back against her headboard, her hand on her wand in case Lavender decided to behave less than reasonably. However, it looked like that wouldn't be necessary, because when Lavender finally stomped in, she seemed to have better control of herself than she had last time.

"Do you still expect me to believe that nothing was going on between you?" She bit out, her face pale and pinched. Her eyes were red rimmed, and two splotches of color stood out starkly on her cheeks.

"Yes," Hermione said, deciding it was best to keep her answers short.

"Will you tell me what you _were_ doing?"

"No." It wasn't her story to tell, and frankly, it wasn't any of Lavender's business. Besides, she was going to believe what she wanted to, anyway.

Lavender's lips tightened into a thin, bloodless line; it was apparent she was holding back what she wanted to say, and when she finally did speak, her voice was strained.

"I don't know what you see in him, but you're welcome to have him; he's all yours," she said furiously, throwing herself into the chair in front of the vanity, and yanking the ribbon out of her hair.

That made Hermione bristle, wondering if she should go for her wand, after all.

"First of all, Ron isn't just some kind of-of _accessory,_ that you can just pass around depending on what suits _you,"_ she growled, meeting Lavender's nervous eyes in the mirror. "He makes his own decisions about who he wants to be with, and we've already established that's not me. Even if he did, he'd just be...settling now, and do you really think I would have any part of that? You were closest to the kind of girl he'd want, and if even you weren't enough, then I wouldn't stand a chance."

Lavender looked up sharply at the bitter pain in her voice, her distressed eyes signalling that she might be realizing that things went deeper than she had thought; that she might have caused more harm than she had ever intended.

"That's not true; I think you could, if-" she began, her voice troubled.

Hermione cut her off with a sharp gesture. "I'm good with books, Lavender. Not boys. There might have been a chance...but it's gone now, and I have to learn to live with it. Just...just drop the whole thing."

"But Hermione, he-" Lavender continued stubbornly, her natural radar for all things Love going off, pushing aside her own feelings for the moment.

" _Don't."_

It was just one word, and while it wasn't said with anger, there was something about it that promised unpleasant things if matters were pushed.

Lavender narrowed her eyes, spinning around to brush furiously at her hair, muttering under her breath about stubborn people deserving each other. Hermione didn't catch the words, and was content to curl back up on her bed, hoping that at last, there might be some peace. Or, if not quite peace, then at least not all out war. It hadn't really sunk in yet, that Ron was no longer with Lavender, and she knew that she would have to prepare herself for when it did, so she didn't get carried away.

After all, what she had told Lavender had been true. There was nothing in it for her.

_Ron watched both girls, feeling pretty well wretched. He knew they had all three messed up, but he had never stopped to think what his own part played into everything. Even if he had continued to fight with Hermione, there had been no good reason to give into Lavender's advances. In doing so, he had tangled things up almost beyond the point of fixing. Not just how he had obviously hurt Hermione, either. Seeing Lavender now, he could tell, as her expression wavered between anger at the situation, and the hesitant, guilty look of someone who wanted to make up but didn't quite know how (a situation he had found himself in more than once), he could tell he had done damage there, as well. From what he had learned here, Lavender was already having confidence issues, and while she might not have been in love with him, rejection still hurt. More than that, he had added to the damage between them, as well. Lavender would have done something on her own, but without him, it wouldn't have been nearly this bad, or as long. Aside from Ginny, Hermione didn't really have any girls she was chummy with. And while Lavender and Parvati were never going to fall into that category, the three of them had at least had a comfortable air of live and let live. As the jealousy had increased, the room seemed to shrink, and all three girls had lost a place that they should be able to go to for peace._

_He had no intention of taking the blame for everything. No, there was plenty of that to go around, and it didn't matter enough to sort through and measure out. But he could learn from this, and while he thought he had already, he found there was more he could add to it. And what he learned was this; his decisions mattered. They might not feel like it at the time, but his choices carried weight, and they affected others in ways he might not be able to see. It was good that he hadn't intended things to get as bad as they did, and just because he messed up, it didn't make him a bad person. It_ did _mean that he needed to take care of how he made choices, to think about how it would affect others. And how it would affect himself, if it came down to it. After all, it may have felt alright at the first, but he had ended up feeling lonely, miserable, and hopeless, so his moment of selfishness hadn't even been in his own self interest._

_That had been a turning point, though; even after ending things with Lavender, he still hadn't been sure where to go from there, but he had been determined to make things up to her, to try to show her how he still felt. It was hard to think in terms of romance, when you were terrified, though; even harder, when you were terrified for the other person..._

The common room was unusually quiet tonight, as if the other students sensed privacy was required. Hermione, in no great rush to return to the strained silence of her room, curled into the corner of the sofa, angling to face Ron. He was slouched against the opposite arm, his legs stretching across across his cushion and the middle, to end dangling over the edge of hers, his heels resting on the floor. Harry had only been gone a few minutes, but it was already clear that they were both too keyed up to work on any of their papers. They might look relaxed, but their restlessness was evident in the way they kept shifting from side to side, darting glances at their watches, and over to the portrait hole.

"D'you think Dumbledore's really found a Horcrux, then?" Ron asked abruptly, breaking the silence.

Hermione gave a start; he had spoken quietly, but it seemed too loud, somehow. "I don't know. I hope so. At least, I think I do...it's hard to know what to expect, if he has. Maybe he's just showing Harry some more memories."

Ron shivered slightly. "Dunno how he does that; I wouldn't, if I had the choice."

Hermione frowned. "Look into the Pensieve? Why not? Harry's gotten some valuable information from it, and the whole process seems fascinating."

"Yeah, but it...being in someone else's memories...it's like touching them, you know? I don't think I'd like that. And I _know_ I wouldn't like being in some of the creepier ones," he added with another shudder.

"But they aren't real! Well, they are, but you know that nothing is going to happen to you, so I don't understand why you'd feel that way."

That seemed to sting his pride a bit. "What about those Muggle films, then? Didn't you tell me that there are scary ones, and a few you won't even watch after dark?"

She blushed at that, wondering how he had remembered. "That's true, but-"

"If you can get afraid of something you're looking at on a screen, then I don't see why you can't feel the same way when you get plunked down right in the middle of it, as if you were actually there."

"Oh. I...I hadn't thought of it quite like that," she answered, seeing his point. Maybe she would steer clear of Pensieves in the future, unless she knew what kind of memory she'd be looking at.

_Ron snorted. She must have forgotten about that; he was pretty sure that she was getting more than she bargained for. He hoped it wasn't too bad, although there were moments...moments he'd rather be able to avoid himself._

"I hope he comes and gets us, or at least tells us before he leaves," she said worriedly, with another look at the portrait hole.

"He will. Harry wouldn't do something like that without telling us, first."

_The confidence of his younger self made him grimace; Harry would do exactly that, if he thought it was better that way. But his words had a calming effect on Hermione, and he was surprised at how easily she took what he said for truth. It was always easier to pick out when she said something to argue with him than it was to notice when she silently agreed, or took his opinion to heart._

Ron was right; she was probably worrying needlessly. But that merely brought to mind another worry. What would they do, if they went with him?

"We'll do whatever we have to, of course," Ron answered, and she was startled to realize she must have asked out loud, "Probably means we'll have to fight, like last year."

Hermione bit her lip at the thought. Last year hadn't gone so very well, had it? They had come out of it alive, but that was about all they could say.

"Hermione, if we do end up fighting, like at the Ministry," Ron said hesitantly, with an odd catch in his voice, "would you...no, never mind."

"Would I what?" She asked curiously; Ron rarely sounded that unguarded, and he was rubbing his right hand over his left arm, his fingers unconsciously tracing his scars through his jumper, as he did when he was upset.

_Ron jerked back at that perception; he wasn't aware that he ever did that, but he could see for himself that it was true. He wondered how often he had done that, and how often she had noticed, and instances of an unusually understanding word from her had resulted from it without him knowing the cause sprang to mind. Because there were times when he was upset that Hermione, instead of arguing or needling him, would suddenly become quite soft with him, sometimes gently holding his hand, and other times distracting him with another subject. Those moments were always special to him, because even though he was usually upset, the way she seemed to know what he needed was a comfort._

"It's nothing, really. Just, if we do end up fighting...be careful, alright?"

Normally, she might have scoffed at that; she was as capable as he was, after all. But she also knew that Ron was perfectly aware of that, and didn't mean it in a condescending way. He was being completely serious, and he looked really troubled. She was touched, that he would be so worried.

"I will, if you will," she finally said, painfully aware of just how he had gotten those scars on his arms. She knew Ron had improved since last year, but it only took one tiny slip...before she had too much time to worry, Harry had burst into the room, talking so fast that she could barely keep up. Ron was a stunned as she was, but she noticed that he was quick enough to ask the sort of questions that might help them later. Far too soon, Harry was leaving, and she moved to stop him, suddenly fearful for what the night might bring. She didn't want the three of them to separate; it felt like they would be safer, together.

A hand around her wrist stopped her, and she darted a look at Ron. He shook his head, his eyes telling her that he understood, and felt the same way, but they had to let him go. The portrait hole shut with a final-sounding click, and Hermione's head began to buzz, trying to think of the best course of action.

"Right. I'll run up and grab the map, while you try to get ahold of the rest of the D.A. That spell wasn't supposed to wear off, was it?"

"I...no..." she shook her head, snapping herself out of her rising panic. Ron's suggestions were logical, and she felt better, having a clear direction. "No, the spell should still be working. I just hope everyone still has their Galleons."

"If not, we'll have to think of something else. Be right back."

Ron ran up the steps to the boys' dorms, and she went over to the table where her bag was sitting, and rooted around in the pocket until she found her Galleon. Quickly, she sent out a general emergency signal, instructing anyone who might get the message to meet outside the Gryffindor Common Room. She had barely done so when Ron rejoined her, unfolding the map as he crossed the room.

"I don't see Malfoy on here yet; I hope Harry is right, or we're gonna be pissing a lot of people off, getting them out of bed for nothing."

"I hope he's wrong, and we spend a boring but safe night standing around in the hallway," Hermione retorted somewhat snappishly.

Ron glanced up in apology. "You know what I mean."

"I thought I heard the sound of voices plotting; I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that it's the two of you, but where's Harry? Or did he think that three was a crowd?" Ginny asked, from where she was standing halfway down the stairs.

They both jumped guiltily, then relaxed; Ginny was one of the people they had meant to get, after all. At that moment, someone slipped down from the other side, and they turned to find Neville moving quickly down the stairs, wand in hand. Well, at least they had two people. Hopefully, more were outside waiting.

We'll tell you as soon as everyone else gets here. I told them to meet us outside the Common Room, so they should be here soon," Hermione explained.

Ginny and Neville exchanged confused shrugs, but didn't press, and the four of them left the room, Ron still frowning at the map.

They stood outside awkwardly, just around the corner from the Fat Lady, who had given them a disapproving look as they left. If felt like forever before they heard someone coming, and they all drew back behind some of the tapestries, in case it was Filch. But Filch didn't have long blond hair or radish shaped earrings, and they all let out a sigh of relief, as Luna joined them.

"Is it just the five of us? It reminds me of last year," Luna said by way of greeting, making the other four flinch.

"I sincerely hope not," Hermione muttered, "The rest of the D.A. should be coming; we'll give them a few more minutes."

"I don't think anyone else will come," Luna said, "I imagine the rest have stopped checking their coins by now."

"The three of us did, so maybe a few more will show up," Neville put in reasonably.

Ginny looked mildly embarrassed. "Um, actually...I didn't look at mine, either. I had gotten up for a drink, and I heard Hermione and Ron talking."

Her confession was met with silence.

"Drat. Oh well, I suppose it should be fine..."

Hermione filled them in quickly, leaving out any mention of Horcruxes; luckily, the other three were content with the explanation that Harry was with Dumbledore.

"I don't get it! I've looked all over the fucking map, but I can't find the little ferret anywhe-" Ron began angrily, before a look of understanding crossed his face. "I'm an idiot. Of course I can't find him, when he's in the one place that won't show up on the map!"

It took a moment, but Hermione got it; it made sense, and she was glad Ron had figured it out, before they wasted any more time.

"The Room of Requirement? Of course! That's brilliant, Ron!"

Ron looked quite pleased with himself, the tips of his ears turning pink, and Ginny muffled a snorting giggle behind her hand.

"So, should we all go after him at once?" Neville asked doubtfully.

"That won't do any good, if he hasn't done anything wrong yet," Luna pointed out, and Hermione nodded.

With another look at the map, Ron scratched his head, nodding to himself. "Alright, here's what we'll do. Hermione, Luna, you two go and watch outside of Snape's office. If Malfoy _is_ up to something, Harry is pretty sure that he's in on it, too. The rest of us will go and watch for Malfoy, and try to figure out what he's up to."

The last thing Hermione wanted to do was split up, but she knew Ron was right. Still, she couldn't help remembering how it had turned out last year...

"Are you sure? If we all follow Malfoy, he'll end up leading us to Snape anyway, if Harry is right. Wouldn't it be easier if we stayed together?"

Ron shook his head. "Can't risk it. If he manages to give us the slip, someone needs to be there to stop him. I don't much like it, but it's the only way."

"But-"

"Please, Hermione."

She closed her mouth; he hadn't framed it as a question, and she wasn't really sure why he was so determined for them to break off like that. But he sounded so sure of himself, just as he had back in first year, and she realized that this was just another kind of chess match. Exhaling loudly, she nodded. Tactical thinking was Ron's strong suit, and she was smart enough to recognize a solid plan when she heard one.

"Alright, we'll do it your way; just remember everyone, no fighting until you have to."

There were murmurs of agreement, and they broke up. Hermione walked beside Luna, chewing her lip, but trying not to show her nerves in front of the other girl. A hiss from behind them had her spinning around, wand raised. She sagged in relief when she saw Ron beckoning to her around the corner.

"You go on ahead, Luna. I'll join you as soon as I see what Ron wants."

"I'll wait for you behind the rather gorey tapestry across from his office."

Hermione watched Luna float off, before making her way to Ron, and, she saw once she rounded the corner, Ginny.

"What is it?"

Ron pulled something lumpy from his pocket. "I had nearly forgotten about this; Harry wanted us to drink it, remember?"

"There doesn't look like there's enough left," Ginny put in doubtfully.

"It'll be fine. Here, Hermione; you take the first drink."

The vial was thrust into her hands, and she had to grab hold, or risk dropping it. Warily, she eyed the golden liquid, before closing her eyes and raising it to her lips, taking a small gulp. It was hard to describe; warm, and smooth to be sure, but there was also something electric about it, as energy seemed to explode in her stomach and shoot outward along her limbs. A strange, almost giddy feeling accompanied it, rather like being drunk, but retaining your faculties. Ron took the vial from her, and passed it to Ginny, who tried to protest.

"I don't think there's enough for all three of us; you'd better go ahead and take it, Ron. I'm sure that's what Harry meant."

Ron shoved it at her impatiently. "He specifically said for you to have some, too. Besides, if something happens to me, Mum'll kill me, so you'd be doing me a favor."

Ginny smirked. "Well then, if you put it that way..." She drank as well, but was careful to leave a small amount for Ron.

Hermione hoped it was enough; it wouldn't last them a full day, most likely, but it should last them for several hours. She felt better once Ron had swallowed his share, although she knew it wouldn't stop her worrying if things went badly.

He pocketed the empty vial, licking the last drop from his lips. "That's it, then. We'd better catch up to Neville; I know he's gotten a lot better, but I wouldn't want him to go up against Malfoy alone."

They parted, but Hermione stopped after she had taken about three steps. Ron had had that look; she had seen it when he had gone up against the giant chess set, and when he had stood up to Sirius. It was a brave look, full of determination. Along with something else, that made her blood run cold.

_Self-sacrifice._

Abruptly, she spun around to call out to him. "Ron?"

He had just been about to duck out of sight, but turned at her voice. "What?"

A thousand things she wanted to say lodged in her throat, unable to settle on the best one. Some needed to be said, but there wasn't time. Some couldn't be said, because they couldn't be taken back, and wouldn't be welcome. What would it be? 'Be careful,' maybe, or 'Don't die.' 'I love you.'

"Don't be a knight," was what she finally settled on, knowing it wasn't enough, but it was all she had.

He looked shocked, for a moment, then grinned, some of his freckles disappearing into the dimple of his left cheek. "Don't worry, I left my spare set of armor back in the dorm," he said, before he was gone.

She noticed that he hadn't said he _wouldn't,_ but at least he was joking, instead of telling her he would do whatever he had to...even though she knew he would, if it came down to it. Please, Merlin, don't let it come to that...

_He had done that on purpose; he didn't want her to be worrying about him so much that she got hurt herself. Perversely, though, her concern had made him happy. A few months earlier, and he had doubted that she would care, or at least show it. While he was worried for her as well, he hadn't had much time to focus on it; he had tried his best to organize a plan of action that would get them through everything in one piece, and he had thought he had done a pretty good job of it. And he had, really, until things had gone to shit, and started moving too fast for him to think. He had beaten himself up pretty badly for how things had turned out, but looking back, there really hadn't been anything he could have done to stop it._

Shouted spells and pain-filled screams echoed around Hermione, and sweat from exertion and nerves dripped into her eyes, as she ducked and dodged, barely having time to discern who was friend or foe before hurling a spell of her own. Everything had started happening at once, and the only thing she could be sure of was the fact that there _were_ Death Eaters in Hogwarts; the hows and whys would have to be sorted out later. Luckily, others had joined in the fight. She had seen Tonks, earlier, and she was fairly certain that Bill had run by her just now, in pursuit of a large, hulking form that had someone she couldn't see pinned to a wall. Seeing Bill made her eyes dart around frantically for Ron; there he was, close to Ginny. Neville had been at his back the last time she saw them, and she felt a pang of worry, mixed with the thankfulness of seeing that Ron and Ginny were still safe.

To her left, Luna fought alongside her, her jaw set, as it had been since they had seen Professor Flitwick. She was casting spells with a ruthless efficiency that was disconcerting for one usually so dreamy, but Hermione knew that she would be safe from that side, at least; Luna had yet to let anything by her. Once, she thought she heard Ron call her name. She hadn't time to look, before rushing over to help Tonks, who had been holding her own with four Death Eaters, but was looking a little worn out when the fifth joined in.

Time passed in a blur; it could have been minutes, or it could have been hours, when things seemed to be settling down, and she heard Ginny's shriek. At once, she knew that nothing had happened to the other girl; that wasn't a cry of physical pain. It was the sound you made when something horrible had happened to someone else. Bile rose in the back of her throat, along with her own wail of despair, as she turned to find out what had happened, dreading yet needing to see. Ginny was crouched over a prone figure, the edges of their red hair just visible by her knee. Hermione began to run, stumbling as someone dove by her.

"BILL!" Ron yelled, falling to his knees at his sister's side.

Still running on adrenaline, Hermione joined them, her breath hissing between her teeth as she looked over their heads. Bill lay on the stone floor, his chest rising and falling in uneven, jerky gasps. Hermione didn't know whether it was pain, or shock from the wound, if it could be called that. _His face._ Ron had always jokingly referred to Bill as the 'good looking' Weasley, and she admitted that she had always found him to be quite handsome. Now, with his eyes fluttering, and lips pulled back from his teeth, he still could be, were it not for the wide, jagged furrows on one side of his face, covered in a sheet of blood. It was like someone had taken a garden trowel through a package of ground meat.

_That just about described it, Ron thought, his own stomach lurching at the sight. When he had first seen Bill, He had thought he was dead; when he saw his chest move, he thought he was going to die any minute, because how could anyone live with half their head ripped off? It was only once he had crouched over him that he saw that it was still there, though that was about all that could be said._

A shadow fell over them, and Hermione looked over her shoulder, to find Professor McGonagall standing over them.

"Mercy," the woman breathed, then shook herself, raising her voice to be heard over the din, "A stretcher, now! Get him to the hospital wing, _immediately!"_

Hermione helped her pull Ginny and Ron to their feet, the siblings swaying as they watched their older brother being carried off. McGonagall looked them over.

"Best we get you checked out as well; come along."

She needn't have said, since it was obvious that Ron and Ginny had every intention of following, although their faces were so pale, it looked as if they would pass out at any moment. Hermione wondered if she looked as bad, and quickly decided that she didn't want to know. She squeezed Ron's arm as they walked through the halls, but she didn't think he noticed; his eyes were fixed ahead, worry lines deep on his forehead.

_He likely hadn't noticed. Earlier, he had seen her, and had been relieved to see she was safe. Then he had gotten a look over her shoulder, and since then, he had been focused on Bill. He thought she would understand, though. It wasn't as if he didn't care about her, but she was alright, and as far as he knew, there was a very real possibility that Bill was dying. She did understand; he felt it. Although she was still dealing with the shock of the fight, and concerned about Harry, she was also worried for Ginny, Bill, and himself, although she didn't know what she could do to help. He wanted to tell her that just being there was enough, and that once they had gotten Bill settled, and knew he would live, he had appreciated her being there._

Waiting in the hospital wing was almost worse than the fighting had been, in its own way. After being poked, prodded, and fussed over, they had had to wait while Bill was more thoroughly examined, once they had gotten the bleeding under control, and his pain managed. She had stayed beside Ron throughout the whole thing, even once Harry had arrived, bringing the grim news of Dumbledore's death. She was thrilled to see that Harry was (at least physically) alright, and would have rushed over to hug him, but the shock of his news, along with guilt, and fading energy, kept her rooted in place. She was thankful for the distraction from the arrival of Ron's parents, and Fleur; it was all too much to process, and she would have to do that once she was alone.

She felt slightly invasive, even though there were several other non-family members watching the scene play out, but she couldn't bring herself to leave. As Mrs. Weasley and Fleur embraced, she traded shocked looks with Ginny, wondering how they had gone from a state of animosity, to something... _warmer,_ so quickly. She looked at Fleur thoughtfully, then back down at Bill. He looked, to put it nicely, absolutely awful. There was no hope of it fading away in time, even though the wounds would close; no way to pretend that there was anything but a terrible mass of scars across his face. It would be a gross and condescending lie to say it didn't make him any less handsome. But it was also obvious that Fleur honestly didn't care. Watching her tend to him, there was nothing less than absolute love and determination on her face. She might have been attracted to Bill's looks initially, but that wasn't what was holding her at his side. Most people wouldn't have blamed her for ending their relationship, once it was known he had been bitten, even if not turned. Some people were going to be shocked that she didn't; some would even condemn her for it, she was sure. Even those that accepted her choice might wonder what could possibly be worth it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron standing next to her, hair mussed, dirt and small bits of blood clinging to his face, as he watched his brother with such a raw look of compassion and helplessness, that it tore her heart to see. It could just as easily have been him, and she was at once thankful and guilty for being so glad that it was not. She had stood at his hospital bed before, all too recently. She looked over at Fleur again.

Yes, some people would wonder...but not her.

_She had stuffed the thought back, but Ron had felt it, and understood. She might still be trying to give up her feelings for him, but times like these, when death was so close, made it harder to lie to yourself. Her thoughts toward him hadn't taken very long. There were other, more pressing things to think about, and Dumbledore's death, along with Snape's betrayal, had hung over them heavily. But it had run along the same tracks as his own thoughts at the time so exactly, that had he not known better, he would've thought she could read his mind. He sighed. If he had been able to read_ hers _just then, they might have been spared a lot of grief. Or maybe not; just because you thought you knew how you'd react to something didn't mean that's actually what you did, when it came right down to it._

_A cold shudder passed through him. Once the shock had worn off, reality had made its unwelcome home in their hearts, made undeniable by the fact of Dumbledore's funeral. He barely remembered that day; he had passed through it in a sort of blurred haze, the whole time hoping he'd wake up to find everything had been one of his mental nightmares. Hermione was hoping the same thing, feeling lost herself even as she watched Harry, sinking deeper into a place neither of them could reach._

Breakfast was a nearly silent affair; most people sat, staring unseeingly into their plates, eyes puffy and red-rimmed. Everyone looked over at the staff table at least once, before turning hastily away, whether it was from the sight of Hagrid's tears, or the two conspicuously absent chairs. Placing her unused fork on her plate, Hermione met Ron's eyes across the table, tilting her head slightly at Harry. His lips pressed tightly together, and his head shook almost imperceptibly. Harry wasn't in the mood to hear anything she had to say, and trying might just set him off. She held back a sigh. She wished there was some way to help, but she honestly didn't know what she could say, even if he had wanted to listen. None of the trite, comforting things you said when someone died really applied here, and she was having a hard enough time making sense of things herself. She knew Harry partially blamed himself, and that wasn't good; she also knew that he would have to come to terms with it himself, just as he had after Sirius died. In the meantime, she and Ron would keep an eye on him.

Watching Ron shove his untouched plate away, she wondered who would keep an eye on them.

Feet dragging, they made their way outside, where chairs had been set up. Harry had drifted off, and Hermione decided to save him a seat, even if he didn't make it back. She sat beside Ron, both of them silent, sadness twisting her stomach into a mass of sour knots. It was a large crowd, which wasn't surprising, and nearly everyone had expressions of shock or grief etched on their faces. She took a deep gulp of air, and exhaled through her nose. She hadn't been to many funerals, but this one was different. It was more than the death of one man; so many had looked to him for wisdom and guidance, taking comfort in the hope that he would know what to do about Voldemort. Now that he was gone, hopelessness seemed to loom over them, as if Dementors floated amongst the crowd.

What were they going to do? She didn't think Harry was holding anything back; whatever happened from now on would be on their own account, with no direction. Where would they start? When would they go? There wasn't a question of whether or not they would go with him, although they knew he would argue about it. She would have to talk with Ron about it later...and her parents. How could she tell them?

The voice of the small man up front droned on and on, and Hermione felt herself become overwhelmed by the weight of the situation. The Magical world had seemed so shiny, bright with possibilities when she first started; now, it was a dark, fearful place, dangerous for her, and those she cared about. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her body turned of its own volition to Ron, falling into his arms as she sobbed into his chest. But instead of just holding her, one of his hands raised up to stroke her hair, in much the same way her mum had done when she was small and upset. A tear not her own splashed down on her cheek, and she looked up to find that he was crying as well. The sight gave her a burst of affection; Ron might try to seem unfeeling, the way he did whenever the papers came, but he did it mostly as a protection against pain. But when he felt something, he showed it, and he did so unapologetically. There weren't any stupid attempts to seem 'manly,' and hide his tears. He shared her grief, and in the sharing, helped ease hers.

They clung to each other, and here, in this moment, Hermione felt safe. Not that she thought that Ron could protect her from everything, and not that she wanted or needed him to; it was that, in a world that was twisting and turning around her, she knew she wouldn't have to deal with it alone. She was strong enough to get through this, but she also realized there were moments when she would feel lost and hopeless. Ron couldn't change things, but he would be _there_ for her. She wouldn't have to be strong every moment, the way she would have to be for Harry. Harry had too much on his plate already; he wouldn't be able to take the time to support her, and she didn't blame him for that at all. She and Ron would support Harry, and they would support each other, when things got too much to handle. Ron wouldn't think any less of her for it, and he wouldn't use it against her. As long as she had somewhere safe to be weak, she could continue to be strong. The world was mad, but she could count on Ron.

" _Fuck." Ron whispered, closing his eyes, guilt cutting through him like a bolt of lightning. Why hadn't he seen that? He knew she had taken it badly when he left, but he had never been completely sure why. He had assumed that she had seen it as sort of a betrayal, but he thought it had been more a betrayal to the cause than anything personal. But it was very personal to Hermione._

_Hermione wasn't a damsel in distress. As she said, she was perfectly capable of getting herself through most situations. She didn't need some big strong man to come along and do it for her. What she needed was someone that she could admit her fears and doubts to; someone she didn't have to pretend that she had all the answers with. She needed someone who wouldn't through that in her face later, and treat her as if she wasn't competent. And she needed someone that would come to her for the same reasons. Like she said, Harry was having a hard enough time dealing with everything himself. They both had to be there for him, but they had needs, too. It wasn't that Hermione couldn't have done it alone with Harry if she had to, she proved that; it was that she trusted him enough to help get her through it. She had given him the gift of her vulnerability, and instead of seeing it for what it was, he had walked out on that. True, his mind had been poisoned by the locket, and it's not something he would have done otherwise, but that didn't stop it from hurting._

_He hoped to find that he was still that place for her. He had never wanted to control or limit her; he'd just wanted to be the one she turned to when times got rough, the person she knew she could count on no matter what. He wanted to support the things she did even if he didn't understand them, and he wanted her to be that person for him._

_He didn't want to be her whole life. He just wanted to make her life better then it would be without him._

The funeral ended, and people started milling about, looking rather confused, not knowing quite what to do with themselves. Someone called Ron's name, and they both looked over to find his family waving at them.

"Guess I better go see what they want," he said, his voice hoarse. "Should I tell 'em that you'll be coming to the Burrow for the summer?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Yes, but...tell them it might be a few weeks. I...have some things to take care of."

He looked at her sharply, something in her tone must have alerted him that something was off. "Nothing dangerous, right?"

She gave him a watery smile. "No." Well. It wouldn't be, for her.

Reluctantly, they pulled away from each other, and she watched him walk away, waving when he glanced back over his shoulder, as if he didn't really believe her. Wanting to escape the press of people, Hermione wandered around the bend in the lake, sighing as the voices receded. Soon she would be home, and she would have to go through with what she had been planning, off and on, for the past year or so. She had meticulously gone over each detail, until she was sure she could do every step in a quick and efficient manner. With the wedding in August, she wasn't sure how long she could put off what needed to be done; part of her knew stalling wouldn't do any good, but she couldn't resist having just a little more time...

"Oh!" A soft exclamation came from almost right next to her.

Hermione jerked her head to the left, to find Lavender staring back at her from a small nook between two large rocks, looking as shocked as she felt. Her eyes were swollen, but she wasn't crying, and Hermione wondered how long she had been there. Although they were no longer...fighting, per se, there was still a bit of strain between them, and she didn't know what to say, if anything.

"I'm not very good with funerals," Lavender explained in a thick voice, taking the decision from her.

"I can understand that. Does that mean you stayed out here?"

Lavender nodded, and there was an awkward silence.

"I saw you with Ron."

Hermione stiffened. This was _not_ the time to go into that; if Lavender thought she would engage in a catfight the very day that they had buried Dumbledore, then she was sadly mistaken. She drew herself up, preparing to turn away.

"Not like that!" Lavender exclaimed hastily, "I just meant that it looked...nice."

She wasn't sure what to say to that.

"He wouldn't have done that for me, you know." Lavender spoke without bitterness, a far cry from her accusing tone when she had caught them on the stairs.

"Of course he would have; you were...you were his girlfriend," Hermione protested, and even now, the words were hard to get out.

But Lavender shook her head firmly. "No. He would have let me cry on him, but he wouldn't have held me like that. And he wouldn't have been as open with me. He was _never_ open with me."

Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from saying that at least part of him had been wide open, from what she had seen; Lavender must have been able to read her thoughts, for she grimaced.

"He really wasn't. I never knew what he was thinking. No matter how close I stood to him, it was like he was never really with me. He's different with you. He pays attention."

With a shrug, Hermione nudged a pebble with the toe of her shoe. "We've been friends since first year. It's only natural that he would have picked up on a few things in all that time." Not what she had wanted him to, but enough.

"No, it was more than that. He was always _looking_ at you. Even when he was supposed to be paying attention to me, and even when you were ignoring him. Sometimes, when he would look at me, it was like he was surprised that I was there," she paused, then whispered painfully, "it was like he was disappointed it was me."

_Shit. He hadn't thought she had noticed that. He hadn't meant for her to know, but he obviously had done a piss poor job or hiding his feelings. Watching the person you were with want someone else had to be one of the worst feelings ever. Was it any wonder she had pushed so hard, to try to get his attention back? She was his girlfriend, after all. Who wouldn't feel desperate in that situation?_

"I'm sure you're mistaken. Ron just didn't like fighting for that long, is all. Like I said; we've been friends a long time."

Lavender exhaled, a sharp, frustrated sound. "You keep saying that as if you're trying to convince yourself. And...and I suppose I can understand why you would. It's your choice if you don't want to act on what I'm telling you, but you should at least be honest enough with yourself to accept the truth."

"I believe that _you_ believe it's the truth. But that's just your opinion. I know Ron, and I think I can rely on my own perception to know how he feels about me," Hermione countered impatiently.

The other girl threw her hands up in a gesture of frustration. "The both of you are just so-fine. I just- I just wanted to- nevermind. I need to go finish packing, anyway. Take care of yourself this summer, Hermione. Things are getting scary."

They both looked back in the direction where the funeral had taken place, the somberness of the occasion making both of them feel bad for their petty conversation.

"You too, Lavender. Tell Parvati I said goodbye."

With a terse nod, they separated. Hermione felt guilty for forgetting Dumbledore, even for a minute; there were things she had to focus on now, and Ron couldn't be one of them. With a shake, she tried to dispel the feelings that Lavender's words had evoked, along with the memory of the comfort of Ron's arms.

She wasn't very successful.

_More than she thought. Aside from acting in a way he considered normal for having just been to a funeral, Ron hadn't been able to tell that anything else had bothered her. Of course, both of them were worried for Harry, as well as Ginny at that point, so it wasn't surprising. He had been wondering how to make Harry see that it wasn't his fault, and at the same time, wondering if there was anything he could do to make Ginny feel better. It would have been easy for Hermione to hide the fact that she had something on her mind._

_As it turned out, she had quite a lot._

Hermione packed the last of her things away, leaving her room cold and uninhabited looking. Perfect. There was no trace that she had grown up here; no markers to track the passage of time, or indicate what kind of person she had been. Her heart was beating rapidly, and her palm was slick against the smooth wood of her wand. In just a few moments, she would walk downstairs, and erase her parents' memory. It felt like she was killing someone, but she didn't know who. Was she murdering them, by destroying everything they were, ruthlessly cutting away every shred of their old lives? Or was she killing herself, by wiping their memories of her existence, cutting her ties between the only people who would really remember her if the Wizarding world was destroyed? She tried to shake these morbid thoughts; she had to concentrate if she didn't want the spell to go wrong. Guilt gnawed at her like a starved rat with a bone. This was wrong, she knew, but it was the only way.

Tucking the beaded bag under her arm, she left her room, shutting the door firmly on the memories she had indulged in these past few weeks. Quietly, she descended the stairs, following the sounds of the television into the den. Her parents were slumped together on the sofa, sleeping heavily, never having suspected that she had slipped a potion into their tea. That had been necessary, as well; this was hard enough without one of them walking in on her performing magic on the other.

Inhale. Exhale. Steady, now.

Before she could make an excuse to put it off for another day, she erased her father's memories, and then her mother's. Quivering, she licked her lips; that was half done. In hardly any time at all, she had replaced them with the memories of their new identities, the swirling, golden glow that faded from around their heads telling her that she had been successful. They were still asleep, and in no danger of waking; carefully, she bent and kissed them each on the temple, before staggering to a chair.

She had done it. She had _really_ done it. there was no going back now.

With a start, she realized that tears were streaming down her face, and she had to choke back the sudden flood of sobs that were climbing her throat. She was very, very afraid; always before, she had known that no matter how bad things got, she could always run to her parents. And now she couldn't, and it was all her fault. She hated this war. She hated that she had to do something like this. For two, guilty seconds, she hated Harry, even though he wasn't to blame. But it was all a cover for how much she hated herself.

She needed warmth. She needed happiness. She needed someone she could spill everything to, that wouldn't judge her for it. She needed someone who would distract her from the darkness in her own head, and remind her that there was light left in the world. There was really only one place to go for that, wasn't there? She stood up, and began to twist in Apparation.

She hoped Ron was still awake.

_Merlin, how had she managed? The guilt had been almost crippling, and he wasn't sure he could have gone through with it, at least, not alone. Hermione had ripped herself open over every little thing; from the distance that had increased between them over the years, to the way she had purposely bent the truth, leaving out details that would clue them in on just how dangerous things had become in this world. Ron had always thought that doing the right thing (or at least what she believed to be the right thing) came easily to Hermione. In some things, it probably did. But that was when things were nice and clean cut. Once you got into the gray areas, it got harder. She had to examine it from every angle to make sure she was doing the right thing; the downside was that sometimes you took so long to decide, that the problem got worse. He had always gone with what he felt was right. It was good to trust yourself, but plunging in without carefully considering the bigger picture could backfire. Neither of their approaches were wrong, but he could see how they might cause friction. He suspected that would be coming into play pretty soon._

_Seeing this had given him a deeper appreciation for her thought process. Just because Hermione believed something was right didn't mean that she wanted to do something, or enjoyed doing it. Sometimes, she hated it. This was one of the choices she had hated making the most, and the fact that she had gone to him to help her deal with it told him a lot. From this perspective, the pattern was becoming much clearer; he had just been too close to the situation to realize it before. He was even more thankful that his brothers had stepped in when they had, and that he had taken a more intimate approach to how he treated her. She had needed him to be more in tune to the emotional side of things, and he had needed to see that he was capable of doing that without fucking up._

_He had done pretty well, although things and gotten a bit dicey the night they had gone for Harry._

"Are you alright? You look a little sick," Ginny asked her quietly, so no one else could hear.

She smiled faintly. "I'll be alright."

To tell the truth, she wasn't so sure of that, but she didn't want anyone worrying about her right now. They _had_ to get Harry out tonight, and they needed her to play her part. If most of the plan hadn't involved flying, she might feel better. It had never been something she had really enjoyed, and the few times she had flown, hadn't exactly been pleasant experiences.

"Ready to go?" Ron asked, coming up to stand next to her.

"I think so...I just wish that there had been a way to let Harry know what's going to happen."

Ron shrugged. "Honestly? It's probably better that he doesn't know until it's too late. You said yourself that he's not going to like the plan."

Hermione sighed. "Yeah. You remember what to do if he gets difficult?"

"Sure; I hold him down, while you pluck him like a chicken," Ron smirked.

She snickered at his joke, but she knew that they were both more nervous than they were letting on. He kept rubbing the scars on his arm, every once and awhile checking his pocket to make sure he had his wand.

"Ron? Hermione? It's time," Lupin informed them, from across the room where he was standing with the others.

Hermione wanted to protest; she wanted to say that there were still some things they should go over, some type of backup plan to make in case something went wrong. But they had gone over it and over it, and this was as safe as they could make things within their limitations. They all went out into the backyard, where several brooms were leaning against the house, while a few thestrals had been tethered to graze. Hermione was glad that she wasn't expected to ride one alone; it was disconcerting to try to fly something you couldn't see.

"Hey, it'll be alright. Kingsley's one of the best Aurors they have, so you should have a smooth ride," Ron assured her in a comforting tone, before continuing dejectedly, "Which is more than I can be sure of. Cross your fingers that I don't end up getting dumped over the Channel."

"What on earth are you talking about? We won't be going anywhere _near_ the Channel!"

"Speak for yourself," Ron muttered darkly, nodding to where Tonks was tangled up with the broom she was trying to mount.

"Ron, be nice! Tonks is a perfectly capable Auror, so try to show a little respect!" She snapped.

Ron blushed, ducking his head. "Yeah, I know. I just...I'll see you there, then."

She watched him move away, wanting to kick herself; With everything that could go wrong tonight, and _that_ was how she sent him off? It wasn't as if the thought hadn't occurred to her herself. Tonks was great, but she could be rather clumsy, and having a passenger on your broom could be tricky.

"Ron?"

He looked back over his shoulder, still looking embarrassed.

"Maybe you should hold on tight, just in case."

He smiled, before Lupin walked between them, saying sardonically, "Yes, but perhaps not _too_ tight, hmm?"

Ron's face went even redder, and he stumbled nearly as much as Tonks as he scuttled away. Hermione giggled, before looking around for Kingsley. He was standing away from the others, stroking something that she couldn't see. As she got closer, she thought that the older man had a look of sadness in his eyes, but he smiled when he saw her coming.

"Nervous flier?" He asked gently.

"A little. I haven't had very many positive experiences."

Kingsley nodded, helping her to mount. "Can't say that this one will be what you would call _positive,_ but maybe it'll be boring, if we're lucky."

Hermione tightened her legs. "Boring is good. I can do boring."

They both looked up at the sound of a shriek, to find Tonks wooshing through the air, with Ron cursing on the broom behind her.

"Oh God, he's going to fall and break his neck!"

Kingsley chuckled, swinging up in front of her. "Your young man will be fine. Tonks is brilliant once she's in the air."

She felt her face heat up, and was glad he couldn't see her face. "He's not _my_ young man," she protested.

"Hm. The twins did say he was a slow mover."

Before she could ask what he meant by that, they were in the air, and she gripped his robes, squeezing her eyes shut.

_Ron felt rather dizzy, floating in midair with no sign of support, making it hard for him to concentrate. Merlin, had the twins blabbed to_ everyone? _Even Tonks had told him to get a move on. Hermione had started to relax a little once they were halfway to Harry's, but she got nervous again once they touched down, leaving Kingsley to deal with the thestral._

Harry had acted just about they way she had thought he would, and she was glad that there were so many of them there. He would try to argue, but kept getting distracted. She had been uncomfortable for a moment when it was time to change clothes; being naked in front of all those people wasn't something she would do normally. But since it was Harry's body they were seeing, she supposed it didn't count. She had had to hide a smirk when she thought that this wasn't how she had ever planned on Ron seeing her without clothes, but all too soon, they were back outside, and her mouth dried up at the thought of getting through the last part of the plan.

A shout. A green light. A scream.

Everything had gone wrong! One minute, they were flying in formation, just as planned; the next, and they sky was filled with Death Eaters, Curses flying through the air like comets. Hermione didn't have time to think; all she could do was hold on, and try to aim at anything that got too close.

"You alright back there?" Kingsley called, once they were safely away.

"Yes, but where are the others? Did you see what happened?"

"Not very well. I thought...we'll have to regroup at the Burrow to make sure. Can you handle it if we go faster?"

"I'll be fine, once I know what happened to everyone else, so please hurry!"

Kingsley took her at her word, and they shot through the air much faster than they had before, the cold wind cutting into her even though she had him to block much of it. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, and she wondered whether part of it was due to shock. Had Hagrid gotten away with Harry? The bike was such a large target, and she didn't think it would be able to maneuver very well. She wished Harry and Ron were here, so she could see that they were safe. They had to be alright, they just had to be!

The Burrow came into sight after what felt like forever, and she felt the potion wearing off. As they got closer, she thought she spotted Harry on the ground below, and she nearly cried with relief. It was going to be okay; things must have looked much worse than they had actually been. She jumped off as soon as they touched down, running to Harry. He was fine; they were fine. Everything was-no. Everything was _not_ alright. She had assumed, when she saw Harry, that Ron would be there too. Where was Ron? Why wasn't he there yet? Her heart filled with dread, ignoring the words of those around her.

No. No. Nonononononono. _NO!_ She refused to believe it. Ron was fine! He would show up any minute now. If not, she would hunt Voldemort down and rip him apart herself. Slowly. A dark shape appeared in the sky, and Hermione held her breath, squeezing Harry's arm so tight that she was probably leaving bruises. When she saw that it was Tonks and Ron, her knees nearly gave out. Without thinking, she was running towards him, her vision blurry with tears. She didn't even bother to slow down; it was amazing that he caught her, although it sounded as if she had knocked the air out of him. But it didn't matter, because he was here, and alive, and all in one piece.

In one piece, and sounding as if he he could take a good share of the credit for that. Tonks sounded rather impressed, and she didn't impress easily. Hermione was filled with pride; he must have been amazing! For some reason, her admiration seemed to upset him, and he pushed her away, leaving her feeling awfully cold. What had she done wrong? Was she being too clingy, like Lavender? She hadn't meant to be. She was just so glad that he was alright, and knowing that he had been able to do so wonderfully under pressure (and in flight no less!), had made her incredibly proud and happy knowing he was safe...but she must have messed up. Again. She just wished she knew how...

_Ron smacked his face with a loud groan. He had completely misunderstood! He had thought that she had been surprised that he hadn't screwed up, and that's what had upset him so much! He had taken her tone as shocked disbelief, instead of stunned admiration. Merlin's balls, he had practically had her swooning in his arms (or as much as Hermione ever swooned), and he had pushed her off! The way his lack of self esteem had messed with his head was staggering. There had been a lot going on right after that that she had to pay attention to, but he could tell that he had hurt her. Not as much as he had in the past, and not nearly as much as he was going to in a few months, but it was hurt nonetheless. He knew Hermione didn't always express herself well, but there was the very real problem of him projecting his insecurities onto her as well, and putting meanings to her words that had never entered her head. Telling the difference might be tricky, but it would save them both a lot of pain if he could. At least he was more sure of himself now; that would help things, surely?_

_That had been a low point, but at least he had made up for it at the wedding._

Hermione tried to remember the last moment she had had to herself; The closest she came was a brief trip to the bathroom this morning around seven, but that hardly counted when you considered the line that had been waiting behind her. Even when she had had a shower later, Ginny had come in to do her makeup. Her feet were sore and aching from several days straight of getting ready for the wedding, and now, on top of that, she had to cram them into heels. Why hadn't she gotten a nice pair of sensible flats? A glance at the floaty, shimmery lilac dress in the mirror told her she had made the right, if painful choice.

"Even if they make my ankles look skinny. Just because you haven't even _had_ anything _like_ ankles in the last sixty years..." she muttered under her breath, after her less than pleasant encounter with Ron's great-aunt.

She took a deep breath to collect herself; her ankles might be skinny, but at least her hair had chosen to behave today, inspite of the humidity. Either that, or the Charm Fleur had used earlier was working better than she thought it would. She should remember to ask what it was. Looking for Harry and Ron, she nearly passed them over; there was a veritable sea of ginger heads, but she had been expecting Harry's usual dark hair alongside one. Her eyes jerked back to a pair standing a few feet away, and started towards them.

Ron, looking quite handsome in his dress robes (it was unusual to see him with his tie done up and straight; she wasn't sure which style was more attractive, but tried not to dwell on it.) looked like he had choked on his own breath, and she had to smother the flutter of pleasure at his compliments. He had been wonderfully sweet ever since she had arrived after wiping her parents' memories; he was still Ron, but... _more._ He praised her more often than usual, and did small things to help her out.

He was also touching her more.

But what she liked most about the whole thing, was that he meant it. Many men would say and do things, expecting something in exchange, but Ron was being sincere. She could tell that he believed the things he said, and he never made her feel as if she had to do anything in return when he did something nice for her. He seemed awkward, and hopeful in a strange way, and she found herself smiling whenever she thought of it. That, combined with what Lavender had said, was leading her into dangerous waters. She had to keep telling herself that whatever he meant by it, it wasn't romantic. But the more time that passed, the harder it became to believe that.

She thought all of this while the twins joined them, and they joked about Ron's family; then someone else showed up, and she couldn't help the surprised shriek she let out, nearly crushing a toe when she dropped her bag. What was Viktor doing here? (Ron seemed to share that thought, although a bit more harshly than she did.) She shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to do. It was rather embarrassing, since she was two letters behind in writing to Viktor, and her last few had almost been terse. She hadn't meant to be rude, but she just didn't have much time for social niceties at the moment. Things had been going so well, and she didn't want them to be ruined if Ron blew up at Viktor; luckily, Harry stepped in, and she could relax. Ron was still stiff, but he was making an effort to be pleasant, and she hurriedly changed the subject, proud of him for holding onto his temper. Not that Viktor had done anything wrong, but that had never stopped Ron before...

Last year, she might have been tempted to use Viktor to see if Ron felt anything for her. Now, she knew that would be wrong to treat either of them that way, and she was going to try to take extra care so it didn't seem like she was doing that. People began drifting to the tent, and she walked with Ron, both of them finding Harry, and taking a seat on either side. She thought she heard Ron mutter something, but she couldn't make out the words, and instead she let herself become distracted by the decorations and guests. Everything looked magnificent, and she felt rather proud to have helped.

_She looked just as amazing as he had remembered, and he could appreciate it more now that he wasn't nervous. Watching her come towards him had felt like what he had always imagined the Yule Ball would've been like if things had gone differently, and the thought that he was actually going to be able to at least partially live out the fantasy had tripped him up. Seeing Krum at that moment had been a blow, and it had taken everything he had not to let his insecurity get the best of him._

The ceremony was lovely, and she couldn't help tearing up. You could tell just by the way they looked at each other just how in love they were, and she was happy that Bill and Fleur were going to get a brief period of joy, before the war set in more firmly. They were lucky, and while she wished she had something similar (not marriage, obviously, but that sort of emotional connection), she didn't begrudge it of them.

Once the vows had been said, and the dancing began, Hermione made room on the floor by joining the others at a table, wondering why Ron seemed to insist on one so far back. Once she saw that Luna was there, and sitting alone, she was glad; she had been afraid she was going to end up with some of Ron's more...colorful family members. The eccentric yet pleasant ones were fine, but the ones cut from the same cloth as Muriel were best avoided, though they were thankfully few. It wasn't surprising when after a few minutes of chatting, Luna stood and glided onto the dancefloor, and began to dance by herself. Hermione envied her that sort of confidence; while she was confident in her abilities, she wasn't confident enough to risk looking foolish.

She didn't have much time to dwell on that, because Viktor chose that moment to join them, dropping into Luna's recently vacated chair with every indication that he planned to stay awhile. She blushed; she enjoyed talking to Viktor, but she also wanted to avoid him getting the wrong idea. Luckily, he seemed irritated with something else, and unlikely to say anything awkward. Then Ron shocked her by inviting her to dance. Well, not so much _asking,_ but since she had fully expected to miss out on dancing entirely, it was a nice surprise.

The nicer surprise was how he held her hand as they weaved through the crowd.

She couldn't help but think this is the way the Ball should have played out; Ron seeing her in that light, complimenting her, and asking her to dance, rather than sulking and insulting her. She could tell that Viktor made him uncomfortable, but this time he had actually made a move. It was shaky, but it was an act of confidence, and it pleased her. Probably more than it should.

_He was lucky that had gone so well. It hadn't been at all the way he had intended to ask her; he had been aiming for something smooth and suave. But then the knuckle-dragger had shown up, and he rushed it out before he could lose his nerve. It was a miracle she hadn't said no, after how harsh and abrupt he had sounded._

They had made it onto the floor, and they stopped; Ron blinking, and looking down at her with a sheepish shrug.

"I...um, I'm not really used to this kind of dancing. I'd like to give it a go, but if you'd rather..."

"We can stay on the edges, so you can see how it's done. Don't worry, the one's they've been doing are fairly simple." As if she was going to let him back out now!

But he looked pleased that she hadn't, and, mimicking those around them, he put his hands on her waist, and began to tentatively move to the music. Hermione subtly nudged him through the steps, and he picked them up quickly; Ron was coordinated, and had a good memory for patterns. By the next song, he was sure on his feet, and they moved around the floor with the others.

Ginny danced by them with Lee Jordan, and Ron and Hermione raised their eyebrows at each other.

"is that for Harry's benefit, do you suppose?" Hermione asked.

Ron pondered, then shook his head. "Nah. I think Ginny's just trying to have a good time."

Hermione nodded, hoping it didn't send Harry into one of his moods. She knew he loved Ginny, and would still be with her if he didn't think she'd be safer this way.

"Besides, she's seen what happens when you pull the jealousy shit," Ron mumbled, obviously not expecting her to hear.

But she did hear, and nearly stumbled. Exactly what did he mean by that? She tried to think of a subtle way to ask, but he spoke again, distracting her.

"Well, it's a couple years too late, but at least I look decent enough to dance with you this time."

She made an odd noise in her throat. "You could have danced with me last time, if you had just asked."

"Really?" He asked, as if he didn't quite believe her.

"Yes, really! I would have asked _you_ for a dance, if you hadn't bitten my head off!"

He had the grace to blush at that, then asked, "But that would've only been _one_ dance, right?"

Hermione laughed. Ron was always the type to ask for thirds before he had even filled his plate once. "Wouldn't one have been enough?"

The golden light reflected off of his eyes, like sun on a stormy sea.

"No. It wouldn't."

His voice was low and serious, making her dizzy. Suddenly, his hands felt as if they were burning through the fabric of her dress, and she wouldn't be surprised at all if later she didn't find his handprints on her hips. She didn't think she would mind.

_Okay, this had been the tone he had been trying for; something that would show that his emotional range had broadened, but that would also soak her knickers._

There was movement up front, as the song ended, and the band began to shuffle around. Musicians in gold jackets left the stage to be replaced by several men in more casual attire, and humbler instruments; Hermione thought she could make out fiddles and pipes, and possibly a drum. A buzz went through the crowd as some of the dancers, confused, moved off to the tables.

"What do you think is going on?" Hermione wondered.

"Looks like Bill got his way about the music," Ron answered with amusement.

The fiddler began to play, a lively, rolicking tune, much different than the previous songs. Ginger heads everywhere began to pop up, like a field of meerkats. Loud whoops and laughter rang out, as slowly, people began to gather on the floor, with the ones who couldn't clapping and stamping in time. The dance was faster, the steps more intricate; Hermione stood next to Ron, not sure what to do. She had done some folk dancing in her classes, years ago, but she wasn't sure she was up for this, and figured they would be sitting the rest out.

"Don't tell us you're stopping; you almost had Ron where he looked like he knew what he was doing!" Said a voice from her right.

"Unless he's hopelessly shattered the bones in your feet; in that case, have a seat, and we'll fetch the Skell-O-Grow." Said a voice on her left.

"Very funny. Do the two of you do children's parties?" Ron growled at the twins, who were grinning at her sides.

"Ron hasn't stepped on my feet at all!" She insisted, although he almost had, once. "I'm just not sure I can..." she waved at the dancers.

"Right-o," Fred said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, "Let's give you a whirl, then!"

Before she could protest, she was pulled into the crowd; Fred lead her up the length of the floor, spun her around, and passed her to George. The two of them dipped and twirled her expertly, passing her back and forth, to the amusement of the other dancers. Hermione found that she picked up the steps quickly, and was able to hold her own.

"So, what's the word? Should we save the tent for you and Ronniekins?" George asked, showing no signs of being out of breath.

"Haha," Hermione snorted sarcastically, making sure not to tread on the couple next to them. "You know there's nothing like that between us."

"Is that right? That's funny, because if Mum had seen the way you were looking at each other, she'd have thrown a bucket of cold water over you. Come off it, Hermione! The boy's made his mistakes, but I think he's finally seen the light, now. Give him a sporting chance."

Fred whisked her in the opposite direction. "George is right. Can't you see the poor git is trying? Just give him a little encouragement!"

Hermione scowled, but quickly stopped as one of the older ladies passed by, raising her eyebrows at the look on her face.

"Ron has been a great friend, and I don't fancy making a fool of myself by acting as if it means more than that!" She said sharply.

"Maybe if you had, the whole mess last year might not've happened. A bit of encouragement goes a long way, when a bloke isn't sure of himself."

That stung, since it was at least partially true. Ron hadn't caught on to her subtle encouragement, and she had been too stubborn to risk looking foolish to be more direct. She shouldn't try again; hadn't she promised herself that she wouldn't? But these past few weeks, he had been so...so...well, he had been pretty amazing. Even once Harry had arrived, he hadn't stopped. She could tell that he wasn't always sure he was doing the right thing, but he seemed so happy, so hopeful when she responded positively...Surely, if he could put so much effort into it, she could be a little bolder herself, couldn't she? It wouldn't have to be anything she couldn't take back; at the worst, he might be a little confused. At the best...

"Hermione Weasley," Fred sang into her ear, before they spun to a stop in front of Ron.

"We've done what we can, brother dear. Try not to louse this one up," Fred stated, before turning to George, and bowing. "May I have this dance?"

George stepped up to Fred, and curtsied. "Indeed you may!"

_This was hard for him to watch. This was the last day he had seen Fred before the battle, and seeing him so carefree and happy tore him up inside. George was doing better now, but Ron knew that he would never recapture that seamless, understanding banter that he and Fred had mastered over the years. These were the last few good memories he had, and he hoarded them close, afraid that they would slip away. Fred was never going to dance with Hermione at their wedding; he'd never be able to smugly remind her of this moment. The thought sent a hot trail of tears down his cheeks, which he didn't bother to wipe away._

Hermione laughed as they danced off, while Ron didn't look like he knew whether to be amused or annoyed. She was hoping to keep him in a good mood, so she wasn't sure if dancing would be a good idea. He had just become reasonably comfortable with the more simple dances, and she knew how much he hated to be embarrassed. Things had been so wonderful between them recently, and she hated to ruin it.

"We don't have to dance, if you don't feel like it. We could always go back to the table," she offered, even though she wanted to keep dancing if they could.

For some reason, this seemed to amuse him, and he took her hand in one of his, while placing the other on her waist, drawing her out into the crowd.

"What, you think I can let them show me up, after all that? They'd never let me live it down!"

While she was confused, she was happy that everything seemed fine; better than fine, infact. For it wasn't long before she realized that Ron was dancing with much more assurance than he had been before, leading her along the intricate patterns of the dance with apparent ease, carefully correcting her when she began to stumble. It hit her, all of a sudden, that Ron actually knew how to dance very well, at least in this style.

"You know how to dance!" She said accusingly.

Ron grinned. "Ginger, stomach on legs, and rhythmically inclined? I must be a Weasley!"

"No, but really! How on earth did you learn? _When?"_ She tried to sound merely curious, and not let him catch the flare of jealousy when she thought of him dancing with other girls.

"Like I said, I'm a Weasley. I didn't have much choice."

She followed the direction he nodded, to a group of children in a corner of the tent, mimicking the adults with their own dancing. Clearly, this was something that was common at Weasley family gatherings; he must have been to many such events when he was young, and picked up the skill whether he wanted to or not. Much like the grumpy little boy who was being dragged around by what looked like an older sister, scolding him whenever he made a misstep. Hermione could picture Ron in the same situation so clearly, and it was easier still to imagine his future children doing the same; it made her heart clench. She still couldn't decide if everyone else was right, or if she had made the correct decision to remain friends.

There wasn't time to think of it now; she was busy trying to keep up with him, something which the butterflies in her stomach at the way he was grinning at her made difficult to do. It was hard to take her eyes off of him, even when the dance required that they switch partners; as she linked arms with someone she suspected might be a cousin, she saw that although he was linked with one of the Veela relatives, he never took his eyes off her, something which seemed to tickle the Veela, who gave her a wink as they traded back.

Hermione wished they could go on dancing forever. Here, with the darkness from the outside world pushed away, it was only the two of them, surrounded by a bubble of love that always seemed prevalent at weddings. There was peace, happiness, and the giddy feeling that Ron was not only looking at her, but _really seeing her._ Every time they touched, a small shock seemed to pass through them, and there was almost a growing awareness of the possibilities that were mounting between them. Something could happen.

_He hadn't seen anything but her. For once, things he had only dreamed about were becoming a reality, and he had been afraid that if he took his eyes off of her, he'd wake up. It had almost been like they were dancing at their own wedding, and both of them had seemed to feel it. Every movement, every touch had sent them closer and closer to spiraling over the edge, and it would have only taken moments for them to have fallen completely._

_Unfortunately, fate was a three-headed bitch._

They had danced for several songs, and as another came to an end, she knew she must look a mess. Her hair felt loose, and she knew she was sweating, and she hoped that it wasn't leaving nasty stains on her dress. She was panting, a bit dehydrated from the exertion. Ron, who was in about the same state, paused. She thought he had been about to start into the next one, but she wasn't sure she had the strength to keep going.

"Hey, you look tired. Why don't I go get a couple of butterbeers before the next dance?"

"You mean, you'll want to dance some more? With me?" She wanted to clarify, as she had noticed that Ron had earned a few appreciative looks.

He nodded vigorously. "Yeah, as long as you want to. I mean, if you're not bored, or anything."

She blushed, flattered by the fact that he wanted to spend so much time with her. "I'd like that. A lot."

He beamed at her, looking so pleased that it sent a thrill through her.

"Right, then; you go grab us some seats, and I'll get the drinks. Back in a tick!"

Hermione made her way back to their table, nearly skipping; he seemed rather in a hurry to get back to her, a feeling she heartily approved of. She found herself humming that silly little song of the twins' as she reached Harry, still looking somewhat strange in his disguise. Her feet were killing her, but she didn't care. If she could have just this one, magical day where it felt as if everything was going in the right direction, she would let her feet turn into two giant blisters. She flexed her toes as she talked with Harry, feeling a little bad that they had left him alone, but at least it sounded like he hadn't been bored. His conversation with Viktor was strange, but she couldn't think of any way it could possibly link to the Horcruxes. And anyway, she had promised herself that she wouldn't think about any of that during the wedding; It was going to be _all_ she thought about soon enough, and she wanted to enjoy these last hours of freedom. How long would Ron want to keep dancing? Would he want to leave the tent to get some air, and perhaps go for a walk? If they did, and she took his hand, would he hold it, or would he pull away? She wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

The choice to find out was taken from her abruptly.

Panic filled the tent as people began to race about, searching for loved ones or preparing to fight. The air was thick with the sounds of names being screamed, and Hermione was only dimly aware that hers was a part of it. Ron. Where was Ron? She wouldn't leave without him; she just _wouldn't!_ They had to get away, and they had to leave _now._ Her throat was raw, and her eyes were burning from the tears she was holding back. Where was he? She refused to lose him like this! Her hand felt slick in Harry's, and she held on tighter; separating now could prove fatal. Her heart drummed in her ears as she fought off the logical voice that whispered that the safest course of action would be to Apparate away with Harry; he was the main target, after all, and everything hinged on his safety. But as important as he was, as important as he was to _her,_ she couldn't make her heart believe that he was more important than Ron.

In front of her, the crowd parted, and Ron appeared in front of her, his eyes wild as he ran towards them, calling their names. With a sob, she took his outstretched hand, her mind unfocused as she began to Apparate. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care. She had Ron and Harry, and for the moment, that was all she needed.

_It meant a lot for him to know that Hermione had need him as much as she needed Harry. Had needed him more, in some ways. Logically, he knew that had it taken much longer, she should have left, but he also knew it would have crushed him a little, even if she had been able to come back later. Even as he had been looking for him, he had worried he would be left behind, with no way of knowing how to get to them. Harry was the Chosen One; he was absolutely necessary to beat Voldemort. Hermione, of course, was brilliant, and could be counted on to figure out pretty much any puzzle that came up, as well as handling a lot of tricky spellwork. He...he hadn't known what he would be good for, if anything. And that had scared him. That he would be useless, and drag them down. But the others had considered him to be just as vital to the mission, as well as to them, personally._

_He watched the tent fade away with something close to sadness. Something had nearly happened there. Something that happened to thousands of people every day. One of those ordinary miracles that they hadn't had much chance to experience. Because he_ had _meant for them to take a walk later, and he_ had _meant to be more open about how he felt. It might not have been as blatant as how they finally ended up, but it would have been a start. How much would have been different, if they had both known where they stood? How much pain could have been avoided if, knowing, they could have made better choices? But they didn't, and they hadn't. It was just another chance in a series of opportunities that passed by, too late._

_The last, warm days on the edge of summer romance had ended, and the long, cold winter of hell had begun._


	33. Chapter 33

Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, Ron cursed his genetics. Being either ginger or unusually tall was bad enough, but to combine the two, and then add freckles like a topping of sprinkles on a seven layer cake? Whoever was in charge of these things had a sick sense of humor. He spotted a crowd of fifth years, and slouched along in their group, glaring at the ones that shot him odd looks. One looked ready to say something, but Ron flashed his prefect badge in a meaningful way, and they backed off. As the group passed a doorway, he slid outside it onto the grounds, and breathed a sigh of relief. He should be safe now for a couple of hours. All he had to do was give Lavender enough time to search inside for him, wait for her to come out, and he could slink back inside to join Hermione in the library.

A giggle from behind him made him jump, but it was only a Hufflepuff girl and her boyfriend, thinking they were alone. An exaggerated cough clued them in to find another spot, and he slumped against the wall at the close call. This was becoming a daily thing, and he wasn't sure how much longer his nerves would handle it. Now that he was back on good terms with Hermione, there was no way in hell he was going to risk it. On the other hand, while he was eager to ditch Lavender, he didn't really want to hurt her, either. He thought she would've gotten tired of this by now, but if anything, she seemed to be holding on tighter than ever, though thankfully, not with her lips.

_Hermione found herself unexpectedly sympathetic. At the time, she had been frustrated with him. It had seemed simple from her end; just tell Lavender that he wasn't interested anymore. But Ron knew how much it hurt to have someone else picked over you, and to be made to feel as if you weren't good enough; he could be distressingly blunt, but he was rarely deliberately hurtful to someone that hadn't hurt him first. And he had no experience with breaking up with someone; all he knew was that if he would rather be the one to end it, surely other people felt the same. Because if you were the one doing the breaking up, you came off as less pathetic than the one being dumped._

He loosened his tie, and flipped open the top two buttons on his shirt. Being nervous always made it feel hard to breathe. Things were shit with Lavender, but they were definitely looking up with Hermione. In a lot of ways, it was like the whole fight had never happened; they were even able to get along as they had before. Except...there was something slightly different, and it made him uneasy. Sometimes, things would be going brilliantly; they'd be talking, and she might even laugh. But then...something would flicker in her eyes. Her lips would still be smiling, but it didn't go all the way. It was as if she was pulling back, and trying to put distance between them. She wasn't mad or anything, she just...wasn't totally with him. And he couldn't understand it. He was doing his best to avoid Lavender, and to make it clear that he didn't have any interest in that area. He'd even gone so far as to say that he wanted her to break up with him. He thought she might've caught on when he told her he loved her, but maybe she didn't think he meant it. He did, though. Not that he could really follow through on it until Lavender was out of the picture.

But he didn't want her to pull away. He'd had enough of that these past few months; what he wanted now was closeness. It was just that he was stuck. He had no idea how to end one relationship and get the one he wanted started. He was in this confused limbo, and didn't have anyone he felt comfortable asking for help. Harry would be useless, Ginny would tell him to just end it already (and he saw her point, but didn't think it would go well), and Hermione was out of the question entirely. He was so close to what he wanted, but it was worse than before. Now he knew what it was like to lose her. Which was funny, because he never actually _had_ her. How was it that he felt more of a romantic connection to her, than a girl he had gone out with for months? He didn't think Lavender would find that very flattering.

He looked at the watch he had gotten for his birthday, and decided that enough time had passed that it was safe to go find Hermione. Maybe she would be sympathetic about the upcoming Apparition tests. Merlin, it was nice to talk to a girl that didn't load your name with W's...

_This memory made Hermione wonder how many times Ron had let things slide because he didn't want to hurt her feelings, only for everything to pile up, until he finally exploded. She knew that they communicated much better than he and Lavender ever did, but sometimes, it was better to get your feelings out early on. Now that she thought about it, Ron would sometimes avoid her, or at least certain subjects; usually fairly close to a fight, too. Maybe instead of dismissing it as an immature tactic, she could try to find the cause. She would have to encourage him to speak up when things bothered him, before he actually got mad._

_She could appreciate what he was trying to do with Lavender, and it might even have worked for some people. But there came a point where you had to rip the sticking plaster off, so to speak; or else, things might get out of hand when they reached their natural conclusion._

Time seemed to stop as Lavender's screech reached his ears. something told him that this was finally the end; it also told him that it wasn't going to be pretty. For a brief moment, he considered Apparating away. Unfortunately, that naggingly familiar voice in his head reminded him that he wouldn't be able to do that in the castle, even if he had mastered Apparition. Which he hadn't.

Hermione was frozen in front of him, but he realized that he wasn't going to be able to use her as a shield this time. Lavender was practically letting off steam as she glared up at him, her face twisted into a snarl. What was he going to say?

"Well? Are you going to tell me what you were up to?" Lavender demanded, before turning on Hermione, "Not that I can't guess. You planned this, didn't you? You fucking slu-"

"Lavender!" He snapped, drawing her attention, "Leave her alone. You can say what you want to me, but leave her out of this."

"Of course! We can't say anything to upset precious little Hermione, can we? Funny, you didn't seem to feel the same way a few months ago."

Okay, there was no getting around it; Lavender wasn't going to let this go quietly, not that he could rightly blame her. But he wasn't going to let her talk about Hermione like that. It was his fault, so if anyone was going to get roasted alive, it was him.

"Hermione, I need to talk to Lavender. Can you give us a few minutes?"

Hermione looked as if she might protest, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she nodded, and slid down past Lavender, eyeing the other girl warily. With one last look over her shoulder, she headed up to the girls' dorm, with Parvati following her, after she had given him a good glare. Wondering if he wasn't giving up the advantage of higher ground, he descended the last few steps into the Common Room, almost expecting Lavender to bite him as he edged around her.

That seemed to be her signal to start, because she began to hurl every insult that came to her mind, surprising him by the inventive use of a few swears. Some he didn't even understand, and expected she must have picked them up from Parvati. He might not know exactly what they meant, but he got the general sentiment, and it definitely wasn't complimentary. But it was nothing more than he deserved, although he was innocent of what she was thinking, so he stood back and took it, not saying a word.

_Hermione stood next to him as he received his tongue lashing, feeling sorry for them both. Ron was in that position because of his choices, but he hadn't meant for things to turn out this way. Still, he was taking responsibility for it. Lavender was clearly hurt, and Hermione couldn't blame her. It had been a terribly compromising position, and with the way Ron had been avoiding her lately, it was easy to see why she had thought what she had. It must have felt awful, to think someone would do that to you, and even though Hermione knew that Ron was too honorable for something like that, that could easily be forgotten in the heat of the moment. And he knew he hadn't treated Lavender right; she admired him for not trying to make excuses._

"...and when I get done here, I'm going to go up and give that bitch a piece of my mind! I swear, I'm going to make her sorry that she ever-"

Ron, who had sort of let his attention wander, snapped back into focus at those words.

"NO."

The surprise of having him actually talk back, combined with the volume, startled Lavender into momentary silence; just as she began again, Ron cut across her words, his expression harsh.

"I told you to say what you have to say to me, and leave Hermione out of this! She didn't do anything wrong!"

"Not that you would have minded much if she did!"

He wanted to deny it, but couldn't. It would be a lie to say that if things hadn't been different, he wouldn't have been perfectly happy if Hermione had wanted to mess around. Or more...

"The look on your face just confirms it! So why should I believe that you didn't?" Lavender said triumphantly.

Ron pulled himself out of the brief fantasy she had put in is mind, flushing with embarrassment.

"Because I wouldn't cheat! And even if you don't trust me, you _know_ Hermione isn't the kind of girl to do that!"

Lavender huffed at that. "Maybe she isn't. But you wish she was; don't try to deny it! You think I'm an idiot, don't you? Well, I've seen the way you look at her! Everything was fine at first, but she must have done _something!_ After all, you wanted me in the beginning-"

Her mouth clicked shut as she saw the way his eyes darted down and to the left, and her own narrowed in response. In a few short strides, she was standing right in front of him.

"Did you ever love me at all?" She asked quietly.

Ron took a steadying breath; he couldn't lie to such a direct question. "No."

He didn't even see her move before he felt the sting of the slap on his cheek, the force twisting his head to the side. He raised his hand to rub at the spot, feeling the skin burn.

"You complete and utter bastard!" She hissed.

"I reckon I am, yeah. Lav, I really am sorry. I didn't mean for things to end up like this-"

"Sorry? _Sorry?_ Oh, well that makes everything better, doesn't it! Just what the hell were you thinking, Ron?"

She didn't seem to be having any trouble pronouncing his name anymore, and while that might have otherwise been a relief, that was outweighed by the panic at the sight of her tears. Why couldn't she just stay angry? He wasn't any good with tears! And he couldn't do much, in any case, because she might take it to mean that he wanted to stay together with her.

"Well? Are you going to answer me? You certainly seemed enthusiastic enough when you had practically crawled down my throat! Or are you going to tell me that you were pretending I was _Hermione_ the whole time?"

He was honest, not stupid; besides, it wasn't the _whole_ time. Just...most of it.

"It wasn't as if she hadn't been doing plenty of snogging herself!" He growled, distracted by the unpleasant reminder.

Lavender looked confused. "What, Hermione? She's never even dated! Wait a minute; you don't mean...when she went with Viktor Krum... _but that was two years ago!"_

"It was still a shock to hear about it!"

Lavender was not a stupid girl. She sometimes played like she was thick, but while she wasn't head of the class, her marks weren't bad, either. She was also a voracious reader of romance novels; there wasn't a drama-filled cliche that she didn't know front, backwards, or sideways. Ron could see all of the pieces sliding together behind her eyes, but didn't move when he heard her gasp of understanding. With a crack, he was left with a matching handprint on his right cheek. Bloody hell, girls were violent! But it was better than canaries, and not only did he feel like he deserved it, but he hoped that if Lavender took it out on him, she would leave Hermione alone.

"You got jealous because of something that wasn't even a big deal, and you _used_ me because you couldn't have what you wanted! Oh God, it all makes sense now! No _wonder_ you were so willing to snog whenever she was around!"

He thought he had felt badly before, but there was something about having everything laid out in front of you that made things even worse. He had felt like a slug before; now he didn't think he even rated slug _slime._ Slumping, he waited for her to go on.

"That is just disgusting! How low do you have to be to use someone like that? Someone that's never done you any wrong! And it wasn't even any of your business if Hermione _had_ snogged Krum; at least he had the guts to ask her out. I never would have imagined it of you. To use someone, and hurt someone who was supposed to be a friend just for an ego boost? You're better than that, Ron Weasley!"

Something passed across her face, a look of shock and shame, although he didn't know what _she_ had to feel ashamed about. Her head bowed, with her hair sliding forward to hide her face; he wasn't sure, but he thought he heard her whisper, "I'm better than that, too," but it made no sense.

Lavender straightened her spine, looking him directly in the eye. "I suppose that it doesn't even need to be said, but we're through. I guess you'll be asking Hermione out in the morning."

"What? No! I mean, yeah, you and me are over, but Hermione? No! I...I couldn't do that," he stuttered.

How could she even think that? He knew he _wanted_ to be with Hermione, but asking her right after being dumped, even if he had wanted to be dumped, didn't feel right. It made it look like he didn't take relationships seriously (which he hadn't with Lavender, but this was going to be different), or that he was just asking her to be going with someone, maybe even as a rebound. He didn't know how to go about things with Hermione, but he knew he wanted her to feel special. Somehow, "Hey, Hermione! Lavender just broke it off with me, so do you think you might want to have a go?" didn't sound very appealing.

"That's probably a good idea," Lavender replied icily, "Because as things stand now? I don't think you _deserve_ her."

Of all the things she had said, that cut the deepest.

"Do you think I don't know that? That I haven't _always_ known that?" He asked, his voice breaking. Unable to continue. he turned away, leaning over the back of the sofa as he rubbed at his eyes.

_In doing so, he missed the look on Lavender's face; a mingling of confusion and understanding, before she shook her head angrily and began to stomp up the stairs. Hermione suspected that Lavender realized that it was Ron's lack of self confidence that got him into this mess, and she might have seen her own problems reflected in him. At the moment, Hermione wasn't sure which one she felt sorriest for; Ron was tearing himself up, honestly believing that he didn't meet her standards, and Lavender was hurting as well. She might not have been in love with Ron, but that didn't mean that she didn't have any feelings for him at all, and to have them misused like that would make anyone feel bad. Hermione had to think that this was a turning point for Lavender, though; she had learned some important lessons, and Hermione knew what a strong, confident woman she would become. While she still loved things that dealt with her outward appearance, she no longer thought they defined her; she had more to offer the world than just her looks._

_And Ron...she hated that he had to go through this, and how it had hurt all three of them at the time. But she also knew that he had learned a lot of things from this, and they might have both been hurt even more down the road if he hadn't. From Lavender, he realized what kind of girl he wanted, and that there was more to a relationship than the 'fun' stuff. That relationships weren't easy, and they took work; it also took both people. It also showed him that he wanted her in his life, and it went deeper than just fancying her. Also, that trying to make her jealous just made things worse, and while he might like to bicker a little, he really hated to hurt her._

Ron heard Lavender leave, but he didn't have the energy to say anything. There really wasn't anything to say. He had apologized, or tried to, but there wasn't anything he could do to make things better. He knew Lavender would bounce back; after all, she really hadn't been in love with him, although he had been smart enough not to bring that up. The Common Room was empty, so he flopped in one of the chairs, before going up to the dorm. He wanted to be alone right now, to process things. His head was a mess, and he didn't have a firm direction. The one thing he was sure of was that he had been dumped.

He was free.

It probably wasn't very nice to think of it like that, but in the privacy of his own head, that's how he felt. No more having to sneak around, and being guilty for his feelings for Hermione. He wished there had been a better way, but there hadn't been one, as far as he could see, and it was too late in any case. Lavender wouldn't have a hard time finding someone else; someone that wouldn't mind the tacky jewelry and sickening names. He'd stay away from her as much as he could for awhile, so she didn't have to keep thinking about it, but that was about as much as he could do.

At least, on that front. Now that he was single, he realized he still didn't know what was the right way to go about fixing that. He had fucked up, repeatedly; he _had_ to get it right this time, or he might not ever get another chance. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn't pull a Lavender, and just start snogging her.

_She didn't see why not; it worked out well enough when she finally did it. Though she had to admit that the timing might not have worked out. She had been unsure of his feelings, and trying very hard not to get her hopes up; it was likely that she would have dismissed an immediate move on his part as just him not wanting to be alone until he could move on to something better. When you're looking for a lasting relationship, you don't really take someone who can easily jump from person to person very seriously, because they might get tired of you a week later. He had been smarter to give her time, and to begin laying the groundwork for something more. Of course, there was the small matter of the war, and being thrown into situations that took all their time and attention to get out of alive._

There she went, nibbling her lip again. He wished she wouldn't. He knew it meant she was nervous, and it felt weird to be turned on by a sign that she was upset. He hated when she was upset, but the things she did with her mouth...he shifted on the cushions. Better get off of that line of thought, while he was sitting right next to her. He asked the first question that popped into his mind, slightly nervous of her answer. What would happen if that was the case? He knew there was going to be fighting, but would it be tonight? Were they ready? He hoped they were. He wasn't sure if they could make it through a repeat of last year. He had been working on his spells and reaction time, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that meant he would be safe. He had been lucky, last time; he might not be, again...

And what about Hermione? She had cut it pretty close as well. Using a Silencing Charm on a Death Eater hadn't been one of her best moves. He knew there wasn't any way to keep her from fighting, but it made him go cold inside to think of what could happen to her. Imagining her ending up like Cedric or Sirius made him sick; he didn't think he could deal with it if...no. Hermione wasn't going to... _no._

But what could he do to make sure? Nothing, really. No one knew what was going to happen, or when; even if they did, there were too many things that could go wrong, and not enough time or resources to cover all of them. He had to do better this time. There were so many people that he needed to watch out for, and he wasn't sure he could spread himself that thin, and still do a good job. Harry, of course, was going to be right there in the center of things. And you never knew when he was going to do something stupidly brave (or was it bravely stupid? With Harry, it was hard to tell.). Ginny was becoming more and more involved, and he sometimes felt sympathetic with his mum. He didn't want her getting hurt, but he wasn't quite hypocritical enough to try to get her to stay out of it. There was also the fact that she would turn him inside out if he did.

And then there was Hermione; she'd be right alongside him and Harry, and she was becoming more and more of a target herself in her own right as persecution of Muggleborns became more open. She was fairly safe here at school, but once they were gone for the summer, there wasn't much stopping her from being the next in a long line of Prophet articles. He hadn't mentioned it, but in his last letter from home, his dad had told him that he should try to get Hermione to come to the Burrow as soon as possible, and to go with her if she made any trips to Diagon Alley. He wasn't sure if he should tell her, or if she would get mad, and think that it meant he was saying that she couldn't take care of herself.

Something about his line of thinking must've been written on his face, because she asked him what was wrong, her voice gentle. Everything almost spilled out; how he felt for her, and how he couldn't take it if something ended up happening to her. But now wasn't the time. It just didn't feel right. He tried to get her to promise to be careful, and she did, even though he knew she wouldn't if things came down to it. Still, it was comforting to hear. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Harry burst into the room, his eyes bright with excitement, and a touch of fear. Something was happening, and it looked like it was happening tonight.

Amid frenzied explanations and instructions, Ron tried to get as much information out of Harry as possible. He would rather that they had gone with Dumbledore as well, but Harry was dead set on watching Malfoy. He shared a look with Hermione. He understood wanting to pin something on Malfoy; he was a turd that needed to be flushed. But there had to be more to all of this than just Malfoy being a dick, and Ron didn't much care for the idea of overlooking that while he spied on some skulking twat. On the other hand, even if he wasn't behind all of this, he was probably a part of it, and anything they could figure out would be better than nothing.

He unrolled the Elixir and put it in his pocket, quickly getting rid of Harry's suspiciously stiff socks. Adrenaline rushed through his system as he left Hermione to get ahold of the rest of the D.A. as he raced upstairs to get the map. He was too busy studying it to think of waking his roommates up, his eyes scanning for any sign of Draco. Maybe he was missing it in the dim light; he hurried back to Hermione, who was tucking her Galleon back into her pocket. He knew she was upset about letting Harry go without him, and he was, too; but Harry was with Dumbledore, and Dumbledore wouldn't take Harry if he thought something might happen, would he?

Ginny's voice gave him another concern. Should he try to stop her from fighting, if they had to tonight? Not that he _could,_ but should he at least _try?_ Probably not. She'd just end up coming with them anyway, and might do something even more dangerous if she was mad at him and trying to prove something. He'd keep his mouth shut, and one eye on her. With the other eye on Hermione, it'd be a wonder if he could find Malfoy. Not that he was having much luck with that at the moment.

Neville came downstairs as well, his face earnest and determined. He didn't like doing things like this, but he always showed up anyway; Ron had always sort of admired that about him. As they slipped out into the hall, Ron wondered if he shouldn't wait inside; there was more light for the map, and if he used his wand, they might get caught. But he wanted to be in on anything they decided to do, so he waited with the others, still looking for that fucking little-

Luna was the last one to join them, which didn't surprise Ron, but it did worry him. He wasn't really expecting anything big to happen, but if it did, would the five of them be enough? And how was Malfoy hiding? Even if he had been in his dorm, it shouldn't be this hard. It was almost as if he had disappeared-it clicked. He felt like a numpty for not thinking of it sooner, but maybe they hadn't wasted too much time.

Without fully realizing what he was doing, he began to lay out a plan. It would be ridiculous for all three of them to watch the Room of Requirement. What if Malfoy had found another way in? What if he had found a way to communicate with someone from inside? Harry thought Snape was in on this too, so it only made sense for them to split up. As much as he wanted to go with Hermione, he knew it wouldn't be best. If Malfoy was using dark magic, he'd go for her first, just out of spite. Hermione would do better with Snape; he might have to keep up the front of being a regular Professor, and Hermione was quick on her feet with excuses. Luna would be good for Snape, as well. She had a talent for throwing people off, and that would buy them time.

He would go with Ginny and Neville. Neville might freeze up with Snape, leaving that group more vulnerable. That, and after seeing Neville's Boggart in third year, it felt like a shitty thing to do. He and Ginny might let their tempers get the best of them; that might not mean much when dealing with Malfoy, but it could be fatal with Snape. And it was better that the two of them were with Neville. While he'd gotten a lot better, it sometimes took him a spell or two before he connected with his target. It would be safer with the two of them to take some of the heat off of him.

They split up, and Ron hoped, like Hermione had said, that they were just wasting their time.

"Lucky you thought about the Room of Requirement, Ginny whispered.

"Yeah, it threw me for-wait! _Lucky!"_

Both Ginny and Neville turned as he patted his pocket.

"Neville, can you go on ahead? I forgot something, and I need Ginny to come with me."

Neville nodded. "Sure. I won't try anything until you catch up; I'll just hang back and see where he goes."

"Thanks, mate. C'mon, Gin. We need to catch up to Hermione."

"Why? Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nah. It's more... _preventative,_ if you know what I mean."

"When you say it like that, you make it sound like some sort of birth control," Ginny said dryly, "And if that's the case, I think the two of you would prefer to handle it alone."

Nearly tripping, he scowled down at her. "You have a sick sense of humor, Ginevra."

"I have six older brothers, _Ronald."_

Motioning his sister back, he peered around the next corner, hissing loudly to get Hermione's attention. At first, he thought she was going to keep going, but she sent Luna on ahead, and came to join him. He could tell that both of them were hesitant to drink, but he wasn't budging until he knew they had at least some kind of protection. Even if there was only enough for two people, he was making sure they were the ones that drank it. He couldn't stand it if anything happened to them, especially if he had been able to prevent it. Besides, it was only logical. Out of the three of them, he was the most expendable, even if they would probably slap him for saying so.

" _You've got that right," Hermione muttered angrily. Expendable?_ None _of them were_ expendable! _Aside from the fact that thinking like that was just plain wrong, who had been the one to come up with a plan? Who figured out where Malfoy was? And didn't he know that she and Ginny would have been just as devastated if something happened to him? They needed to have a serious talk on this subject, and soon. Because if he still had this mentality, then she had a huge problem with his career choice. Being an Auror was dangerous enough, but she refused to send him off on missions if he was going into each one with the idea that he was the designated sacrifice. She adored him for his willingness to protect others, but that was the kind of thing that should only be considered as a last resort._

There was enough for him to have a mouthful, and he chugged it down gratefully. After all, just because he was _willing_ to take a hit, it didn't mean he _wanted_ to. If he could avoid a second tentacley episode, then he was all for it. Neville was probably getting worried about them, so he tried to catch up quickly. But before he had gone too far, Hermione had called out to him. She seemed worried, and what did she mean by-oh. Well, it wasn't like he could make any promises, but the fact that she had thought of it put a spring in his step. She hadn't exactly thrown herself at him, sobbing and begging him not to die, but it was a far sight better than a few months ago, when she looked as if she'd like to do the job herself.

Ginny had paused to wait for him, and she fell into step as he passed, frowning thoughtfully.

"Ron? Do you think we should've shared that with Neville and Luna? Wouldn't it have been safer that way?"

He shook his head; he had thought of that already. "No. It was risky enough with the three of us. I don't think we got a full dose, but it should last us each a few hours. Splitting it between even more people would probably weaken the effects, and then taking it at all would be pointless. Besides, the way I see it, as long as at least one of us stays by them, they should be fine; after all, I wouldn't think I was very lucky if I couldn't protect someone standing next to me, you know?"

_Hermione pondered his logic. It did make sense, in a way. How could it be considered lucky, if a spell missed you, but hit a friend? That put them neatly under the umbrella of protection without having them drink the potion. Unfortunately, that covered a limited group, and probably excluded anyone outside a certain range. For a long time, the four of them had wondered why taking the potion hadn't let them avert Dumbledore's death that night. But they had finally decided that events had to play out the way they did for Dumbledore's plan to move forward; If he had lived, something might have gone wrong further down the line. It made it interesting to theorize about how much the potion took into consideration._

_Because obviously, not everyone had been kept safe._

"Fuck!" Ron growled as a spell whizzed past his ear, singing several hairs before it impacted on the wall behind him. He had dodged the first two, but that one had come from his other side. Neville had gotten separated from him somehow, and Ron was worried about him. The place was full of Death Eaters, and Ron cursed himself for a fool. Why had he thought that Malfoy wouldn't have a plan for being followed? If he lived through this, he was going to murder Fred and George for that Peruvian Darkness powder. Without that, they might have been able to stop him. He jumped over a chunk of masonry, slamming his foot down on the wrist of a fallen Death Eater who was reaching for his wand.

"I don't _think_ so, wanker!"

'Course, even if they had stopped Malfoy, it looked like they were too late to keep out his backup. Where had they all come from? Hermione said no one could Apparate inside Hogwarts. Were the castle's defenses down? Did that mean something was wrong with Dumbledore? He hoped not, because that meant Harry was in trouble. Wand poised to release his next spell, he realized that they were falling back. Fan-fucking-tastic. It was about time; even with the addition of the professors, some of the other students, and a few Aurors, it had been a narrow thing. At some point, he had caught sight of Hermione; battling two Death Eaters, she hadn't noticed the third. If he hadn't fired off a quick shot when he had...it had nearly given him a heart attack.

Ginny had ran by a him a few moments ago, so he knew she was safe. Now, he was looking for Hermione, ignoring the shouting going on around him. The Aurors had the rest under control, and he wanted to make sure she was alright. He squinted through the crowd at his left, catching sight of her hair. The tight fist around his heart relaxed, and he started for her, wanting to be close. It had been a horrible night, and he needed the comfort of her near him. She seemed to be looking at something on the floor, and he tried to make out what it was. Ginny? That was strange. She was kneeling over someone, and it looked like she was crying. He picked up his pace, a sick feeling in his stomach. Who could it be? On the floor, he saw a familiar ponytail, matted with blood.

"BILL!" His brother's name tore from his throat as he broke into a run, brushing by Hermione.

He fell to the floor by his siblings, trying to see how bad it was. Ginny looked terrified, but hadn't given up yet. He looked down at Bill, and nearly threw up. His face...one side of it had been shredded and mangled, and if he had only seen that side of him, he might not have recognized him at all. Bill's eyes were glassy with shock, and his body shook and shuddered with pain. Ginny was trying to hold him still, and Ron tried to help, as droplets of blood sprayed the front of his shirt.

They couldn't have been there very long before McGonagall arrived, taking charge. Ron didn't think he had ever been so thankful to see her, because he didn't know of any spells that would have helped, and he was having trouble remembering what you should do for someone that had been hurt that badly. He couldn't wrap his mind around what he was seeing; Bill had always been so smart, so strong. He had never thought that there was anything out there that could hurt his older brother. A stupid thing to think. It was the thought of a child, but he didn't feel like a child any longer. Cedric and Sirius had been bad enough; the Department of Mysteries had been eye opening. But this was war, and the people he loved the most suddenly seemed very vulnerable and frail.

Distantly, he was aware of someone helping him to the hospital wing. His head was fuzzy, and all the strength seemed to have left his legs. He staggered a little, and soft, bushy hair brushed against his chin. Hermione. She had wedged herself under his arm, and was taking part of his weight as they followed the stretcher Bill was on, McGonagall talking to Ginny in front of them. It didn't take them long to get there, and Ron hovered in the background with Ginny and Hermione, nervously waiting for news, as Madam Pomfrey sprang into action. For the first time, he heard the word 'werewolf,' and he felt his blood turn to ice. Someone moaned, and he wasn't sure if it was him, or Ginny. What were they going to do? If Bill had been turned...

Ron liked Lupin. He was a great bloke, and and he had been one of his favorite professors. Ron had been disappointed when he had left Hogwarts. And it wasn't like he had a problem with werewolves _in general._ Most of them were nice enough people, and the only time they would actually hurt you was during the full moon. And even then, it was only if something had happened to their precautions. It was the ones like Greyback that gave them a bad name. But Ron had seen they way people had treated Lupin. They didn't know the first thing about him, but they wouldn't even give him a chance, just because of what he was. Sure, he had been scared when he first heard, but who wouldn't be, on the night of a full moon, and with it looking like he had joined up with someone you thought was out to kill your best friend? And even though he hadn't, he was still dangerous, since he hadn't taken his potion. Not that he meant to hurt them, but they still would've been just as dead. People were going to treat Bill the same way. He could lose his job, and it didn't seem likely that the wedding would go through now.

_He was right about how Bill would have been treated. Sometimes he was, even when people found out he hadn't been bitten. But it had never escalated to what Lupin went through. It didn't help that accidents happened so easily, and even the best safety measures sometimes slipped up. Lupin very well could have killed them the night they had met Sirius. He would have been devastated when he came to himself, and while no one that knew him would blame him, it did mean that you had to take sensible precautions. But that was a far cry from out and out hating someone for something they had no control over, and it was perfectly reasonable for Ron not to want his brother to have to live like that._

Once Bill had been stabilized and cleaned up, Ron moved closer to the bed, Ginny and Hermione on either side. He had hoped that the wounds weren't as bad as they had looked, but they were. He could hear people talking around him, and coming in and out of the room, but he couldn't take his eye's from his brother's face. He had a brief surge of hope when he thought that Dumbledore might be able to help, but that was crushed by Harry telling them that Dumbledore was dead. Ron couldn't even deal with that at the moment; he would, later, but not right now. Right now, it was all he could do to fight down the waves of guilt.

Bill had always been the handsome brother. And while Ron had always admired him, he had envied him some, too. He was always so cool and confident, and the witches loved him; Ron couldn't help but wish he was a little less attractive. Maybe a slightly crooked nose, or a few spots. But he hadn't wanted this! He hadn't wanted something that might ruin his life. He had never wished for him to be disfigured, where he could lose his job, along with the woman he was in love with. He hadn't wanted people to whisper and point, and shrink away when he walked down the street. Deep down, he knew it wasn't his fault. But he couldn't help feeling like this was the result of all his envious wishes. But it wasn't...right? He wanted someone to reassure him, to tell him that he hadn't done anything wrong. But for that to happen, he'd have to tell someone, and he didn't want to see their disgust at his selfishness. So he stood there, quietly, hating himself for not being a better brother.

_Hermione's heart went out to him. She knew how hard it had been for Ron, feeling like he would never live up to the older brother who had been the center (along with Charlie) of his childhood hero worship. But he had never acted on those feelings, or tried to make Bill feel bad. They were natural feelings that everyone felt from time to time, and she wished she had known, so she could have told him so. She had experienced the same feelings of guilt when he had been poisoned, so she knew how he felt. And she had taken her feelings out on Ron, while he had only ever done things that fell into the realm of a normal younger brother when it came to Bill._

He moved back quickly once his parents and Fleur arrived, nodding to his dad that he was alright. He was sort of surprised that Fleur was there; she must've wanted to see how bad it was for herself. But instead of getting sick, or backing out of the wedding when his mum mentioned it, she acted angry that they thought she would do anything less than love Bill as much as she had before. It was hard to understand; he knew she had been attracted to Bill's looks. She had even admitted it. But maybe there was a difference between initial attraction and actual love, because she was looking at Bill as she always had. She didn't pretend that the wounds weren't there, or say stupid shit about him still being as handsome as ever. She simply didn't care.

Studying them, he thought that Bill was still lucky. In a sick way, he even envied him. Because he might not know a lot about love, but he knew it had to be pretty special when you found someone that would stand by you through something like that. He wasn't sure he would ever find that. He glanced at Hermione. He knew she was the type who would do the same for whoever it was she loved. But the idea that it could be him? After everything that he had done, with as little as he had to offer, and then add something like this on top of that? He wouldn't stand a chance.

He felt a hand close over his in a comforting manner, and blinked. He looked at Hermione, then at the couple in front of them. For a brief instant, he was reminded of his own time in a hospital bed, with someone hovering over him.

Maybe he didn't have as much to envy Bill for as he had thought.

_She was glad he thought so. Because she knew without a doubt that her reaction would have been the same as Fleur's. And what did he mean by, 'everything he had done?' Alright, so he had made mistakes, and choices that had made things more difficult than they had to be. But so had she! Both of them had contributed equally to the pain they had gone through, and it hurt her heart to see Ron piling it all on himself. Thoughts like that were what had allowed the locket to control him so easily. He was being crushed by guilt, when conviction would have been so much better. Her father had explained the difference to her once, and it seemed very applicable for Ron. Guilt made you feel horrible about yourself; it made you feel useless, as if there was no point in trying to do better. With conviction, on the other hand, you recognized your wrongs, apologized for them, did your best to make things right, and then you moved on with your life. One dragged you down into an endlessly repeating cycle, while the other encouraged growth and progress._

_She never, ever wanted Ron to think badly of himself. All she wanted was for him to admit when he made a mistake, correct it if he could, and try to not make the same one. She didn't want him to pile each wrong action on top of his heart like a stone cairn. In the past, she had expressed this poorly. In the future, she needed to be careful to word things so he knew that while she might feel negatively about some of his actions, that didn't mean she felt negatively about_ him. _She also wanted him to know that like him, she wanted the same type of relationship as Bill and Fleur, insofar as support and commitment were concerned. There was always the possibility that he could be permanently wounded on the job, and he needed to know that he could count on her to be there for him, no matter what happened._

Worrying over Bill had pushed Dumbledore to the back of Ron's mind, until he thought that he had accepted it. But on the morning of the funeral, it slammed into him like a fist; Dumbledore was dead. Whatever you thought about him personally, he had been a unifying force, and Ron wasn't sure how effective the Order would be without him there to guide them. Everyone felt lost, and that didn't exactly inspire confidence. And, the more Ron thought about it, he realized that his death was the destruction of the illusion of safety for a lot of people, himself included. Watching as other students moved about the Great Hall, eyes red from crying, he felt numb. When he had woken up on his birthday, he had thought it was funny that even though he was an adult now, he hadn't felt any different than the day before. Now he felt more ancient than Dumbledore. Looking in the mirror to shave this morning, it was almost a shock that his hair wasn't gray, or his back stooped with age. He noticed a couple of first years pass in front of him, and it seemed impossible to ever have been that young.

With a nervous glance at Harry, he knew he wasn't the only one to feel that way. Harry's face was pale and pinched, and while he was still, there was so much nervous tension in his body that he practically vibrated. Every once and awhile, Hermione would open her mouth, then close it again. He knew she wanted to comfort Harry, but now wasn't the time. If anything, he'd only sink into himself more. Both of them were worried that he was going to do something stupid, so they'd been keeping their eye on him, looking for any sign that he meant to sneak off without them.

Ron snorted. Harry and his bloody noble ideas; he never seemed to get it through his head that this was bigger than him, and people were going to have to fight, with or without him. He had made his choice years ago, that he would stick by Harry. It wasn't just out of friendship, though. For him, it was just the right thing to do. He had grown up with the belief that Voldemort was evil, and his family had been a big part in the movement against him. When you believed in something, you fought for it. Did Harry think that it would all go away if he wasn't with them? Harry might be the key to ending things, but the war wasn't about him.

But he couldn't say that, today of all days. Not that he even had the energy to. It was all he could do to drag himself out to where the chairs were set up, still feeling as if the whole thing should be a dream that he would wake up from, safe in his bed in the tower. He'd tell Harry and Hermione, and they'd all laugh about how ridiculous it was, and how he should lay off the chocolate before bedtime.

No one was laughing.

There had to be hundreds of people here, faces stained with grief for the man laid out before them. The voice of the speaker droned on and on, and Ron could see his mum leaning against his father, both of their shoulders shaking. Harry had disappeared, and Ron wished he could, too; it was all too much, and it was getting hard to breathe. Where were they going to go from here? Who was going to tell them what needed to be done? Unless Harry was holding something back, they didn't have the first clue about where to look. Could they really just go on a random journey, hoping to find all of the bloody things by hit or miss?

And if they did, what was he going to contribute? He was going, that he was sure of, but what would he _do?_ Harry was the Chosen One, And Hermione was the brightest witch of the age. Unless there was a giant chess game out there, or something that required a passable Keeper, then he was pretty much just an extra body. He might make a good decoy or something, but he had hoped to add more than that. But after his performance the other night, he was having major doubts. There were so many things he should've done differently! And speaking of doing things differently, couldn't that be his theme for this whole year? It was basically a series of mistakes right from the first. Wouldn't he just screw everything up in the end?

Emotions swirled around in his head; he was lost, confused, and frightened; he was also ashamed for feeling that way. Why couldn't he get a grip? _He_ wasn't the one who had had to watch Dumbledore die. _He_ wasn't the one that everything hinged on. And _he_ wasn't even the one who had gotten his face mangled by Greyback. Everything felt like it was falling apart; he would try to fit a few bits together over here, only to watch something else come loose before he could reach it. Every year, things with the war had gotten progressively worse; most of the time, he felt like he was barely keeping up. Now they were going to be out on their own, and he couldn't for the life of him see how he was going to come through this. What if he let them down? What if it was his fault that they lost the war? There were so many things that could go wrong, and his mind was boggled.

Tears filled his eyes, and he shook miserably. If only he could do one fucking thing _right-_

As he thought that, he turned slightly in his seat, to find Hermione leaning towards him. She was crying, and her eyes looked about as lost as he felt. Without stopping to think, he put his arms around her and pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. They both let their tears fall, and he found himself stroking her hair, like he remembered his mum doing for him and Ginny when they were little. It seemed to be working; she was still crying, but she felt calmer now. To his surprise, he did, too. Having Hermione turn to him had meant more than he had thought it could. He knew he couldn't make things better for her, but he also knew that wasn't what she wanted. Sharing their grief made him feel safe; less alone. It didn't make his problems go away, but he thought he might be able to deal with them better. It struck him that this was the most intimate that he had ever been with someone. The snogging sessions with Lavender felt hollow and meaningless compared to this. He was open and vulnerable in ways that he never let anyone see, and she was being the same; he felt wanted and needed. That should probably scare him. After all, if he couldn't manage his own shit, how could he help her with hers? But...he didn't have it all sorted out, but it seemed to him that if they helped each other, their own problems might be gotten through easier.

A small corner of his brain wondered if they would ever be able to be like this when one of them wasn't hurting, but now wasn't the time to think of that. There were so many things coming that he was going to have to face, whether he was ready or not. But if he could start small, and help Hermione get through today, then maybe... _maybe_ he would be able to do the rest, as well.

_That day had meant so much to her. At that age, Ron hadn't been very physically demonstrative. For him to hold her like that, in public, had been one of the things that had caused her resolve to weaken. Not because she needed him as a crutch, or because there was something inherently romantic about it; it was just knowing that he was willing to step out of his comfort zone for her, to put her feelings above any embarrassment he might feel. Knowing that he had needed her just as much as she had needed him made it even better. Standing where she did, she had an excellent view; not only did they instinctively turn towards the other at their lowest point, but each had opened up and freely accepted the other. Seeing that just reaffirmed that she had no doubts about Ron; he was the one she could go to, no questions, no demands. They could be weak together, and in that weakness, find a new strength. The recharged each other, so they could both go out into the world and do what needed to be done. How many people could say that? How many could let another person see all of their fears and insecurities, and know that that person still thought of them as strong? Because she knew that Ron considered her a strong woman. Seeing her at her worst had never altered that. She wished, not for the first time, that she had made it clear that she had seen him the same way; would that have changed what she knew was to come? Probably not. That was something Ron was going to have to learn about himself._

_While that was a lesson for later, it appeared he had learned one or two things over the summer, making use of the time before she had arrived._

Ron sat in the small patch of shade behind the chicken coop, Hermione's latest letter in his hand. He was supposed to be degnoming the garden to get ready for the wedding, but if he did it this soon, the little bleeders would be back in a couple of weeks, and he'd have to do it again. At least he was out of the house; Mum and Ginny might've accepted Fleur, but that didn't mean they weren't going at it hammer and tongs over every stupid little wedding detail. He could do without all that, thank you very much. Besides, he wanted to study this letter more. There was something about it that made him uneasy. It might be the way she evaded any of his questions about her family, or what she had planned. She hadn't done much more than confirm that she was coming, and that she would be ready to leave as soon as Harry was.

He was worried about her.

Normally, you couldn't shut Hermione up when she was organizing and planning. She'd drive you mental, going over each step a hundred times. Now, she wouldn't even let him and his parents come to pick her up. She wouldn't even let him come alone, so he knew something big was up. Did she not trust him? He knew he had fucked things up between them last year. She had acted like things were fine now, but had he done more damage than he had thought? It hurt to think that things weren't right between them; it hurt worse that it might be because of something he had done. He heard the creak of the kitchen door opening, and voices spilling out into the humid evening air. Hastily, he stood, stuffing the letter back into his pocket.

Maybe he would ask Ginny later, if Hermione had said anything more to her. He had been trying to give his sister space, but he wasn't sure it was helping much. At least it had kept him from sticking his foot in his mouth. When he did talk to her, he was careful not to bring up Harry. Sort of difficult, when all of the adults were making plans around him, but he didn't figure she needed it rubbed in her face any more than it had to be.

He scowled down at the dirt. Harry was his best mate; practically a brother. But he had moments where he wanted to knock the little git's teeth in for hurting Ginny like that. He understood where Harry was coming from, and he knew it was hard on him. But he hadn't even given Ginny a fucking choice, or any hope that things would change once all of this was over. He could respect him for wanting to keep her safe, but he was angry at him for not giving her at least that much. He had wondered if he should say anything about it, but Hermione said it was best not to. She was probably right; Harry would brood even more, and Ginny would get mad at him for butting in. For now, he'd just keep his mouth shut.

_Ron had been put in a pretty uncomfortable place. He felt bad for both, and couldn't really take sides; this must be one of the reasons it's hard when a friend dates your sibling. He had handled the whole thing pretty well, though, even if every once and awhile his 'protective older brother mode' got the best of him. He had been amazingly sensitive that summer, actually._

That night, Ron went upstairs early, ignoring Ginny's envious glare. She hadn't had a moments peace all summer, and while he sympathized, he didn't feel bad enough to join her in her misery. Besides, being busy probably helped keep her mind off Harry, and what kind of brother would ruin that for her?

His room felt stuffy, so he opened a window, catching a much needed breeze that was blowing through the treetops. He stretched out on his bed, taking full advantage of this rare moment of peace and privacy. Once Harry and Hermione got here, he wouldn't have more than a minute to himself. And while that was great in some ways, in others, it could be...inconvenient. Might as well make the best of it while he could, right? Things had been hectic ever since he had left Hogwarts, and he had been feeling pretty down. Before that, he had felt too guilty to really enjoy getting himself off. Not that he _hadn't._ It just...well. First, He had felt bad for thinking of Hermione when he was going with Lavender. Then he had felt bad about thinking about Hermione when the sight of him seemed to make her sick. After _that,_ he felt like a piece of shite for being happy that he could think about Hermione without feeling bad about Lavender. It might sound stupid, but his muddled feelings had meant that he hadn't fully enjoyed his alone time in quite awhile. But now...now he was going to have his first completely guilt-free wank in months.

_Hermione raised an eyebrow. For some reason, she had expected masturbation to be more straightforward for boys. She knew he hadn't stopped, but she hadn't thought that their complicated relationship might affect it. On the other hand (so to speak) she had learned that a lot of Ron's enjoyment of the act stemmed from imagining her wanting him; that had likely been difficult for him to imagine, under the circumstances. She had had difficulties in that area as well. While she had relieved herself several times, it had lacked something, something that didn't return until things were right between them again. She supposed it was due to being in the habit of thinking about him during the act. Cutting that part out had also cut out an added stimuli. Truly, the brain was the largest sex organ. She shifted, clenching her thighs together as she heated up in response to Ron's mood._

It wouldn't take much; Ginny had been talking about swimming this morning, and his mind had immediately conjured up Hermione in a bathing suit, slippery and wet from swimming in the pond. As he imagined one of his favorite scenarios, he released himself from his trousers and pants, stroking himself in a practiced motion. His eyes slid shut, and he moaned at the remembered sensation of her sun warmed skin, sliding against his as they had wrestled in the pond the last few summers. Of course, in his mind, it was decidedly less innocent than reality had been; his hand picked up the pace as dream Hermione moaned his name in his ear, opening her mouth to tug his lobe between her teeth. With a shudder, the tight sensation that had been coiling in his lower stomach released, and he fell back against his pillow, panting.

_Hermione squeaked out a cry of her own, embarrassed that she had been affected. Not that she had had much choice; she was sharing his feelings, after all. She was still feeling rather fuzzy as Ron cleaned himself up, finishing just in time before the door burst open with a loud bang, making both of them shout in surprise._

"What the hell are you two doing here? I thought you had gone back to the shop!" Ron yelped in surprise, hoping to cover his embarrassment. Had he been moaning? He couldn't remember. The twins didn't act like they had caught him at anything, although they did look supremely smug.

"Your lack of enthusiasm for our presence is distressing; do you think he's deserving of our gift, Fred?"

Fred pretended to think about his answer, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I admit, the lack of brotherly love wounds me to the core, but we wouldn't be so petty to hold out on him for it. Not when we can vastly improve his life. Besides, it's partially a late birthday present."

Ron scooted back on his bed, eyeing them suspiciously. The twins' generosity often times had some sort of a catch.

"What gift? Will it make me turn into something repulsive?"

George plopped down on the foot of the bed, taking a small rectangular package out of his jacket.

"Supposed to have the opposite effect, actually. Now that we've heard the glad tidings of your breakup, we thought it was time you finally did something about Hermione."

Ron opened his mouth to make a weak denial, but Fred stopped him with a raised hand.

"Don't! Don't even bother. It's been obvious for years; and its just as obvious that you aren't going to get anywhere without help."

"Oh, that's nice! Where were you last year, when I could've really _used_ it? Or is isn't it any fun unless I make a complete fuck up of things?" Ron snarled, glaring at them.

Fred dropped the theatrics. "Honestly? We thought you wouldn't have this much trouble. Once we figured it out, you were tangled up so bad that even we couldn't get you out."

"C'mon, Ron; you know we like to see you panic a bit-"

"But we wouldn't want you to muck things up permanently. Go ahead and open it, and then go forth and woo your witch with our blessing!"

Hesitantly, Ron took the package. Over the years, he had become a good judge of knowing when the twins were being nice or trying to screw him over, and he felt reasonably sure they were sincere. Ripping of the stiff, thick paper, he stared uncomprehendingly at the small leather book in his lap.

"It's...a book."

"Very good! See Fred, he's catching on already!" George beamed encouragingly. "Now, what does the book _say?"_

Rolling his eyes at George, he nevertheless read the cover. "Twelve Fail-safe Ways to Charm Witches. Alright, I fell for it. Haha, good joke."

He made to toss the book, but Fred shoved it back at him. "Don't be thick! This is on the level! Do you know how many of this things we had to go through to find one that wasn't absolute crap? _Do you? Hmm?_ Fucking stacks! I think we read more for that than we did cramming for our O.W.L.s!"

"He's right; the least you could do is read it. It's not like it could make things worse."

Ron was sort of touched; they'd put a lot of effort into it, so he might as well have a look. He cracked open the book, and began to flip through the pages, wondering if he would have time to finish it before Hermione came. Pictures appeared near the back, and he slowed down for a better look. Eyes bulging once he registered what he was seeing, he nearly dropped the thing with a strangled scream.

"What the hell are you trying to do to me? I don't need _that_ kind of book!" He whispered, afraid his mum would somehow sense what was going on. "Well, at least not yet."

"That's why that part is at the _end_ of the book. Start at the front, and work your way through. If you can't handle the first part, the second will never come up; if you can, you'll thank us later. Most likely on your knees."

"Just don't let Mum catch you with it, or she'll have our guts for garters," George warned.

"Well, I'm sure you'll want to spend the rest of the evening catching up on the finer points of witches that have seemed to have eluded your grasp-"

"Like how to tell that one of your mates is, in fact, a girl."

"So we'll leave you to it. We expect progress this summer, little brother; if the two of you are going to act like an old married couple, you might as well _be_ a couple."

"I'll try to get right on that, thanks," Ron said dryly; what did they think he had been trying to do for the past three years?

The twins hopped off the bed and headed for the door.

"Good," George said on his way out, "The sexual tension was getting so thick you could choke on it."

Ron rolled his eyes as the door closed. Nosey family, acting like his love life was put out there for their own-

Fred cracked open the door. "Oh, and Ron? You might want to remember to put up Silencing Charms. I didn't realize your imagination was quite that... _vivid."_

The door shut again, and Ron slumped over with a groan; what had he said? And how would they use it against him later? He opened one eye, the book beside him appearing more innocent than anything containing _those_ sort of images had a right to. With a sigh, he sat up; start at the beginning, eh? Well, he had wanted some sort of direction to take; at the very least, it might give him an idea of what _not_ to do. Settling back against the headboard, he opened to the first chapter, and began to read.

'If you have selected this book in the hopes that you will learn a few slick lines to seduce a witch into your bed this weekend, put the book down, and think about purchasing something from one of the sleazy charlatans to the left. _Yes, I'm referring to you Halliwell, you swine._ If, by some miracle, you have come in search of instruction on how to embark on a long term, emotionally committed relationship, then please proceed after first dispensing of the idea that this book is designed to trick witches into being with you, or that this will not require anything less than substantial effort on your part.'

Ron paused. _That_ sounded ominous. In this first paragraph alone, it told him it would be easier to chat up a strange bird than it would be to make any headway with Hermione. This was a book for someone who was in it for the long haul. He thought of Hermione, and how things had gone to hell last year. Then he thought of Hermione, and how he wanted things to be in the future. He took a deep breath.

He turned the page.

_Hermione was all at once baffled, amused, and flattered. Things made sense now; the slyboots had never told her that he had read up on this! How had the twins even thought to do this? On the other hand, that made a sort of sense, too. While they loved Ron, it was hard for them to demonstrate it in a serious manner. As much as they might want to help him, sitting down and talking it out might have been beyond their depth. It was much easier to select a book that said all of the things they wanted to say, but couldn't. It also gave Ron privacy to think these things through on his own. This way, they could make sure he got the advice he needed, and they could tease him about it later without running the risk of him deciding not to listen to them._

_Just look at him, pouring over it with far more enthusiasm than he had ever shown for his textbooks at school. It was adorable, really; he was so earnest about doing better than he had last year. He was finally making an active effort to learn what was needed for a relationship with her, and the effort he was putting into it showed her how much he had grown in the past months. She remembered how attentive to her he had been that summer; instead of trying to make himself look good to her, he had considered her needs first. And she had needed a lot, at the time..._

Ron checked over his room one more time, knowing he wouldn't get a chance tomorrow, with everything his mum wanted him to do before Hermione got there. She should show up sometime in the afternoon, and he wanted to make the most of the short time they would have before they had to get Harry. He was careful to put The Book out of sight, but where he could grab it in a pinch if he got stuck. He was nervous, but eager to test out all of the things he had learned so far. Some of them were so simple, that he felt a complete pillock for not figuring them out sooner. Some things sounded so easy, that he wasn't sure they could actually work. But The Book had assured him that 'in the unfortunate event of the witch declining your attentions, she will still respect and admire you as a friend, unless you disregard these instructions like a total twat.'

He had every intention of following The Book to the letter.

Just as he was wondering what his odds were of sneaking down to snag a few biscuits without getting caught, he heard the faint pop of someone Apparating outside. He grabbed his wand and darted to the window, ready to yell for his dad, depending on who it was. He squinted a little. Surely that couldn't be-but it was. Hermione stood out in his yard, staring at the house as if she was unsure whether she should come in. A million questions formed in his mind, but he wouldn't find anything out by standing there. He dropped his wand on his desk, and opened the window, wincing at the shrill squeak it made. Hermione looked up at the sound, and he motioned for her to come up; something told him that whatever was going on, it was best if his parents didn't know what it was.

She disappeared, and his head hit the window sill as he turned around to face where she suddenly landed in his room. He rubbed the back of his head, ruefully thinking that this wasn't how he pictured meeting her. With one good look at her face, he knew something was wrong.

"Hermione? I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow. Do your parents know you left?"

Her face, which had been pale, crumpled. Tears welled up, although she tried to hold them back.

""No, They don't. They don't even know that I was _born."_

She gave a hiccupy sob on the last word, and fell onto the edge of his bed, as if her legs would no longer hold her up. Ron was still lost; What did she mean, they didn't know she was born? They had _been_ there for it!

Carefully, he sat next to her. "Um, I think you're going to have to explain that one."

She looked up from the small beaded bag in her lap, a look of distress written across her face. "I don't have any parents anymore, don't you understand? I had to take care of them. You can see that this was the only way, can't you?"

Well, no. The way she was going on, it sounded like a murder confession on one of those dramas his mum listened to on the wireless sometimes.

"What do you mean, you don't have parents anymore? They're alive, aren't they?" Might as well clear that up; of course, once he said it, he was hit with the horrible realization that something might have actually happened to them, and she was still in shock.

Hermione rocked herself a little, her eyes distant and unfocused. "They're gone. I erased them. Everything they had made for themselves; everything that made them who they were. _I took it away."_

Wondering if he shouldn't call for his parents after all, he took her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake, until she looked at him. "Hermione! Tell me what exactly happened. Do we need to send someone over to help them?"

In short, halting sentences, her story came out; how she had taken steps to alter their memories and send them out of the country, away from any Death Eaters that might come looking for her. They would be gone in the morning, with a fake For Sale sign appearing in the yard once they had left. Hermione had arranged for their practice to be closed, and set up a series of letters that would appear from time to time in the post to their friends. She talked of long nights arguing with herself, trying to find another way to keep them safe; how she knew that if she explained, they would do everything they could to keep her from going. And, the darkest part of all, was the fact that she hadn't erased herself from their lives merely to keep them safe. It was so if she didn't come back, they could live out the rest of their lives happily, never knowing their daughter was dead.

Ron blanched at that thought, and wanted to tell her that of course she was going to make it; none of them were going to die. But Dumbledore was too fresh in his mind for that kind of lie, and she wouldn't have believed him anyway. She stopped speaking, and Ron didn't know of anything he could say that would make her feel better. He wracked his brains for something from The Book that might help, and all he could come up with was touching her. Comfort had been covered briefly, and it had already worked once at the funeral. Moving slowly, so he didn't upset her and she could pull back if she wanted to, he placed his arm around her shoulder, letting out the breath he had been holding when she leaned into him. One of her arms wrapped around his waist, while her other hand gripped a fistful of t-shirt over his chest.

"What if I messed up? What if I can't reverse the spell?" Hermione asked in a small voice.

Why was she asking him? If she couldn't do it, then there was _no way_ he was going to try a fiddly spell that messed with people's minds. This was probably one of those times where he was supposed to say something supportive, right?

'Be supportive when your witch has a problem. She doesn't necessarily want you to fix them for her; odds are that she already has, or will figure out a way to solve things on her own. Unless she verbally asks for help, or gives a strong impression that she is stressed at the thought of doing something on her own, start off with an affirmation of her abilities. Not only will it boost her confidence in herself (which everyone needs at one point or another), but it will let her know that you have faith in her, as well.'

Let's see if The Book knew what it was talking about.

"You, mess up? C'mon, Hermione; I don't think you've ever botched a spell in all the time I've known you."

"You're forgetting the Polyjuice Potion, then. That was a disaster!"

"That was a potion, not a spell. And the only thing that went wrong there was using the wrong ingredient. I know you. I'd bet anything that you researched that spell you used for months, until you knew it inside and out, and whatever the person had for breakfast the morning they invented it."

That earned him a snort, but there was a flicker of pleasure behind the worry in her eyes, which he took as a good sign.

"Well. Yes. But there's always a chance that something will go wrong." The panic began to return to her voice. "What if there's a side effect? What if they have some sort of reaction to it? What if-"

"Then we'll take them to St. Mungo's, and have them sort it. They deal with that kind of thing all the time, and since I know you'll be able to tell them exactly what you did, it shouldn't be a problem."

He hoped so. He _thought_ so. After all, they had made progress with Lockhart, and that wasn't easy when the cause was a broken wand. His dad had told them that there was always a better chance if you could tell them what you had done to yourself in as much detail as possible, and he knew that wouldn't be a problem for Hermione.

She fell silent, but it felt like there was something else on her mind. Hermione could be a worrier, but she was usually more confident in her abilities. So he waited, feeling like a ninny as he stroked her hair, hoping it was helping somehow and he wasn't being a useless lump.

"What if they hate me?"

She spoke so softly that he almost didn't catch it, but once he heard, he knew that this was what she was worried about the most. He had to take his time answering this one. It wasn't like he knew her parents very well, so he didn't know _how_ they were going to react. He tried to imagine doing the same thing to his parents, but no matter how he pictured it, it always ended with his mum murdering him. After yelling at him for a few days straight. In a way, he couldn't really blame them for being upset; he wouldn't want someone messing about in his head without his permission, even if it _was_ for his own good. And Hermione had to get her temper from somewhere, so at least one of them was going to get shirty about things.

"Not gonna lie; they'll probably be pissed off. But better alive and pissed off, than happy and...you know. It might even take them a long time to wrap their heads around it. The point is, you'll have the time to fix it. Maybe what you did was right, or maybe it was wrong. But you did what you thought was best, and the only thing you can do now is deal with whatever happens, when it happens."

"I know. I just...I don't know what's going to happen, or how to deal with it, and I'm scared."

He pushed down a strand of hair that seemed bound and determined to work its way into his nostril.

"I'll help. Just figure out what you want to do, and I'll be there to...whatever it is you need. You won't have to do whatever it is alone."

Her body relaxed against him, and he hoped that meant he had said the right thing. He meant it. Even if the only thing he could do was what he was doing now, he'd do it.

"Thanks, Ron. I think I needed to hear that."

_And she had. She hadn't realized how alone she would feel once she had gone through with it; With one act, she had erased a source of love and support that she had always somehow taken for granted. While she believed that what she had done was best, it was impossible not to have doubts and worries; she had needed someone who would stand by her, whatever decision she made. Ron hadn't been flowery or long-winded. There hadn't been any stunning declarations. And that was what had reassured her the most. He had been simple, straightforward, and sincere. She could tell that he might have made a different choice, had he been in her place, but he hadn't thrown that in her face. And even though it wasn't how he had pictured things going, he had done his best to make the most of the rest of her visit._

Ron combed his hair before going back downstairs to join everyone else; he had been working outside, and the wind had blown his hair into clumps of tangles and snarls in the shape of horns, and he hoped Hermione hadn't seen him before he had snuck up to fix it. She had been spending a lot of time with Ginny, and while he would have liked to be alone with her more often, he had seen that it had been good for both of them. Ginny was talking more, and Hermione was getting to the point where she could go several hours without that tiny, worried frown creeping back onto her face. She didn't like to talk about it much, but when she did, he made sure to listen, even though he didn't understand some of the things she mentioned when she reminisced about her childhood.

It was easier when they were talking about Harry. Ron knew where he stood there; in deep shite, with everyone else. They both agreed that Harry was going to explode when he heard the plan, and they might have to bind and gag him to get to go along with it. Ron wasn't wild about the whole idea himself, but it made sense. He had also been busy with the ghoul; Hermione had done what she could for her family, and he had to do what he could for his. At least they knew what was going on, and could use magic. Hermione's parents wouldn't have stood a chance, and everyone was already stretched too thin to put a guard on them. A guard might've just drawn more attention, anyway. But he thought his idea was a good one. Someone was sure to say something when the three of them didn't show for school, and he would be the easiest one to check up on. No one would think twice to hear that Hermione had gone into hiding with her family, since a lot of Muggleborns were doing that. But it would be pretty suspicious if he was gone too. They might twig to it after awhile, but it should at least buy them some time. It had been easy to get the twins to help, and even his dad had understood, although he had looked sad, for reasons Ron couldn't figure. But it was agreed that Mum not be told anything. She probably knew anyway; she always did.

And as a bonus, Hermione had thought he had been clever; she'd made rather a fuss about it, which was something he could get used to. He was also determined to use what he had learned in the last couple of weeks, and he took a deep breath before plunging into the next room. He was about to attempt the section on compliments.

'Is your witch beautiful? Smart? Creative? If she is exceptional in any way (and they all are, at something or another) then she's probably heard it all before. A witch _knows_ that she is intelligent, or gorgeous; telling her what she hears from everyone isn't going to make you stand out. All it tells her is that you have sufficient brain function to observe the obvious. Think of something that she might not have heard before. This doesn't mean that you should ignore her strengths, especially if she does something in particular that she is pleased with herself. Just try to find something original, so she sees that you pay attention to every aspect of her. **It is very important that you do not lie. She will find out, sooner or later, and you will (rightfully so) lose her respect. If you do not believe that her eyes are two limpid lagoons that you want to swim through endlessly, don't tell her they are. She would much rather hear your sincere admiration of something as mundane as her frog pickling skills, rather than empty flattery. Please keep in mind that compliments do not entitle you to any special recognition or privilege. You cannot emotionally buy her affection. If you are speaking for your personal gain, simply keep your mouth shut.'**

He had been on the right track, to a certain extent. He'd never made a secret of the fact that he thought she was brilliant. The trouble was, even people that didn't _like_ her thought she was brilliant. But he didn't think he'd ever told her that he thought she was more than that. And, after only hearing Lavender going on and on about him being a keeper, he knew that wasn't a good thing. When someone only ever talked about one thing, it made you nervous that that was all you were good for. Sure, he'd want to hear a cheer if he made an especially good save or something, but he'd also like a bit of recognition when he did well on a test, or if he was wearing something that made him look a little less tatty than usual.

Hermione and Ginny could be heard from the hallway, both of them talking in the sitting room. He glanced towards the kitchen, but Mum sounded like she had her hands full with Fleur, so he thought he had a few minutes before she nagged him away to another part of the house. He walked as quietly as he could, finding the two girls sitting on the sofa, with a large box between them. Cloths of different colors spilled out of the box and onto their laps, where they were being folded. Hermione was holding something dark green, with goldish stitches. This would be easier if Ginny would scram, but his chances were limited enough already.

"That's a good color for you; it goes real nice with your eyes."

Both girls blinked at him, looking rather confused, although Hermione's cheeks definitely flushed.

"Why, um, Thank you, Ron. But-"

"She'll look stunning, won't she? After all, it _is_ the latest in this season's tablecloths. I think we have some napkin rings that will set it off beautifully," Ginny teased, with an amused grin.

Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit, _shit._ He wanted to melt through the floor; his face was hot enough that he thought he might actually have a chance. But that would be too easy, wouldn't it? Slowly, he began to back towards the door, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug.

"I think...uh, Mum was calling me. See you later," his voice squeaked unnaturally, as he tried to act as if he hadn't told Hermione that she'd make a very nice table. He flopped against the wall right outside, closing his eyes.

"Ginny, you didn't have to say that!" He heard Hermione whisper.

"I know, and I'm sorry. It's just...he was so serious, and I kept picturing you actually wearing the thing, and...it was the first time that something has struck me as funny since...coming home. Besides, it was better that I was the one to say something; what were you going to tell him? 'Thanks, you can spread me out on the table and eat off my place mat anytime?'"

"Ginny!" Hermione shrieked.

Ron nearly choked at the thought; he was glad he'd made his escape before Ginny trotted that line out. (He also made a mental note to revisit that idea later.)

"Seriously, Hermione. Anything you said would have made him feel stupid. This way, he can blame it on his bratty little sister, and move on. Trust me; it was the only way to keep it from being awkward. On the bright side, he's finally putting the moves on you!"

"He is not! He was just being friendly!"

"Really? Strange; I've never heard him tell Harry how fetching he'd look in a tea towel." Ginny countered dryly. "Although at least then, I'd at least have the comfort of it being kept in the family, so to speak."

"Oh Ginny, I'm so-"

"Never mind. I'm just glad to see Ron finally thinking straight; it would've been a shame if he got too embarrassed over this to try again. This way, he'll be too irritated with me to worry."

"I still think you're wrong about him, but it was rather sweet."

"Nope; I know that look. I've seen him get all soppy over you before, but this time, he's _determined._ He has the expression of a man who isn't going to dick around anymore."

"You really think so?"

Was that a note of _hopefulness_ he detected in her voice?

"Ron! I need you in here, _now!"_

He jumped at the volume of his mum's yell, mentally cursing her timing. He shuffled away from the door, hoping he hadn't been caught. His irritation with Ginny had pretty much evaporated by this point; in fact, he was feeling quite kindly towards her. She really had been gloomy recently, and in an odd way, it was good that she felt well enough to take the mickey. She had also been right when she told Hermione that he would have felt worse if she had said something; he would have replayed it over and over in his mind, and he'd likely freeze up every time he tried to compliment her again. Although, now that he thought about it, he had done much more embarrassing things in front of Hermione. Things that probably hadn't amounted to anything in the end, but that he had let get in his way. He might make himself scarce until dinner to regroup, but this time, he wasn't going to put things off. She hadn't sounded disgusted at the idea of him being interested; he would just try again, and hope for better results.

He just wouldn't do it around his mum's table linens.

_To his credit, he had; his face had been beet red the next time, but he had complimented her on how she had arranged some decorations. Each time, he was a little less awkward, and the attention distracted her from her troubles, and made her feel special. The book had been spot on; while it was nice to hear when he thought she had done something clever, she enjoyed being complimented on other things as well. Things that might not benefit him in the least, but that he took the time to notice about her. If it had been a normal summer, there was a good chance that things would have finally come to a head at the wedding; Ron was nervous, but he had built up enough confidence to risk a chance, and was hoping to feel her out on the subject._

_But before that happened, they had had to get through the night they brought Harry to the Burrow, which had been a dark spot in what was supposed to be their final weeks of peace._

It was a little darker outside each time he checked, the sun slowly sinking in the sky, as the stars became more visible overhead. Ron rocked back and forth on his heels, wanting go, wanting to _get this over with._ He wanted to leave, snatch Harry, and get back to the Burrow, where he knew they would be safe. If only so much of the plan didn't have them out in the _open!_ He couldn't see any way around it, but it still made him jumpy, knowing how exposed they would be. Harry had a one in seven chance of being taken; that was bad enough, but Ron was also worried since the other six groups included three of his brothers, his future sister-in-law, his father, and Hermione. Oh. And himself, but he was more worried about the rest. Years of experience had taught him that he always felt worse when something happened to his friends or family, rather than him. Just thinking that made him feel like a complete poof, but there you go.

Wasn't it time to go _yet?_ Ginny kept giving him a hard look, irritated that she hadn't gotten to go as well; he was doing his best to avoid her. Her, and Mum. _She_ looked like she was going to forbid him at any minute, but she kept getting distracted. Not that he'd listen to her, but he guessed it must be hard on her, since she was sending of a husband and four kids into who knows what. Sometimes he forgot just how hard the first war had been on her, but it was obvious on nights like this, when the worry lines on her face looked as if they'd been carved there with a knife. Even Fred and George were more subdued than usual, although you had to look close to tell. He didn't think they realized it, but they always stood a little closer together when they were nervous. Sounded like a pretty good idea, actually; he drifted over to Hermione, keeping her in between him and Ginny.

Hermione's jaw was set. He knew she wished they had been able to come up with a safer plan. So had he. With so many people involved, it increased the chance that something would go wrong. Wistfully, he thought of the days when it had been as simple as sneaking out in the car, and busting Harry out of his house that way. It was almost tempting enough to risk it now. Almost. Except he had a prickly feeling that something was going to happen. He shook his head; if he didn't watch it, he'd end up like Trelawney, talking to himself and tippling in closets.

Finally! They could leave now, which meant it would all be over soon. He walked outside with Hermione, noticing that she slowed down as the brooms came into sight. Of course, she wouldn't be riding on one herself; she was going with Kingsley, on a thestral. She'd be safe with him, Ron knew. Kingsley had a lot of experience, and he was good in an emergency. Tonks, on the other hand...he hadn't heard much about her, but if she was anything like she was on the ground, he'd just as soon as it was him going with her.

It must've been a mistake to say so to Hermione though; she sounded as if she took it as a personal insult. He hadn't meant anything by it, really. Tonks had to be pretty good, just to get in the Aurors in the first place. And Mad Eye never would have picked her if she couldn't handle it. He just...he used dark humor when he was nervous, and it came out sounding harsher than he wanted. Terrific; no one knew _what_ was going to happen tonight, and he had to go and bollocks things up.

He lightened up when she called out to him, thinking maybe he hadn't mess up too bad; then he heard what Lupin said, and he was ready to beg Tonks to fly over the Channel anyway, so he could fling himself in. Was Lupin mental? For one thing, he didn't want Hermione getting the idea that he was looking at anyone else. He'd already ridden that hippogriff, and it wasn't a mistake he wanted to repeat again. Not when things had been going so well. Besides, Tonks? Sure, she was fit, and good for a laugh, but she was more of a mate than anything else. She was also closer to Bill's age, and there was also the small matter of her being gone on Lupin. He'd be keeping his hands to himself, thanks very much.

"Wotcher, Ron! You ready for this?" Tonks asked cheerfully, finally settling on the broom.

He gave one last look back at Hermione, who was crossing the yard to join Kingsley.

"Yeah. Do you want me to just...erm..."

He wasn't really sure how to mount behind her. With his legs, he might accidentally kick her if he went one way, and he ran the risk of grabbing something he shouldn't if he tried the other.

"Just grab my shoulders and sling your leg over," she instructed.

"Ah, okay."

"I realize I'm not the one you want to hear that from, but I'm afraid you'll have to touch me a little, since we're riding double."

Brilliant. Everyone was a comedian tonight.

"I just want to make sure I'm on right, is all!" He said defensively.

Tonks chuckled. "Have a little faith. I'm not going to drop you on your head. That _is_ why you shifted things around so Hermione ended up with Kingsley, right?"

Crap, how did she know?

"I-I didn't-"

"You did; it was rather sweet of you. Which is good, otherwise I'd feel insulted. Guess I'll just have to show off my skills a bit, won't I?"

Before he could protest, she shot into the air, leaving him no choice but to grab hold of her. Had he been in control, it would've been exhilarating. As it was, he wished his parting words to Hermione had been something more fitting for her to remember him by.

_Well, that was news! Ron had been all fidgety during the arrangements; he hadn't wanted to go with his dad, or Mad Eye, or Lupin; she thought he had finally said yes to Tonks to keep people from strangling him. Hermione wouldn't have lasted two minutes on a broom with Tonks. she preferred a more...sedate ride. She had felt bad about asking to partner up with someone who wouldn't jostle around too much, so she hadn't said anything; Ron knew her, though, and had quietly done what little he could for her to have the safest ride possible._

_This was also one of those memories that was painfully bittersweet. Watching Tonks, so mischievous and full of life, and knowing that she was going to be dead within the year...and so were three more in that group. Mad Eye wouldn't last out the night. The closer they came to those final moments, the more Hermione didn't know if she could bear it all over again._

_She observed them all as they drank the potion, watching how they interacted with each other. Ron was pleased that things had gone smoothly so far, and that Harry hadn't put up much of a fight. But he was still on edge, even if he was amused by the different 'versions' of Harry. He counted everyone as they mounted back up, his eyes lingering on her and Harry the longest. Harry was the target, of course, but there was always a chance..._

_And his instinct hadn't been too far off._

Ron locked his legs around the broom in a deathgrip, one arm braced around Tonks to keep himself upright, and his wand in his other hand, tracking anything that moved too close. With everything moving so fast, it was hard to tell what he was aiming at sometimes, and he was worried that one of his shots would go wild, and hit one of his friends. Tonks was cursing, both in the literal and figurative sense, and it wasn't long before he realized he was doing the same.

A Death Eater loomed up on their blindside; Tonks was dealing with another one, and trying to fly. She'd never manage both of them at the same time. Without thinking, he hurled a curse, watching numbly as the Death Eater fell like a rock. Ron swallowed hard. He...he thought he might have killed them. He wasn't sorry, really. Well, he was sorry that he _had_ to, but not sorry that he _did._ His dad had warned him plenty of times that it would be different up close. When you could see their eyes...

Those eyes hadn't wished him well.

If he hadn't acted, he and Tonks would be dead. He didn't know if the bastard hadn't already killed one of their group.

"Good work, Ron! Looks like you might be an Auror yet!" Tonks praised enthusiastically.

It distracted him enough from what had happened. It had been pretty good, hadn't it? In a way, it was sort of a relief. He had been worrying lately about how it was going to go with just the three of them, and he hadn't wanted to be the one to slow them down. But tonight showed him that he could hold his own. He was going to be able to _contribute_ something, and that went a ways to ease the anxious feeling that kept choking him.

_He had done amazingly well; he was only seventeen, and had never had any training in aerial dueling. he had been frightened (rightfully and understandably so), but he had kept his head, and pulled together things he had learned in the D.A. and Quidditch. She was glad that it had helped his confidence, but why had it seemed to upset him when she had mentioned it?_

There wasn't time for him to think about it too much, though. They had been separated from everyone else, and they didn't have any idea what had happened to the others. They had been blown farther off course, so it was going to take them even longer to make it back to the Burrow. Was everyone alright? Had they gotten away? He thought he saw the bike get away, but he wasn't sure; what about Hermione? Had she been able to hang on? She didn't have a lot of experience riding, and if things had gotten too rough-"

"Ron? Ron! You can stop holding on so hard, you know?"

"What? Oh. Sorry," he muttered, not really paying attention. His dad, his brothers, and his friends were still out there somewhere; couldn't they go any faster? Hell, the should just Apparate! But if something had gone wrong (more than it already had) and the wards were extended, they'd end up getting fried themselves.

_Why had she never thought about how much harder that night naturally would have been for Ron? He was related to four, nearly five of them, and then his best friends added to that. While she cared for everyone involved, Ron had closer bonds to most of them. Mad Eye had been the one to die, but it just as easily could have been any of the others; Ron could have lost his father, or a brother. He could have lost them all. And he knew it. Feared it, even. But he had pushed that fear to the side to do what needed to be done, just as ready as they were to pay the price himself, if he had to. And even though he was worried about them, now that he had time, he was just as worried for her. She knew he didn't mean anything disparaging about it. She really did have very little flying experience, and that wasn't the sort of thing one could become good at simply by reading a book. She would have been alright if it had been a straightforward flight, but once it became a battle, falling to her death had been a very real possibility. It wasn't a reflection on her; it was just a fact that no one can be proficient in all areas._

Ron kept his eyes trained on the sky ahead of them, straining to catch a glimpse of the Burrow. He saw the very peak of the roof first, rising out of the trees; straining, as they got closer, he could make out figures on the ground below. There was Harry! At least, it looked like Harry. It could technically be any one of several people. But it moved like Harry, and Hermione was _hugging_ him like she did Harry, so it was a safe bet. He pushed away a small pang at the sight. Of course she'd be hugging him. He could've died. That's what she had done every time he had pulled through something like that. It was natural...but it still hurt a little, and he hated himself for that.

When they set down, he realized he was a little dizzy; the ground seemed to move under his feet. But he hadn't time to take two steps before someone lunged at him. All he saw was a flash of brown hair, and suddenly, she was in his arms, tears pattering down the front of his shirt. Merlin, it was nice to hold her! She was warm and alive, and holding onto him like she didn't mean to let go. Fine with him; he could live with that. Tonks bragged on him, and while he didn't think it had been _that_ big of a deal, he had hoped that Hermione would be impressed.

A few simple words disabused him of that notion, and the small bit of happiness he had been feeling was sucked right out of him. Did she have to sound so surprised? Did she think he was such a numpty that he couldn't even handle one Death Eater? Fuck! It just...he was...why was he never _enough?_ He pushed her away. He didn't need _pity,_ or anything like that. She'd probably been checking for wounds, in case he was stupid enough to let himself bleed out. Fine. He'd gone in, and try to catch up on what happened. Harry was safe; it didn't matter that Hermione thought he was as useless as a rock tied to a broom. It didn't matter at all.

Except it did.

_Hermione released a choked gasp. How could he-that's not what she had said! Well, it was, but not with that inflection! Fighting off a Death Eater in mid-air was something quite advanced; she would have felt the same about anyone who wasn't an Auror doing the same. He was just seventeen, for Merlin's sake! She hadn't been surprised that he_ could _do it. She had been in awe. How could he not have seen that she felt nothing but admiration, and relief that he was safe? Was he ever going to reach a point where he didn't take everything she said in a negative light? She knew she needed to work on how she expressed herself, but he shouldn't be so quick to think the worst. She wanted to be able to get excited about his achievements without him thinking that she was belittling him. Is this what he thought she was thinking every time she talked about his progress in training? If it was, it was no wonder that he got touchy sometimes. It was another thing they should discuss._

_Although he had been upset, it hadn't put him off of his goal. He had counted down the days to the wedding, hoping that here, at last, he might be able to get things going in the right direction._

Chaos. That was the only way to describe how the day was going. People running up and down the stairs, shouting back and forth, moving something over here, and forgetting something over there...Ron longed for just five minutes of peace and quiet, but he knew he wasn't going to get it. He hadn't seen Hermione since breakfast, although he thought he had heard her voice once or twice. He was still trying to get used to Harry's new look; he was going to have to keep an eye on him, or else he'd never find him once he got mixed up with the rest of the family.

He shifted restlessly, his new dress robes feeling still and constricting. He had combed his hair so hard that he was afraid he had drawn blood, and he had nicked some of Bill's aftershave. He hoped it was worth it; he knew he didn't have much to work with, but maybe Hermione would notice, anyway. Guests were filing in, and he smiled and nodded to a few, and hid behind conveniently placed potted trees when he saw others coming. The Weasley side of the family alone was huge, with a wide range of personalities. He had known most of them as long as he could remember, and while he got on with most of them, there were a few he wouldn't mind pushing into the pond.

It was just as he was wondering how badly his mum would kill him if he ducked out till the wedding started, when he saw her. Whatever Harry was saying faded into the background, as all of his attention became focused on the witch coming towards him. She was wearing some sort of purple, floaty dress, and her hair was put halfway up. Her lips had a coat of pinkish lipstick, and there was something on her eyes that made them look darker. She wasn't wearing blush, but her cheeks were the colors they always turned when she was excited or irritated about something, a look her was always in favor of achieving when they argued. It was the same feeling he had at the Yule Ball; he prayed he wasn't going to mess up this time. He opened his mouth to say something witty or charming.

And promptly mucked it up, as per usual. Hermione didn't seem at all upset, but he could have kicked himself. What good had it done him to memorize The Book, if he was going to turn around and do exactly what it said not to?

'When complimenting a witch's appearance, sincerity is key, above all. Secondly, do not become crass; a witch that you are not on intimate terms with does not wish to know the affect she is having on the contents of your trousers. (And even once you have progressed to that level of a relationship, that comment still would not be appreciated in public. Save that for chapter nine.) Once you have navigated thus far, avoid the slip that so many wizards make; _**do not sound surprised.**_ This implies that you did not believe she could look attractive, and that you do not find her so on a regular basis. _**Remember that she is always beautiful, she is merely presenting it in a different way.**_ '

Forget sounding smooth. Instead, he had gasped like a landed fish. Top class, right there. He was happy for the interruption of Fred and George, so he could get himself together. At least he hadn't called her ankles skinny. She had nice ankles. He had plans for those ankles. He was just reminding himself that it was best not to entertain those particular thoughts at this moment in time, when his carefully constructed day threatened to blow up right in his face. Who the hell had invited the Bulgarian Baboon? Didn't they know that there were five hundred or so Weasleys and other relations to feed? This ape looked as if he'd go for thirds without pausing to digest. Obviously, he should've taken more of an interest in the guest list.

Could the timing be any worse? Was it some kind of omen? Had he jinxed things by thinking of the Yule Ball? Just when he thought he had a chance, here came Mr. Bigshot Quidditch Hero, to show him up. He had known it would be an uphill battle to get noticed in the first place, but dealing with this kind of comparison...

No. No, he had come to far to give up now; he just had to choke back on his temper, and try to stay away from Krum. Without him there as a reminder, he could focus on Hermione. This wasn't going to be a repeat of the Ball. _It wasn't._ Damnit, he wished he had asked her to come with him, but you didn't ask someone to come to a wedding, did you? Surely not one when they were already staying at your house. This went beyond what The Book had covered, and he was having to wing it.

_Viktor had been the last person she had expected to see at the wedding. The poor timing hadn't escaped her, either. He always rubbed Ron the wrong way, and she had been afraid he would go into a sulk and ignore her like he did in fourth year. This time, his insecurities made much more sense. Not only was he certain of Viktor's interest in her, but the Seeker represented everything Ron thought he was not; in his mind, the differences between them were so glaringly obvious, that he had been afraid his efforts would be overshadowed. It spoke a lot of his growth that, while he was still visibly upset, he hadn't taken it out on her. In fact, he had made a concentrated effort to be pleasant, which was a far cry from how he had acted when they were younger._

Harry! Harry, you marvellous, fantastical man! A statue should be erected in your honor! Ron's step was lighter as Harry steered Krum away, hopefully parking him in some dark, out of the way corner. He stepped up to shuttle around a few relatives himself, looking suitably busy to make Mum happy. The twins, who had been sweet-talking a gaggle of Veelas, joined him, the three of them stepping to the side of the tent so they wouldn't be called on to do anything. Casually, they blocked the path back, grinning at him expectantly. Unsure what they wanted, he decided it was best to play it safe, and keep quiet. He had spilled valuable information too many times in the past.

"Well?" George finally asked, breaking the silence, "Give us a progress report!"

"On what?"

They gave him pitying looks.

"On Hermione, of course! We want to know how our investment is doing!" Fred explained.

"Stop making it sound like it's one of your dodgy business ventures," Ron grumbled, hoping to distract them.

"Business? This is beyond business. This is _family!_ We spent good Galleons; we have a stake on how this turns out."

"Yeah, what's your strategy on the dark hippogriff that's just flown up to the gate? Do you need us to slip him something to knock him out for a bit?"

Tempting. Teeeeeeeempting, but no. Even if he managed to talk himself into letting them do it, he knew Hermione would find out later. He wanted this day to be as fuck up free as possible, so that meant he had to be the mature one here. Even if he didn't want to be.

"Harry's taken him off somewhere, so don't bother. Why are you so willing to help? Did you make some kind of a bet or something? Hope it wasn't too much."

Fred patted him on the shoulder. "We only make sure bets, so our money is secure. Have a little more faith, Ronniekins."

"Have a little faith, but get moving," George added, " you've had all summer, so what's holding you up?"

"I've been working my way up to it!"

No need to get all defensive! Just get in there, before someone else does; that was your problem before."

"Yeah. In fact, if you don't make a move before the summer's up, Either me or George will ask the lovely Miss Granger out! How's that for incentive?"

"You wouldn't!"

Would they? No. Of course not. Then again, Fred just _did_ call her lovely...

"Oh no? Then just keep waiting around with your thumb up your arse, and find out!"

Music began to play from inside the tent, alerting them to the fact that they better get in place, before their mum caught on.

"What makes you think I even have a chance, anyway?" He mumbled, wondering why they were making such a big deal out of things.

The twins shared an exasperated look.

"Remember how you were always mooning over her while we stayed in Grimmauld Place? How you'd keep staring at her, but kept hiding it so she wouldn't see you looking?" George asked.

How could he forget? That summer had been brilliant and agonizing all at once.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"You were so busy hiding that you missed _her_ looking back the same way," Fred tossed over his shoulder. "Hop to it; the suspense is killing us!"

Ron let them go; he knew he should get moving, but he couldn't stop those words from repeating in his head. Had she really? It was hard to believe. He knew they wouldn't joke about something that serious, but that still didn't mean they were right. There were lots of reasons she might have been looking at him, none of them remotely having anything to do with fancying him. But...what if they _were_ right? If he said something today, was there a chance that they could move forward? Not if he was murdered for not showing up for his own brother's wedding. He darted into the tent, happily finding that all of the attention was focused elsewhere. He joined Harry and Hermione, restrained a growl at the sight of Krum, and waited for the ceremony to begin.

_The twins could be meddlesome, yet surprisingly helpful at the same time. The idea that either of them would have asked her out if Ron hadn't was laughable; even Ron was pretty sure of that. But they must have sensed that he needed a little push, and it wouldn't have been Fred and George if they had gone about it with one hundred percent seriousness._

His oldest brother was married, and it was weird. Beyond weird. It hadn't really hit him, until they had started back down the aisle. Ron still remembered him going off to Hogwarts every year, and the fights he'd get into with Charlie over the summer, over stupid things, like whose turn it was to degnome the garden. It was hard to picture him as the same person that now had a _wife,_ someone that might even end up with _kids_ in a few years. It felt even weirder to think that someday, it might be him standing up there. He looked at Hermione out of the corner of his eye, and snorted. Obviously, he was getting a little ahead of himself.

The floor started to move, and Ron quickly stepped back, out of the way of the couples making their way to dance. Dance. His palms were practically dripping just thinking about it, and he wiped them on his robes, wishing they were as dry as his throat had suddenly become. Wait, they were going to get a table first. Good. That was good. He could remember how to breath again, and then he might work his way up to forming words. He wanted to be casual, but not _too_ casual. He wanted to look interested, but not like a slimy git. He wanted-he wanted to punch something. He had thought that the table with Luna would be safe! Luna was great, but most people tended to avoid her; he had figured that would insure an interesting conversation to take his mind off things, as well as keeping anyone else from joining them. But his luck held true to form, and the one person he didn't want to find them homed in a Hermione like a determined owl with the post. Damn! He was going to ask her to dance. He just _knew_ it. She would say yes, and he would end up sitting at this fucking table for the rest of the night. He was going to vomit.

No! No, damnit! He wasn't going to let this happen again; Fred and George were right, and he needed to _do_ something! Abruptly, he stood up, the chair screeching against the floor. He took a deep breath, and blurted out the first thing that popped into his head that didn't contain an insult to Krum. Dancing. That was the main point to get across. Dancing with him. Oh. Oh, _that_ was brilliant; so much for smooth. But wait. She was standing up, and she looked...happy? She was coming with him. She was going to dance. With him. Krum was still sitting down.

_Hermione was feeling queasy right along with him. He had been so afraid; afraid he was too late. Afraid he wasn't good enough. A few years (months, really) ago, he wouldn't have tried. He would have given up, and acted like a prat. For Ron, that had been a very big step. And she didn't care if it wasn't as polished as he had hoped. Ron had never actually asked a girl out. He had never been the one to make any definitive move. This was putting things out there where it was clearly meant to be non platonic. She had been too afraid to misinterpret it to be sure, but there it was. He had put himself out there without even being fully confident, and that took courage._

They moved through the crowd of people that hadn't decided if they were going to dance, or sit down; loud voices competed with the music from the band. It was then that Ron realized that he didn't know what the hell he was doing. He had danced before, but never to this sort of music. During all the times he had fantasized about it, he had never actually visualized what his feet were doing. He had just sort of...floated. And he _was_ floating, just having Hermione walking beside him, holding onto his arm. But he was going to be crashing down pretty quick, if he didn't figure something out. Should he fake an injury of some kind? No, he had waited to long for this, and he might never get another chance. Besides, it didn't look _too_ hard. Now all he had to do was keep from breaking every bone in her feet while he sorted it out. He decided that the least he could do was give her a way to change her mind; he didn't want to embarrass her out there. If he didn't know better though, he'd think she was actually...excited to dance with him.

He put his hands on her hips, in what he desperately hoped were safe zones. She didn't slap him, so he considered it a success. He tried to do what he saw the other dancers doing out of the corner of his eye, and was relieved when Hermione didn't say anything, but gently pressed him in the right direction. Alright, maybe he could do this without causing the tent to collapse around him. Ginny danced by with Lee, which surprised him at first, until Hermione mentioned it. But it wasn't like Ginny to sit around and mope. Lee wasn't going to be chatting her up, so she could have a good time without having to constantly fend someone off. He knew better than to think that she was trying to get over Harry. He had seen the way that they had been looking at each other. Well, Harry could look all he wanted, but he damn well better not do anything more than that if he was just going to up and leave her again. And Ginny wouldn't want him to; that didn't mean she wanted to sit around with him while everyone danced. His sister wouldn't be as stupid as he had been, though.

Deciding he'd rather have Hermione thinking about something else, he switched the topic over to them. He had been partly joking, but had nearly tripped when she told him she would have danced with him at the Ball. He had thought that since she had gone with Krum, she would've only danced with him. But honestly, one dance wouldn't have been enough. He knew that now. To hold her like this, and then to have to let her go? He thought that would be even worse than not dancing at all. He must have said _something_ right, because she was looking at him now like he was a section of a library that she had never read. He wanted her to keep looking at him like that.

A few songs later, things started to change; just as he was getting used to this music, it stopped. At first, he thought it was all over, and was disappointed. Then he realized that the band was changing, and smiled. Bill must have used the 'puppy eyes' on Fleur while he was still healing. She had wanted more 'tasteful' music, but Bill had wanted the music they had had growing up, at all of the Weasley weddings and reunions they had been to. _This_ kind of dancing he could do, thanks to innumerable bossy older cousins. Once you were old enough to stagger around, someone was there to yank you around the floor like a life-sized doll.

So of course, now that there was something he was confident about, someone had to come along and ruin it. All he was able to do was get out of the way as Fred and George swept Hermione into the dance, leaving him there alone. He was mad, at first. Then he noticed that Hermione wasn't dancing quite as well as she had before. Did she not know the style? Well, a few turns with them would soon fix that. Maybe a break was a good thing; things had felt pretty intense there, and he assumed it was a few steps before she'd want him to snog her senseless. She definitely wouldn't want him to do it in the middle of the tent. It might remind her too much of the way he'd acted this past year, and he was trying to distance himself from that.

She and George passed by again, and she was laughing at something George must have said. Bill and Fleur passed them in the other direction, and in that moment, Ron was hit with a sort of... _rightness_ about the whole thing. Before she came for the summer, it had been awhile since he had seen her with any of his family besides Ginny. He had forgotten how much he liked seeing them together. In a lot of ways, Hermione was different from most of the members of his family, and then in other ways, they weren't. It went beyond being able to get along together, as he used to think. Hermione...she _fit._ She brought something that was missing before, and made his family more whole somehow. He wondered if maybe Bill hadn't thought the same thing about Fleur, inspite of the clashes between her and mum.

Before his thoughts could get too deep, the three of them came to a stop in front of him, Hermione looking dizzy, but happy. At least it didn't look like either of them had said something he was going to have to murder them for. They danced away together, which always earned a big laugh from people watching; Ron had no doubt that they would use that little gag to cozy up to a pair of the Veelas that had been watching them with appreciation.

Hermione seemed to think he wouldn't want to dance this way, and he couldn't help smiling. He might not be in the same class as some of the others, but he wasn't going to resist showing off his skills; all those hours of being forcibly dragged around by his cousins Maude and Heppy had to pay off _somehow._ When he didn't have to pay so much attention to the steps, he had more time to watch her face; the way she smiled at him and blushed, made him feel very much like he was floating, the way he had always imagined dancing with her would be like.

He hated the parts that called for swapping partners, at least at first. Then he noticed that although it was a wrench to pull away, they seemed to come back together with more force each time; no matter how often they were separated, or how much distance there was between them, the moment when they reconnected seemed almost inevitable, as if nothing could keep them apart for long. During one spin, one of her hands slid from the top of his shoulder to the base of his neck, her fingers scraping through the hair that stuck over his collar. He didn't know why, but something about the feeling almost made him growl, and he found himself clutching her hips tighter than was necessary. There was something seductive about those small touches that occurred during the next few dances, and he hated to stop. But Hermione was looking tired, and his throat was dry; he'd seen people dance until they passed out from not getting enough to drink before, and he didn't want that happening to Hermione. He was feeling on top of the world, and he had finally worked himself up to asking her to go out for a walk. First, he'd let her rest for a bit while he got them some drinks, and then maybe another dance.

A dance she actually sounded like she was looking forward to, he thought as he pushed his way over to the drinks table.

_They had been so close that day. She had felt it every time their eyes met, and had wondered if he had, too. And he had! He was a ball of nervous excitement, filled with joy at each small thing that went right. Everything had fallen into alignment, for the very first time, and while Ron wasn't entirely sure that she felt the same way, things had been going well enough between them that summer that he thought he at least had a slight chance. She was glad to see that he thought she fit well with his family. They had always felt like family to her, even when she wanted to smack one of them (usually the twins or Ginny, and the whole previous two years with Percy). There was also an interesting connection she hadn't made before. Ron's family was very important to him. They were a strong force in his life, and a large contribution to the man he had turned out to be. By accepting and loving his family, she was also accepting that part of himself. And by them accepting her, as well as his feelings for her, they were accepting the part of Ron that was an individual in his own right. They accepted the choices that he made as his own man, the part that relied on his own judgement._

"A drink for courage? I don't think you need it. Contraceptives, maybe, but not courage," Fred snickered, elbowing Ron in the side.

_Hermione sighed. And sometimes, they were just insensitive prats...so much for her deep, meaningful analysis._

"Would you shut up? If Mum here's you, she'll never let me and Hermione out of the tent! Besides, it's not like anything's going to happen," he muttered with a fierce blush.

"Well, no, probably not that much, at a wedding and all. Be a bit tacky," George conceded, "Just make sure you don't leave any visible marks, so Mum doesn't figure out what _does_ happen."

Ron grabbed three bottles of butterbeer. Harry could probably use a drink, too.

"I'm not going to attack her before I've even...you know," he trailed off, alluding to the uncomfortable prospect of talking about his feelings.

"All the more reason to get it off your chest; otherwise, you'll never get to try out chapter twelve."

_Hermione watched sadly as the three of them teased and squabbled for what would be the last time. They wouldn't see each other again until the battle of Hogwarts, and there hadn't been time for more than a few words that night. She gave a tiny sob, and clenched her eyes shut. In a relatively short amount of time, she had watched the three of them grow up together. She had seen, and felt, the genuine love that they shared underneath the petty bickering, and she knew that Fred's death would change them all so much. She wished they had more time. She wanted to call out to tell them to make their their words count, to etch each moment into their memories...but even if she could, it was too late._

Kingsley's voice had barely finished speaking before the screaming began, guests running in every direction. Some prepared to stand and fight; others tried to get away. Ron froze; his family was scattered all over the tent, and he was torn by the desire to protect each of them. George gave him a hard shove, his jaw set as he and Fred moved back to back.

"Go! Find Harry and Hermione, and get out!"

Ron took a step forward, then stopped. "But what about the rest of-"

"We'll be fine, just get out of here!" George cut him off, raising his wand in preparation.

Fred looked over his shoulder, and met Ron's eyes, grinning. "We've got your back, just like we always have. Now, are you going, are do you need a kick in the arse to get you moving?"

Above the crowd, Ron heard a voice scream his name.

He turned from his brothers, and ran.

There were too many people in the tent, and he wasn't even sure if he was going in the right direction. He thought the table had been over this way, but if they had moved...what if they had already left without him? Had he hesitated too long? He hadn't meant to. It was just...Death Eaters were at _the Burrow,_ and-and his family...but that didn't mean he wanted to be left! He had to go, he was _meant_ to go! That's how they had always planned it, and he wasn't going to let them go into danger by themselves! He shoved a large man out of his way, not caring if he was being rude or not. All that mattered now was finding Harry and Hermione. He just had to find them, had to make sure it was the three of them-

There they were! they both looked as lost and as scared as he probably did, but as his hand reached out and grasped Hermione's, he knew that if the three of them managed to stay together, they could make it. _They just had to stay together._

_That was the end of that magical month of normalcy. Even while she was dealing with the horrible guilt over her parents, there had been days when she had been able to push it to the side, and pretend that she was just a regular girl. There had been friendship, laughter, and the first, warm hints of an enduring love. And it was such a good thing that she had those memories, each one carefully preserved to replay later. Summer was over, and winter was coming._

_Memories would be the only form of warmth to touch her heart for months._


	34. Chapter 34

**A.N. Hello, and Merry-almost-Christmas to all of you! It's been a busy few months with hospitalized relatives, a project with a partner who, for some reason, expected me to pull my weight, and other assorted disasters. But I finally got this finished, and I'm excited to be on the final book. In an update or two we'll be entering new territory, and I'm looking forward to being able to write more after the hollidays.**

**A.N. 2. Some things to remember: Ron and Hermione have both caused the other person pain, both on purpose and by accident. They are equally responsible for their actions, but please remember that they didn't always think so at the time. And sometimes, they blamed themselves even when it wasn't their fault. Other people also had their own perceptions and concerns about things. I try to write how people feel realistically, and not in black and white terms.**

**A.N. 3. Ron comes from a large family, and when people like that are concerned that you are messing up your own happiness, it can feel like they are ganging up on you, when that isn't their intent. And, as someone who also suffers from low self-esteem, even when they express things in the nicest way possible, you don't hear it like that. When I write Ron, I write him not always hearing exactly what is said, but how he feels. Sorry if that was unclear.**

**A.N. 4. Some of you really hate the twins (and hey, not everyone likes all characters; I have some I loathe, too). But it won't really be an issue in the future, since Fred dies and George becomes a depressed shell of his former self. But none of that happens until future updates.**

Hermione braced herself over the sink, her face damp from the cloth she had used to clean it, and her mouth tingling from the toothpaste she had just finished using. She should rejoin the boys soon, but she needed a bit of space to pull herself together. She had been in a state of constant motion ever since Kingsley's patronus had appeared at the wedding, and her heart was finally starting to return to a normal pace. Harry was keyed up, as they knew he would be, but there wasn't much to be done about that. He had a lot weighing on his mind, and that wasn't likely to change anytime soon. All they could do for the time being was try to support him as best they could, and stay here until they came up with a better plan.

It was actually Ron who was worrying her most at the moment. He had seemed his normal self when yelling at the men who had called out to her earlier, but had become much quieter since they had arrived at Grimmauld Place. He was unusually pale, and had already made his lip bleed from where he had been biting down on it. Some of the tension had left him when his father's patronus had arrived to reassure them, but she sensed that it had failed to comfort him completely. Not that she could blame him. Mr. Weasley might have glossed over anything that wasn't absolutely life-threatening, and who knows what had happened since then. She was worried herself, about several things. One of them happened to be for themselves; she was lucky that she had had her bag with her, but other than that, they weren't prepared at all. It was finally hitting her that they had no real plan, and no direction to take. Harry was impatient to get started, but she couldn't help but think that they would have been better off with a few days to decide exactly what it was they were going to do.

Seeing Ron worry about his family had caused her to think about her parents, and how she had no way of checking on them. In theory, they should be perfectly fine, but she hated not knowing for sure. Once she had stayed in the bathroom for as long as she thought she could, she made her way quickly back to join the boys. Harry was sending clear signs that he didn't want to be bothered, so she decided to leave it until morning. Ron was sitting on his sleeping bag, and it took her a moment to realize that hers was already set out. But instead of just spreading it on the floor, someone had pulled the cushions off the sofa for her to lay on. Ron watched her expectantly, as if he wasn't sure he had done the right thing or not. She tried not to blush, although she felt ridiculously happy. Even though his mind was on his family, he had taken pains to try to give her a little extra comfort. More than the cushions, though, was the fact that he had arranged for her to sleep just a few scant inches away from him, which at any other time might have been seen as suggestive. She doubted very much that his mind had gone in that direction, but he clearly wanted her close to him.

_Oh, his mind had gone in that direction. Not very far, and not for long, but it had taken a few enthusiastic skips down the path. But it had been a rotten night, and, like Hermione, it had hit him hard exactly how alone the three of them now were. While there had always been a sense of it being the three of them against the world, it hadn't been true. They had always had friends, or some sort of adult to back them up, even if they hadn't always made use of that. Now they were cut off, with nowhere to go, and no one to give them a direction. He had felt incredibly helpless, and at a loss. Doing small things for Hermione had started to become a habit by that point, and setting up the bed came fairly naturally; he might not be able to solve their larger problems, but he had been able to see to it that she, at least, was comfortable for the night._

"Thanks, Ron. You didn't have to do that," she spoke quietly, aware of Harry curled into himself, probably feigning sleep behind her.

Ron shrugged. "We don't know how long we'll be able to stay here, or where we'll end up. You should be comfortable for as long as you can."

"It was still thoughtful of you. I know...I know you have a lot on your mind," she said delicately, not wanting to stress him out even more about his family. When his eyes slid away, she could detect a slight wetness in them, so she continued, "I left your toothbrush and things in the bathroom, if you want."

With a nod, he pushed himself to his feet, and left the room as quietly as the squeaking floorboards would allow.

"Harry?"

She didn't get an answer, but she hadn't really been expecting one. She hoped that he wouldn't continue to shut them out like this, otherwise it was going to make things much harder than they already were. It was tempting to try to reason with him, but she knew Ron would tell her to give him some space. As much as doing so frustrated her, Ron was usually right about that. Instead, she crawled into her sleeping bag, shifting around on the cushions that felt like they were stuffed with horsehair. It was silent, except for the sound of Harry breathing, and she wished Ron would hurry back. With a deliberate motion, she tugged his bedding a fraction closer to hers. Not only did she feel the need to be close, she thought Ron could use it as well.

_Ha! He thought that his sleeping bag was closer than he had put it, but he dismissed it as a trick of the light from the hallway._

After a few minutes, she heard the sound of his bare feet padding back into the room, and she rolled to her side to watch him lay down next to her. He was in a maroon pair of pajama bottoms and a grey vest that she had packed for him. He shuffled around, finally flopping his head onto his pillow. His position left him facing her, and she sucked in a gasp of air at how close they actually were. Ron blinked in surprise when his eyes adjusted to the lighting, but he didn't pull away.

"You comfortable?" He whispered.

"Yes. Are you alright without cushions?"

"Yeah. Besides, I cheated, and used a Cushioning Charm."

They both smiled a little at having such a mundane conversation, as if they couldn't have easily been killed mere hours before.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I didn't get a chance to thank you earlier. At the cafe, I mean."

His brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out what she meant.

"For what?"

Realizing that he didn't even know what he had done, she clarified, "When you pushed me down, out of the way of that curse."

"It would've been too late if I had tried for my wand," he replied, self-deprecatingly.

"Most people would have gone for it anyway, since it's a natural reflex."

"Getting you out of the way _was_ a natural reflex. Just wish I hadn't been so bloody stupid to miss what was happening until it was too late."

Hermione frowned. He just didn't get it, did he? Whereas most people would choose to save themselves first, he had chosen her. And it had been a close call, as the curse struck the wall right where his head would have been. He had done something brave and selfless, but all he could see was his failure. A failure which wasn't even worth the name, in her books.

"Ron, I didn't see it either. Who would have expected Death Eaters to be there? It should have been a perfectly safe place, and I'm still trying to figure out why it wasn't. But aside from that, even when I got my wand, I was shaking too much to do a lot of good. I nearly cut your knee off, trying to undo those ropes!"

His hand flopped between them, brushing her words off. "It wasn't that bad, and the bleeding's stopped. You were just rattled, and you would've gotten out of the way yourself earlier, if you had seen. So it's not like I did anything special. I mean, not that you being alright isn't special, just that I-"

"Just that you can't resist playing the knight in shining armor, when the situation arises," she teased lightly, seeing that he was getting embarrassed.

The muscles in his shoulders relaxed, and he smirked. "Hermione, we both know that any armor I would be likely to own would be something like a sardine tin, three sizes two small, and with a layer of rust."

She had to smile at the mental image, even if she didn't really agree. They fell into a silence, which Ron broke with a question.

"Hermione? Do you think they were really alright? Or was Dad just saying they were so we wouldn't worry?"

His voice shook, and she reached out a hand to squeeze his arm.

"I think they're fine. If something had happened, he wouldn't lie to you, and then spring it on you when you got back. He would want you to have heard it from him, and not out somewhere once we leave."

"Yeah," he nodded, "yeah, that makes sense, doesn't it? There were enough people there, that everything would have been alright."

They both knew numbers didn't matter, but they needed to hold on to the belief that they hadn't left the others in mortal danger.

"Do you think Harry will be ready to decide what to do tomorrow? I'm not sure how long we should stay here."

Ron thought for a moment. "Probably. He won't want to sit around waiting and doing nothing, so he'll at least want to talk about it."

"I wish we had more time for that before we left," she confessed, "I don't think we're as ready as we thought we were. What if something like what happened at the cafe happens again? We still don't know how they found us. We can't keep running, and still expect to search for all the Horcruxes at the same time! What-"

Somehow, as she was talking, her hand had slid down his arm to grasp his. As she became more agitated, he curled his fingers around hers, and she found herself unable to speak.

"We'll figure something out. We always do," he reassured her hoarsely.

He seemed to question her, and started to draw his hand away, but she held on. She heard him suck in a breath.

"Harry and me will think up something likely to get us killed, and you'll get mad, and have one of your brilliant ideas. Something will go wrong when we try to pull it off, but we'll somehow manage to get out of it with only slightly scorching the hair off our arses."

She knew he was trying to make her feel better, and he was, but not with his words. It was the soothing way his thumb brushed back and forth over her fingers. She almost wished that there was better light so she could see him more clearly, but there was enough for what she could see to make her toes curl. Slowly, she began to move her thumb as well, tracing over his large knuckles, brushing against his short, blunt nails. A bit of the feeling from the wedding came back, and she tried to capture the moment; there would probably be few enough of them soon, and she didn't want it fading from her memory.

He was so close, and it would be so easy to lean forward and close the distance between him; to sink into him and forget everything else. But that would be wrong, wouldn't it? Both of them were very emotional right now. It would be easy for any two people to get carried away, even if one of them didn't want it to be anything more. She knew Ron wouldn't mean to hurt her, or anything like that, but she didn't want to make him feel trapped, either. She also didn't want him to get the impression that she was only with him for comfort. As difficult as it was, it was probably best if she kept her lips to herself, at least for now. Tonight, she would take pleasure in the touch of his hand twined with hers, and she would stay awake as long as possible, her eyes never leaving his.

_Part of him wished that she had gone through with it. He would have been more than willing, even if they hadn't gone all the way. Another part of him understood her reasoning. They had a history of near misses when it came to communication, and going into something like that might not have been a good idea without talking it out first. And what about the locket? It probably would've used the very things she mentioned to lie to him, and he didn't want to imagine how much worse things could have been for them if that had happened. The timing might have been frustrating, but he thought it was right._

Hermione gazed hopelessly over the stacks of books scattered across the table, wondering if there was even a point in trying to find anything. It was Harry's turn at the Ministry, and part of her mind was occupied with all of the things that could go wrong for him. She had just mentally killed him for the thirty-seventh time when she realized that she had been reading the same paragraph over and over for the last thirty minutes. With a frustrated sigh, she threw the book down, wanting to scream when it sent several others toppling over, mixing with the ones she had already discarded. Tears pricked the back of her eyes as she leaned forward to gather them up, only to have Ron's hand reach out to lightly grab her arm.

"Hermione, just leave it for now. You're going to wear yourself out."

It was poised on her lips to snap that if he would help, she wouldn't, but she realized that was unfair. Ron was busy trying to recall and write down everything he knew about the layout and inner workings of the Ministry, and since he was the only one with that knowledge, there was a lot of pressure on him. He had been working extremely hard, but he also took breaks when she didn't; it wasn't his fault that he was being smart enough to pace himself. To tell the truth, she might have even missed something important, since she was too tired to process things correctly.

_Hermione had always been horrible about pacing herself. She threw herself into everything, but the strain made her, and everyone around her, miserable. Over the years, he had gotten adept at breaking her off before she got too bad._

Seeing the concern on his face when she looked up, she was even more glad that she hadn't snapped. He'd been so considerate these past few days, letting her ramble about her parents, or bringing her food. And although he wished he hadn't reacted _quite_ so violently, she had been happy when he was so quick to defend her against Kreacher.

"I know. I'm just so frustrated! I don't really know what to look for, and there are so many things that could go wrong! What if I miss one of them? What if something has changed since the things your dad told you?"

Ron gave her a cynical look. "Honestly? I think it's going to go to hell at least a little bit, no matter what we do."

"Why do you say that?" She asked worriedly, wondering if he had thought of something they hadn't.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe past experience with everything _else_ we've done?"

He had a point. A very good point.

"But making yourself sick over it isn't going to help. We have a few hours before Harry is supposed to get back, so put the books away, and think about something else, alright? You've been muttering to yourself for the past hour, and the only times you've ever done that were in third year and right before our O.W.L.s in fifth."

As he spoke, he had placed his hand on the back of her neck, and began to carefully dig his fingers into the muscles that were all knotted up. Hermione had to concentrate on staying in an upright position, or else she would end up in his lap, as boneless as Crookshanks on catnip.

_Ron grinned. many disasters had been averted, and many tense situations diffused, by the skillful application of his fingers. This was just one of the first of many (and least crude) sessions._

"So what do you suggest I think about instead?" She asked, her voice slurring slightly.

He gave an amused shrug. "I'd say you shouldn't think of anything, but since it's you, that's probably pretty much impossible. So if you have to think, work on memorizing the family tree I copied out for you."

His tone was light, but it didn't fool her. He had been pressing her for days to memorize the winding list of names he had written out, ever since he had gotten it into his head that it would somehow keep her safe. While it had warmed her heart that he would offer her the protection of his family name, she didn't think it would help much in the long run. She was going to have to gently point out the flaw in this plan.

"Ron, I appreciate the thought, I really, _really_ do. But even if I was to memorize all the names and connections-"

"It's alright if you get a few wrong," he cut in earnestly, "No one would expect you to know that sort of thing by heart if it was real."

That showed a good attention to detail on his part, but that wasn't the problem she was referring to.

"Yes, and it might keep me out of trouble if they don't pay much attention, but all they have to do is look up the records, and they'll see that I'm not related."

He had removed his hand, contact that she sorely missed, to twist around to face her better. He had flushed red, and seemed rather embarrassed.

"Um, maybe not a _legal_ relative, but they couldn't say much if they told them that you were...you know..."

It took a moment for it to click. "Illegitimate? I suppose that could work, although they still might not buy it. And I couldn't ruin someone's reputation-"

"They wouldn't care!" Ron half shouted, gesturing wildly, "At least, none of the ones that matter! What good is being a Pureblood, if you can't use it to protect people?"

Only Ron would look at it that way, she thought, proud of the way he had naturally twisted something so ugly into something noble.

"I still don't think-"

He took her by her shoulders, almost as if he wanted to shake her. She might be mad, if he didn't look so frightened, but she would almost swear that he was about to cry.

"Hermione, you don't understand! They're taking Muggleborns. _Umbridge_ is taking Muggleborns. Don't you-don't you remember what she did to Harry's hand? And that was at Hogwarts! Who _knows_ what sick, twisted shite she'll pull now that she doesn't have to be careful!"

Oh. She hadn't...she hadn't really thought about that. Or she had, but not in a way that had anything to do with her, personally. What Ron had most likely figured out but hadn't said yet was the fact that Umbridge would definitely have a grudge against her, and whatever she had planned for her would be grim, if not outright fatal.

_He had been thinking exactly that. And when he wasn't thinking about it, he was having nightmares, vividly detailing exactly what would happen to Hermione if she was captured. Being a Pureblood meant that he would be at least kept alive; they wouldn't risk killing him unless they absolutely had to, if only for the fact that they would want him as part of some sort of human breeding program, once the war was over. But Hermione...she would be destroyed. Slowly. And if that happened, he knew something in him would break for good._

Throat suddenly dry, Hermione licked her lips. "It wouldn't come to that," she tried unconvincingly, "we're going to be very careful-"

"But it might! Can't you just-just in case? If not for me, at least do it for Harry; you saw what losing Sirius and Dumbledore did to him. Do you think he could do what he needs to if something like that happened to you?"

Although she knew that Harry would be devastated, she believed that Ron would be able to get him through it. Ron had that effect on people, even if he didn't realize it. But he was clearly distraught, and it struck her that while he was using Harry's name, _he_ might be the one that would suffer the most. And really, it wasn't as if he was asking much. Just to memorize a few names; he hadn't suggested that she stay behind, or anything foolish like that. How could she deny him something so simple, if it would give him some peace of mind?

"Alright, I'll do it. Just in case, though; the goal is not to get caught at all."

She knew she had made the right decision when he relaxed, closing his eyes briefly before smiling at her.

"Good. That's...that's really good. I'll go grab some sandwiches, while you get started."

Hermione watched him go, before rummaging through the stack of papers that he had written out the family tree on. As she began to commit names to memory, she thought, sadly, that this wasn't exactly how she had pictured becoming a Weasley...

_Ron remembered the conversation, but the ending had been very different for him. He had been desperate to convince her, and had tried everything he could think of, including using Harry for a bit of guilt. That might have been playing dirty, but he didn't care. But from his point of view, it had stung when she had only caved once he mentioned Harry. It had felt she hadn't cared how it would have affected him, after the way she had argued. Even though he had been glad that she had agreed to his idea, it hurt to think that only Harry mattered. But she hadn't thought that at all! It had just been a coincidence, but one that the locket would latch onto later._

_He knew Hermione loved him. He knew that she saw, and admired, his good qualities. He knew that she had done so even before he had really seen them in himself, even though she had only gotten better at expressing it in the last few years after the war. But it still came as something of a shock to see how wrong he had been about some things. Part of it, he knew, was the way he projected his own feelings about himself onto others. Sometimes, he just assumed that if he saw himself a certain way, then others must see him that way, too. But that couldn't be true; kissing him hadn't been a whim. She had feelings for him before that. He had just never made the connections that having those feelings meant that she had thought about him in a far better light than he had suspected. Hermione cared about Harry a lot. She also cared about him, and sometimes, he had gotten things mixed up. This time, it had only been a coincidence that she had stopped arguing when he brought up Harry. She had been touched by his worry, and had genuinely wanted to ease his concern. He wondered if there were times when she had come away with the wrong impression by things that were left unsaid, as well. People didn't say everything that passed through their minds (thankfully), and they had no idea how something perfectly innocent could be interpreted. That was hard enough for him to figure out at the best of times, but once the locket was added to the mix..._

A gentle rain pattered on the roof of the tent, the only sound besides the rustling of pages from her book, or the hum of Harry's Snitch. It would almost be cozy, except for the fact that Ron was still looking rather bloodless, and Harry was in one of his silent moods. Unable to concentrate, she got up from her chair, and tiptoed over to Ron's bunk, deciding that it was close enough to time to check his bandages.

"The rain's letting up. I'm going out to have a look around." Harry said tightly, pulling on his jacket.

She knew it would be pointless to argue, but didn't think anything would happen to him, anyway. She doubted anyone was this far out in the woods, with the weather acting up. His footsteps grew quieter, and then disappeared altogether, and she turned back to Ron. He had been sleeping fitfully, and she was afraid he wasn't getting enough rest. Harry wanted to move as quickly as possible, but with the loss of blood, Ron wasn't able to keep up. He could barely walk across the tent without staggering, and so far, he hadn't even been able to put two coherent sentences together. If he didn't improve soon, they might have to find someone to look at him. Harry would have to stay here; she would take Ron into the nearest town. It was risky, but it was her fault that he was like this. How could she have been so careless? Why had it been _Ron_ who was Splinched? If only it had been her...it was her lapse of concentration, after all!

_Her guilt weighed on him heavily, as he felt the tears well up in her eyes, and he struggled not to join her. They would have been in a deeper mess if she had been the one to be Splinched; couldn't she see that? She was the one who knew about the Dittany and the tent, and which Wards to use._

As gently as she could, she cleaned up his arm, making sure there were no signs of infection. She had just tucked the blanket back around him when his eyes slitted open, looking up at her groggily.

"Mum?"

Hermione flinched. He sounded about ten years younger, speaking in the fearful voice of a child who trusted their mother to make it better. She wished with all of her heart that Mrs. Weasley was here right now. She would know what to do, and could surely give Ron more comfort than she could.

"No," she said as soothingly as she could, "It's Hermione, remember? Are you starting to feel any better?"

"Hermione..." he tried out hesitantly, then in a firmer voice, "Hermione? Where are we? What happened? Did we get it? Is Harry alright?"

He was struggling to sit up, but she pushed him back down again with hardly any effort.

"We're safe for now, in the tent and with Wards up. We got the locket, but-but I Splinched you when we Apparated. Harry's fine, but oh, Ron, your arm! I'm so, so sorry!"

His head tilted so he could look at his arm, before he rolled it back onto the pillow and gave her a weak smile.

"S'alright. It wasn't a piece I was using. Hermione? Hermione, don't cry!" He sounded more alert now, alarmed by the small sobs that she couldn't contain.

"But it's all my fault! At this rate, there might not be anything left of you by the time we g-get home!"

With a wince, he wiggled his good arm around to take her hand, squeezing it to get her attention.

"Hey, it's not so bad, you know? If I had been the one to Apparate under that much stress, someone might've lost a head. As it is, I'll just have to work a little harder to build up some muscle to even it out. 'Sides, I thought witches thought scars were sexy?"

Hermione sniffled a laugh. "Not when the witch is the one giving them to you. And there was so much blood...If I hadn't thought to pack some Dittany-"

"But you did," he interrupted firmly, apparently seeing that she was winding herself up again. "I'll be fine, with some rest. But where's Harry? You said he was alright, didn't you?"

With her sleeve, she wiped her eyes, although she continued to hold his hand.

"He went outside. You've been asleep for nearly a day, so you might not have noticed, but...Harry is upset. I mean, more than he usually is. I think it's because he doesn't know how to destroy the locket."

Ron frowned, and grunted when he accidentally moved his bad arm.

"Well, we'll figure something out. At least we have it, and not Umbridge. Maybe You-Know-Who can sense that something's happened to it, and Harry's feeling it through the scar?"

Tentatively, she nodded. "That must be it. He probably doesn't want to hear me nagging him to close his mind." At his yawn, she said, "You need to get some sleep, so I'll go back to my reading now."

She moved to stand from the edge of his bunk, but the hand holding hers gripped her tighter.

"Could you stay? For just awhile? It's not...I don't think I can fall asleep alone, after everything," he confessed, with a faint air of embarrassment.

"Of course! Are you sure you're comfortable though?" In truth, she didn't want to move either.

For an answer, Ron rolled carefully to his side, hissing out a breath as he scooted as far back as he could.

"Maybe you could...maybe lie down for a bit? I guess I kind of got used to you sleeping close by while we were at Grimmauld Place."

Under normal circumstances, Hermione might have thought he was trying for the wide-eyed, innocent look. But there was no way he could fake his pallor, or the sweat that had beaded on his forehead with the effort to move. And even if he had been milking it, she couldn't have failed to be pleased that he wanted her close to him. Besides, she didn't want to leave, either.

"Alright, but let me know if I'm hurting your arm."

He hummed a sleepy response, already slipping into unconsciousness. Keeping an ear out for Harry, she nestled into Ron's side, shyly draping an arm across his stomach. It was a habit they had developed in the past few weeks, that brought comfort to them both. By unspoken agreement, it was only when Harry was out; they had come from slightly awkward hugging at funerals to much more natural...cuddles (for want of a better word) on the sofa, and holding hands at night. It hadn't been something they had consciously started, but she believed it meant as much to Ron as it did to her. Sometimes, she would catch him looking at her, and she thought that maybe it mattered as much as she had always hoped it would.

_Aside from the embarrassment of calling the witch you fancied 'mum,' it had been quite a touching moment. It was a bit hazy in his own memory, since he had been sort of out of it at the time, but he knew he was pleased with her attention, and the easy way she had slid in next to him as if she belonged there. It might have seemed strange that they kept this from Harry, but it wasn't, once you really thought about it. For one thing, although they could feel something happening between them, they hadn't even talked about it privately. Harry was their best friend, practically a brother; that didn't mean that they wanted to share every single thing with him. Even if he understood, it would've been awkward. Harry was sensitive to being left out, but there was no real way to include him. Harry felt smothered by most forms of physical affection (he firmly pushed aside all thoughts of the examples involving Ginny), and frankly, it would have felt less special if it was something that all three of them shared. He had been hoping that she had meant she was interested in him, and he had been building up the fact that she didn't seem inclined to show Harry the same level of closeness._

_Maybe they shouldn't have danced around the issue so much, but it had felt like the best option at the time. But after everything they had been through, he had wanted to do it right. He wanted it to be as close to the way that other people got to go about that kind of thing, and they were about as far from normal as it got. And of course, as he had worried about before, the insecure part of him didn't want to start something that might have been out of comfort and fear rather than love. He had heard his mum talk about wartime romances enough to know that not all of them had worked out well, even though his parents' had. Worrying and wondering if Hermione might only be with him because she didn't have a better option, or because she didn't want to die alone, would have tainted things, and he knew it would have made him act out in his insecurity. And if things had fallen apart between them while they were still on the hunt, they both would have been miserable. At least this way, there was enough tantalizing possibility to be hopeful._

_Looking down at the two of them curled into each other, they looked surprisingly peaceful, both of them comfortable with the safely nameless bond between them. A bond which, sadly, would be tested very soon._

Cold, stale-tasting water trickled down her throat as she sipped slowly, hoping to quell the hunger pangs that had become a near constant in her life. She swayed dizzily in her seat, blinking hard to clear away the black spots that swam before her eyes. She knew she should be trying to solve the clues that Dumbledore had left behind (if they were clues; she was beginning to have doubts), but it was so hard to focus. If only she had something to eat, maybe she could...best not to think of food. Harry and Ron were handling the hunger worse than she was, but she didn't know how much longer she could go on with sneaking them extra bits of her portions, just to keep some peace.

_Ron cringed at that; he knew he had been the most vocal about the food. Part of it was the fact that food had been the one thing his family had never really been short of; for his mum, it was a symbol of love, and he always associated it with home and comfort. Out here, so far from both, the loss had been keenly felt, as if it was another way he had been cut off from his family. Hermione was using food to show love in her own way, but it was of the sacrificial variety that he would have been happier without. Her cheekbones were sharp, highlighting the bluish black hollows of her cheeks and under her eyes. He was aware that if he reached out right now, he would be able to feel her ribs, even under the thick sweater she wore._

Peace was in short supply, she thought, casting a quick look at Harry out of the corner of her eye. Ron was outside, taking his turn on watch. He wore the locket, so the other two were huddled in here, not wanting to spark his already foul mood. Not that they were much better, she had to allow. Harry was either short tempered and yelling, or else he was brooding hard enough to put the male lead of a gothic romance to shame. If they got bored enough one evening to act out a play, she was casting him as Heathcliff. Ron...Ron was...her throat constricted.

Ron was different. He was sharp and hateful, and the way he glared at them in sullen silence from a dark corner of the tent raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Where she had once taken comfort in his presence, she could now hardly bear to be near him, watching everything that had been building between them slowly fracture and crack. Nothing she did pleased him, and the small, sweet kindnesses he had shown her had all but completely disappeared. Her only relief was when he wasn't wearing the locket, and she caught glimpses of the Ron she knew.

It had terrified her when, one day, she had looked over at the boys, and found complete strangers in their place. There was only the barest superficial resemblance to the friends she had grown up with; these were dangerous looking men that would look at home in Knockturn Alley, and for once, she felt less than safe with them.

_As well she might. He and Harry hadn't been shy about kicking chairs and punching trees when they were mad, and it the tight confines of the tent, it would've been easy to accidentally clip her before realizing she was in the way. He knew she didn't think for one minute that either of them would_ actually _hurt her, but they were so different from the way they normally were, that it was hard to think of them as the same people. And since he and Harry would have ended up pulling their wands on each other if she hadn't stepped in, she wasn't too far wrong._

Not that she felt much better herself. Strange thoughts filled her head, making her at turns depressed and angry. Every little move she made was judged and found wanting, and she resented the lack of help. She was expected to do _everything,_ and she was sick of it. And what could she do, really? She had forgotten to pack food. She was nowhere close to figuring out what clues were hidden in the blasted book. And there was no talking to Harry or Ron. When she wasn't nearly in tears over the strangeness between them, she was so sick of the sight of them that she wanted to Disapparate and rejoin her parents in Australia, and let them see how they got along by themselves. Then she would be shocked by her thoughts, and try to talk herself out of the emotional storm. It helped when she was reading; with her mind so focused, it left little room for whatever madness was infecting her. She wasn't sure if it was stress, hunger, or a bad batch of mushrooms, but she didn't know how long she could go on like this.

"Harry, it's time for you to have the locket," she said into the silence, hoping he would be civil.

"Just a minute," he muttered, never taking his eyes away from the Snitch.

"Fine! It's time I took over for Ron, anyway."

Loudly tugging on her coat, hat, and mittens, she stomped outside, slowing when she reached the spot where Ron sat staring into the small fire. She steeled herself, knowing he was going to snap at her, no matter what she said.

_Looking at himself, Ron had no problem seeing why she would be afraid. He was afraid, and he wasn't even there. He was gaunt and unshaven, pale with bloodshot eyes. That could have been overlooked, but his expression...he had thought he had looked horrible at the Ball. He hadn't known what horrible looked like, until now. He was hunched forward, and his lips were drawn back on one side in an animalistic snarl. But it was his eyes which were the most frightening. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but as Ron peered in, he saw no one; merely cold sheets of ice, animated only by the flickering flames, with the barest tinge of hate-filled madness. And he knew he had been mad, or the closest thing to it. The locket had been hard on all of him, but it was the worst for him. It wasn't until years later that he had figured out why. Harry had had years of dealing with Voldemort in his head, and had a sort of tolerance to it. Hermione, without realizing it, was able to escape as long as she kept her mind focused on something else, which was not only something she did regularly, but something they were depending on her to do. When Hermione was focused, natural mental barriers went up, without her ever realizing it._

_He had never been possessed by Voldemort, and he didn't have anything to set his mind on. Only long stretches of time for his thoughts to wander, and they rarely wandered anywhere good, especially once the locket started to steer. But he had another disadvantage, as well. Magic was a powerful thing, and could damage the mind as well as the body. The brains from fifth year had done both, and while he had mostly been healed, he had never done the mental exercises that would have put his mind to rights. Maybe if he had been seen by a healer experienced with that sort of thing, but he had never bothered to go to St. Mungo's, since he had felt fine. But the brains had left him unable to fully close the door to his mind; it shut, but it didn't catch, and was easily bumped open. Once magic had broken in, it was easier for it to do it again. It had taken months of training once he had joined up with the Aurors to fix it, since the injury happened so long ago, but during the hunt, he had been completely defenseless and unaware._

"Ron, it's my watch. Harry's waiting inside for the locket." She kept her words to the bare minimum, hoping it would be one of the days he merely grunted before leaving.

Only his eyes moved, hostile and dark as he answered, "What? Are you saying that I can't handle doing both at once?"

"You've done it for the same length of time that we have, and now it's over," she tried to say evenly, but her frayed temper couldn't let her resist adding, "But if you want to take an extra shift, by all means go ahead. I wouldn't mind going back in where I don't see my breath every time I exhale."

"No fucking way! I've been out here for hours, while the two of you have been relaxing inside!"

Brilliant. She hadn't meant to use reverse psychology, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She took a seat next to a fallen log as he stood up, grabbing the empty mug beside him to carry in. As his footsteps crunched away behind her, she blinked tears from her eyes. He hadn't said another word to her, and likely wouldn't again, until he had something he wanted to complain about. Just like Harry. What did they expect her to do? It hadn't started out like this, and as she remembered how things used to be with Ron, she had to wrap her arms around herself for comfort, the way he had stopped doing weeks ago.

_Slumping down at the base of a tree across the fire, Ron watched her face twist in sadness. He had spent so much time listening to the locket, that he hadn't even noticed he had been pulling away. He remembered watching them resentfully, and thinking how unfair it was that they spent so much time without him. And although it was true that they sometimes got short and snappish from the locket, and would isolate themselves, he had done so at least as much. The locket had been subtle; it tricked him into keeping away from them, so he wouldn't be able to get anything positive to counteract what he was being told. And the more he was alone, the more it made it easier to blame them for that. It was a slow-building cycle, that not only cut him off from support, put made him distrustful of it when it was attempted to be shown._

_And it had to have been incredibly confusing for Hermione, on top of everything else that was going on. It would have been hard enough, if it had happened several months earlier, but he had spent all summer building up his relationship with her. He had worked hard to show her that he cared about her feelings and could be trusted with them, put effort into spending time with her to let her see that he had reached a point of being able to maintain a committed relationship, and then had stopped abruptly. No explanation, not even an attempt to go back to purely friendly terms. If it had been the other way around, he would've been just as devastated. He never would have done it without the locket; he was just too busy wrestling with his own demons to even notice what was happening with her._

A bird sounded overhead, and she tensed; but it wasn't an alarmed call, so after scanning the direction it had flown from, she relaxed. The crunch of leaves being shuffled came from behind her, but she didn't look up. Sometimes Harry came out when he had the locket on and took over, to get away from the tent. She didn't feel much like going in herself, so she hoped that he would let her stay if she kept quiet.

"Hermione?"

Her head snapped up at the quiet voice, surprised to find Ron standing behind her, a puzzled frown on his face.

"Yes?" She asked warily.

"Harry said I was taking up too much room in the tent, and it was too stuffy in there for my headache, anyway. Is it alright if I sit out here with you?"

"She released the breath she didn't know she had been holding. This was a Ron she was familiar with. Grumpy, yes, but it was more like his Late To Breakfast grumpy, rather than...whatever it had been earlier. Apparently she had taken too long to answer, because he hunched his shoulders, and started to turn away.

"Unless I'd be bothering you, too. I can just...take a walk or something."

"No!" She cried out, both of them surprised at how forcefully she spoke.

"No," she added in a softer voice, "It would be nice not to be alone."

To her surprise and pleasure, Ron sat down beside her, closer than he had willingly come in days. It was all she could do to keep herself from snuggling into his side, as she would have not long ago, but she was afraid that if she pushed things, he would just get mad again. Instead, she focused on the weight and warmth of his arm against hers, and tried to recall how it had felt across her shoulders.

"That's what I thought earlier," he said, with a faint note of accusation in his voice.

"But you _told_ me to go away, when I said I would stay with you!" She blurted, stung by the unfairness.

Ron looked surprised, as if he didn't even remember their conversation. "I did?" He shook his head, "I don't...it's hard to think right, with these headaches I keep getting."

She turned her head to peer into his eyes, placing the back of her hand on his forehead. "You have a headache? I have something in my bag that might help. You don't think you're getting sick, do you? You need to tell me if you are."

Ron's eyes were hazy, and he made a small animal sound as he leaned, ever so slightly, into her hand. "No, it's gone now. At least, mostly. Now it just feels the way you do when you wake up after sleeping for too long." He stared at her searchingly, before muttering, "You care that I don't feel good..."

"Of course I care!" She said sharply. She knew she had been...withdrawn recently, but surely not to the extent that he could ever think that!

Somehow, the hurt in her voice must have pierced through to him, for he looked abashed. "I didn't...I mean, I know...these headaches make me think mental things," he finished with a lame shrug, "It feels better when I'm not wearing that bleeding locket."

Hermione wanted to believe him, and not the nagging little voice that kept telling her that she had done something to ruin things. She tried not to show it, but sometimes, it felt as if Ron had grown sick of her, with all of the time they had been forced to spend together, and had found that he didn't like who she was, after all.

_Ron sat up with a jolt at that thought, her name a choked sound that barely made it past his lips. That was the locket saying those things, he'd recognize it anywhere! He still woke sometimes, from dreams that seemed all too real, the words echoing in his head._

"I'll be glad once we get rid of it," Hermione admitted uneasily. There was something about the locket that bothered her, but as soon as the thought entered her head, it was whisked away again, like a leaf carried by a fast moving stream.

"And when are we ever going to manage that? Because unless the Great Specky Hope in there has told you something that he hasn't me, we don't have shit to go on," Ron snarled angrily, then paused, giving her a sideways look. "Has he? I mean, you talk sometimes, so if he's just not telling me-"

"Ron, he hasn't told me anything that he hasn't told you. I don't think he has anything to _tell._ But if he did, he would be more likely to tell you first, if he was going to hide it from one of us. Which he wouldn't." She sounded so convincing, she almost believed that last bit herself.

Not that she thought that Harry would try to leave her out, but he might want to get Ron on his side first, if he was planning something mental, or ill-advised, or...Harry.

"Then what are we even doing here? We just keep wandering around in circles, when everyone back home is facing who knows what! We could at least be _helping!_ As it is now, the only thing we might do is keep the locket hidden with our bodies when we eventually die from hunger. But you know what the worst part is? He won't even _say_ anything! He just sits there staring at that bloody Snitch, as if it's going to fly off and lead him to the answer."

Hermione didn't know quite what to say. Because although she knew, deep down, that Harry was doing his best, she shared Ron's frustrations. She hated working without a purpose, and here she was working without even a general direction. All she knew was that they needed to find and destroy Horcuxes. But where? How? and what, if anything, then? They had no one to turn to for advice, and she was painfully aware that they couldn't last long before they had to resort to illegal means to survive. Could she do that, when, as Ron said, they weren't any closer to accomplishing anything than they had been in the beginning? She felt guilty and disloyal for thinking such things, after they had promised to see this through with him.

"Let's give him a few more days to figure something out, and then we'll say something," she answered, hoping Ron would accept the compromise. They couldn't give up, but they couldn't go on like this, either.

"Yeah, fine. A few days. But then we decide on _something,_ because whatever we do will be better than doing nothing."

She wrapped her arms tighter around her knees. She hated doing nothing, too. Things had seemed to be easier to figure out at Hogwarts, and at least there, they would be of some help. And what about her parents? Had she ripped them from their lives, possibly destroyed her relationship with them, just to sit around in a tent for months on end? How was she ever going to explain that? She could even be with them right now, making sure they were safe...she tried to muffle a sob into the material of her jeans, but it didn't help, and soon her shoulders were heaving up and down.

"Hey, you can't...! Hermione, you have to stop crying, you hear?" Ron sounded alarmed, his voice cracking.

But she couldn't help it. Nothing was going right. She was sick, tired, feeling wretchedly stupid and useless, and she had nowhere to turn. Any minute, she expected him to give a grunt of frustration, and leave. So it came as a great surprise when his arms wrapped around her, and she was yanked almost roughly to his chest.

"Stop it! I can't do anything, I'm not...you don't want..." his voice was hoarse and fierce, his words disjointed and incoherent.

"This, just do this," she pleaded, rooting into his open jacket, and pressing her face to his sweater as they gently rocked together, his hands moving up and down her arms.

She wound her arms around his waist, realizing with a pang that they didn't have far to go. Her nose pressed firmly into the yarn of his jumper as she tried to breathe him in. He smelled of smoke and leaves, but the closer she pressed to him, the more she could detect just the faintest whiff of summer, from the sliver of soap he had from the Burrow. Clinging to each other in a desperate, needy huddle, she closed her eyes and fought to remember back before they left, when things felt warm and full of promise. She wanted to pull Ron- _her_ Ron-out of this stranger's body; pull him into hers, two sticks trying for a spark to reignite what was dying between them. She wanted him to look at her the way he had before; she wanted to rewind time back to the wedding, and kiss him under the soft lights outside of the tent as the music played in the distance. But she couldn't do anything but hold onto him. Her heart was as fragile as a bubble of soap right now, and the slightest thing would cause it to burst, leaving nothing behind but a wet circle of tears. Burying her fingers into the thick material of his jumper, she felt him flinch as her ragged nails sank into his flesh, but she couldn't let go. She couldn't let go, when every minute, she felt him slipping away...

_Ron had to look away, overwhelmed by the desperate emotions coursing through him. His memories of the times he had worn the locket were slightly fuzzy; he suspected that part of it was his mind's natural instinct to protect itself by distancing things, and part of it was the locket's attempts to keep people from concentrating on it too much, so they wouldn't realize what was happening to them. All three of them had been divided neatly, left to fall apart in their own way. Harry withdrew, snapping at anyone who tried to pull him out. Hermione threw herself into the puzzle, working at a fever pitch because the locket was making her believe that she was useless unless she figured things out; that they would leave her as soon as they no longer needed her. And he...he had been lead out into the depths of his own thoughts, and left to drown, a cold fog obscuring any sign of rescue. Sometimes he had managed to struggle to the surface, like today, but it must have made it all the more obvious the next time he went under. He had been wrestling with the darkness, wanting to comfort Hermione, but feeling disconnected from all he had learned over the summer._

The final crack transformed into a jagged crack several days later, the scenes playing out before her like her own private horror film. The day had started badly, hostility in the air tight and sharp as a stretched violin string, even before she had rolled out of her cot. Ron and Harry sniped at each other over their meager breakfast, and it made her so nervous that she wasn't able to choke down any of her own. Ron had retreated to his cot with his radio, and the other two had left him alone, although Hermione couldn't resist darting glances at him from time to time. The skin on his face was far too tight, and it looked as if any minute his cheekbones would tear through. She had grown accustomed to his unnatural paleness, but today, his eyes were feverish, and once she caught him muttering to himself. She had started to say something, but he had looked over at where she sat with Harry so ferociously that she hadn't been able to speak. Silently, she hoped that he wouldn't pick today to confront Harry, because neither of them were in any shape to react well, and she wasn't sure how long she could remain civil herself. She had thrown up last night, and she was doing her best to tell herself that she hadn't seen flecks of blood; she wanted to see if being calm for a few days would help. They might have managed it, if it hadn't been for that overheard conversation in the forest.

The news had been enough to refresh the worry she felt for those they had left behind, but it had also given them the first glimmer of hope they had had in months. She had felt almost giddy at the thought of finally having something solid to go on, a clear path that they could follow! Ron's dismissive words had been like a bucket of ice on the embers she had carefully been tending, and she couldn't understand what had upset him. Why wasn't he pleased? He had been the one complaining the loudest about their lack of progress. And why was he staring at her and Harry that way, as if they had betrayed him somehow?

As Ron began to speak, she found herself mentally arguing with him, yet somehow unable to find her voice. He and Harry began an ugly volley back and forth, and she was a hostage spectator, unwilling to see what was happening before her. She felt herself hovering uselessly on the sidelines, with a growing fear for both of them. They had fought before, but always over stupid things, things they had gotten over and fixed. When Ron said what he did about Harry's family being dead, she heard herself cry out. Something was horribly, horribly wrong. Ron could be blunt at times, and wasn't above using cutting remarks when he was in a temper, but there were certain things she knew that he would never sink to. But he didn't even blink as the poisonous words rolled off his tongue; in fact, he almost looked happy about it.

_Ron could barely stand to look at himself, and found that when he did, he was a little afraid. With the locket in full effect, he looked little better than a beast on two legs, and he knew he was dangerous at this moment, whether he had known it or not. He was deeply ashamed about what he had said to Harry. That hadn't been how he had meant it, and he might have been able to say it better if he had been in his right mind. But even then, he never should've brought Harry's parents into it like that. All three of them could get nasty when they were in a snit, but there were certain areas that were off limits. No one mentioned Hermione being a muggleborn or insulted her hair. They didn't bring up his family's lack of money. And no one tried to take away the little Harry had of his parents. It wasn't any wonder that Harry had blown up at him and told him to leave. In a way, that was probably what he had hoped would happen, or the locket did. These were the moments in his life that he was most ashamed of, and although he knew they had both forgiven him long ago, he still found it hard to forgive himself._

It was too much for Harry to take, and in a snarling blur, both boys had drawn their wands, ready for a serious duel. Hermione hurled herself between them, screaming at them to stop; she begged Ron to take off the locket, knowing he always seemed to come to himself once he did. She could scarcely believe it when he pushed her away roughly; he had never raised a hand to her and, even though it was clear he hadn't even noticed what he had done, and had really only used his fingers, it still hurt her deeply.

_He didn't even remember doing that. He recalled her voice, but it had never been clear what she was saying. At that point, his attention had been entirely focused on Harry, and it wasn't until he told him to leave that it shifted to her._

One shock followed another, as Harry yelled at Ron to leave. She knew he was furious, but she couldn't believe that he could mean it. Harry always hated it when he and Ron weren't getting along, and even though he might sulk and mutter, he had always been relieved to patch things up. She tried to talk sense, but neither of them were listening to her. Not that they ever did when it mattered, she thought despairingly. If they could just wait until they cooled down-

He was talking to her now, his bag slung over his shoulder, the sleeve of a jumper hanging out of the hastily closed opening. He was asking her to come with him, and her world twisted into some sort of dark, Alice in Wonderland dream, the right thing happening at the wrong time, the wrong way. She searched his eyes for any sign that he understood what he was saying, but there was nothing familiar enough for her to latch onto. Did he hear what he was saying? He had _promised_ Harry! They both had! This wasn't like Ron at all, not the Ron she had grown to love. He knew her well enough to know that she didn't have a choice in the matter; she couldn't leave, no matter what her personal feelings were. If the others were in grave danger, and they didn't know about the sword, she would have understood, would have tried to convince Harry that they could at least go back and help before they went back to wandering aimlessly. But that wasn't the case, and they wouldn't be doing any good by going back.

Even if he didn't see that, he had to know that they _had_ to defeat Voldemort. Any other time, she wouldn't have hesitated to go with him if he asked it of her. She had had her fair share of moments of wanting just the two of them to run away together, and start a life somewhere they could be safe and happy. She knew they would both end up coming back, but the time together would have been precious. But not during this war. Not when people were being hunted and killed. Couldn't he see that winning was the only way she could ever live safely in the magical world? That whatever had been growing between them could ever exist once he was dead? She didn't want him to be in danger because he was with her. She didn't want...didn't want the children she hoped to have someday live in the fear that was all around them right now.

She tried to get him to understand, but he heard nothing past her refusal. She had seen more warmth in icicles than were in his eyes, and the look of near-loathing he turned on her was worse than a physical blow. It took her a few moments to realize he was moving to the flap of the tent, taking up Harry's demand that he leave. Stumbling, she followed, crying out as she reached after him.

"Ron! Wait! _Please_ wait, Ron! Ron? _Roooooooooon!"_

She begged. She had never begged before. She had fallen to her knees, crying, and he never even turned around. One moment he was striding away, the rain soaking into his jumper and matting his hair, and the next he was twisting, Apparating beyond the reach of her voice. Numbly, she sat there for a few moments, before it really started to sink in that he was gone.

He was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

_Ron knelt beside her, biting his lip until it bled. He had barely even heard her voice, the ringing in his head had been so loud. He had never looked back, but the sight of her pale hand, stretched out into the raining evening would haunt him for some time to come. Even with forgiveness, this new information was a fresh hurt, and he knew it would take time to process. They were going to need to comfort each other after these memories, once they were home. He stayed close by her side as she stood up, their gurgling sobs mixing in the air, only one of which she could hear. He followed her as she staggered back inside, and, without a word to Harry, collapsed into a small ball on her cot._

_He waited for Harry to say something, to try to comfort her since he couldn't. But Harry only came up behind her, standing hesitantly, before laying a blanket over her and returning to his own bunk. For some reason, this infuriated Ron, who turned on his friend to yell at him, the muscles in his neck taut with anger._

" _For fucks sake, Harry! Couldn't you do better than that? She_ stayed! _You could've said_ something, _instead of throwing a blanket over her like a cover over a birdcage!"_

_He knew that was unfair of him; Harry was upset as well, and he had never been very good at reaching out to comfort people, because of the way he had been brought up. But he had thought...well, he had thought they would have been happier without him, to tell the truth; that they would have gone right back to being excited about the sword. Even when he had gotten his head on straight, he had thought that while they might miss him, they would be alright together. He went back to crouch by Hermione, uselessly rubbing her shoulder through the pilled wool of her blanket._

Hermione stared dully at the material that she had pulled over her head, her eyes unfocused and unseeing. He had left. Ron had left them. After seven years of friendship, he had walked out like it had all been nothing. And that was what terrified her the most. Even if... _they_ were never going to be what she had hoped, she had always stood firm in the knowledge that Ron was, above all else, a loyal and caring friend. If any one had told her that he would ever abandon her or Harry when they needed him most, she would have called them the worst kind of liar.

But he had.

And now she was left to lie here, picking over the past seven years, and wonder how much of them were a lie. Had he ever truly cared? Every kind word, every brave action...had any of it meant anything? She had believed him with an ease and extent which was frightening, and which put all of her judgments and decisions in doubt. Her faith was shattered in jagged pieces around her, her source of comfort now her source of despair. A cold numbness settled over her, the months of hardship and strain unable to bear up under this new blow, and apathy offered itself as a refuge. Having nothing else, she turned to it.

And the small, poisonous voice grew louder.


	35. Chapter 35

**A.N. Another small reminder that reviews or PMs that contain death threats, threats of physical harm, or verbal attacks of a personal nature will be ignored and deleted. I am always happy to discuss any thoughts or concerns about my writing, but I will not tolerate abusive language. For those of you who have offered polite criticism, I respect your opinions and take them into consideration.**

From somewhere to his right, Ron was aware of Hermione saying that she was going to go brush her teeth, and Harry spreading out his sleeping bag on the floor. Ron stood up from the couch, walked three steps, stopped, and took two back. He was a ball (if the word could be applied to someone with his lanky frame) of nervous energy, his fingers twitching with the need to do something. The relief of hearing that his family was alright had only lasted a few moments, before doubt began to creep in. What if his dad had just said that to keep them away? Surely they knew he would have come right back if they needed him, or if one of them was...well, along the lines of George's ear. They did know that, right? He knew that they had all skirted around things before he left, but surely they understood that it wasn't easy for him to leave them?

He knew going with Harry was the right choice; he didn't doubt that for one moment. And he knew Harry felt nearly as bad as he did, so he was trying not to make a big deal of it, but it was so damn _hard._ He'd thought that when they left, everyone would be safe and snug inside the wards of the Burrow, that he'd get a chance to say goodbye. 'Course, he had some written just in case...in _case,_ but he meant something more cheerful to start with.

_Hermione gave his jumper a sharp yank that she knew he couldn't feel, loathing another sign that he had accepted his death as more of a probability rather than a possibility. Watching Ron's restless movements, it hit her, as it hadn't before, that Ron had had it harder than either her or Harry. Harry, as horrifically brutal it was to say, didn't have a family that he had to worry about. Yes, he loved the Weasleys, and it would have crushed him if something happened to any of them, but it still wasn't the same; their presence in his life hadn't been as constant as it had been for Ron, and wouldn't leave the same kind of hole. Doing what she had to protect her family had been damaging in it's own way, but she at least had the comfort of knowing they were safely oceans away; the Weasleys were vocally on the front lines. Ron had done what he could for them by disguising the ghoul, to shield them from, or at least postpone, any retaliation when his flight was discovered by the Ministry._

_And now he was feeling guilty because his concern about his family meant it had been hard for him to leave. Hermione, however, didn't see that as a flaw. Ron's love for, and desire to protect his family were some of his greatest strengths. If he had been able to walk away from them without a second thought, then he wouldn't be the man he was, or even a man she could love. Just because you believed in a cause with your whole heart didn't mean you lightly walked away from your responsibilities and loved ones. It was a hard sacrifice to make, and one you didn't unless you had to, as a final option. This was a perfect example to her of how, although his job might take him from her on long missions, he would never leave her or their future children without regretting having to do so. He would do what he could to make sure they would be alright without him, and he would come back as soon as he could._

Harry was silent, and Ron knew, from experience, that it was best to just go through the normal motions as best as he could, until Harry felt like interacting. Ron needed something to do with his hands, since there was no conversation to distract him, so he went about setting up his bedding. Since there was only his sleeping bag and a pillow to lay out, it didn't take long, so he decided to be helpful, and reached out for Hermione's. After several months of getting himself into the habit of performing small gestures of affection, it was only natural to wonder how he could make her more comfortable. Spying the sofa in front of him, he immediately snatched up the cushions, fluffing them up and making sure they weren't dusty or riddled with dead mice.

Satisfied that they were clean and vermin free, he started to place them on the floor, then paused. Harry was already lying down, pretending to be asleep. He obviously wanted his privacy, so shouldn't he and Hermione keep their distance? And sometimes Hermione pressed a bit too hard, too fast, so surely it was best to keep her on this side, while he took the middle. Of course, he didn't want to make it too obvious, so he would have to stay close to her, too. He grabbed his bedding, and moved it closer to where he had placed hers, and stared down at the arrangement. The tips of his ears burned as he realized that if they were any closer together, it would look like one bed. The thought of being able to curl up in the blankets with her, with their arms wrapped around each other, made his chest ache. To be able to hold her close, and stroke her hair, her back, her arms...The images changed rapidly to something far less innocent, and he jerked his bedding a few inches away, cursing himself for being such a randy bastard. How could he even think like that, with all that was happening? To say nothing of the fact that Hermione would murder him right there if she woke up in the morning with his stiffy wedged firmly in her arse crack. Shit. Why did he think that? Now he was hard. Shit, shitshitshit. Naturally, this was the moment she would pick to walk back in.

As casually as possible, he sat down and hunched himself over, so she wouldn't notice that he had a visitor, hoping that the dim lighting would help. Luck was with him, because once she saw that Harry wasn't going to be sociable, her attention was mostly focused on her sleeping arrangements. He was pleased that she noticed his efforts, and appreciated them, but he practically sprinted out the door when she gave him an excuse to leave. Quickly, he locked himself in the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief. His toothbrush, razor, and deodorant were lined up on the sink, along with a folded pair of pajamas. He shucked his jumper and trousers, and then paused. At first, he had intended to ignore his problem. It really wasn't the time or the place, after all. But then he began to think; he was going to have to go back in there, lie down next to her, smell whatever it was that she put her her skin at night, and somehow manage to keep his blood from flowing to the wrong head.

Now might not be the right time or place, but he couldn't seem to convince his cock of that, so he really had no other choice. Cursing himself for leaving his wand in the other room, he clenched his jaw as he took himself in hand, and began to stroke. He needed to be fast, so he let his mind wander back to the wedding, and how things might have gone if they had been able to go for that walk. He sped up at the image of her arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed her, his mind filling in the noises he hoped she would make, and mentally lowering the neckline of her dress several inches. His thoughts had him close, but not close enough; he switched to a grateful Hermione sliding under his blanket, eager to make sure he was as comfortable as he had made her. It didn't take long before the picture of Hermione bobbing up and down below the covers had him coming hard, grunting between his teeth. In no time at all, he had cleaned himself up with a few squares of toilet paper, brushed his teeth, and was padding back down the hall in his pajamas, the picture of innocence.

Hermione was already snug under her blanket, and as he moved closer and his eyes adjusted more to the dark, he would almost swear that she had moved his things closer to her. Dismissing it as an optical illusion borne of far too much hope and his recent activities, he dropped to the floor and crawled into his sleeping bag, twisting and turning to find a comfortable position. The floor was damn hard, even with the Cushioning Charm he had used. Tempted by the idea of having an opportunity to have Hermione in sight as he fell asleep, he rolled to his side, and nearly let out a yelp. If his already lengthy nose was any longer, it would have touched hers. He was already forming apologies in his mind before he realized that Hermione was perfectly calm, so he let himself relax a little, extremely glad now that he had taken the time to brush his teeth, among other things.

It had been a long day, and things were likely to get harder from here on out, so they should probably get some sleep. However, Ron found he was reluctant to give up this rare moment of (semi) privacy, even if this was far from how he had pictured the end of his day. Well, getting horizontal with Hermione had been a fantasy, of course, though not one he had thought held much chance. Still, this was a lot closer than he usually thought he would get, and part of him wanted to escape the reality of what had happened by trying to recapture some of the mood from the wedding.

When he asked her if she was comfortable, he hadn't expected it to turn into thanks for what had happened back at the cafe. To be honest, he didn't even really consider it was something he could take credit for, since it wasn't as if he had even thought about it. If there was a chance she was going to be hurt, he did what he could to stop it. Period. It was as natural and necessary to him as breathing. Apparently, though, she didn't buy the idea that anyone would've done the same. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that they would, if they were as mental about her as he was, but he wasn't sure that would be the right thing to say.

_No, actually, it would have been pretty much the perfect thing to say, Hermione thought. Though she knew he would have done the same for any of his friends, hearing that he considered her to be a special case would have sent her over the moon. It would have been preferable if he had managed it without Harry sleeping a few feet away, but considering she had leapt on him and nearly snogged him to death with Harry watching, she couldn't say much._

He tried to change the subject by making a joke about her knight comment, holding in a moan when he felt her breath from her laugh ghost over his lips. The need to reach out and pull her closer was almost too much, so he tried to think of anything besides the fact that they were laid out in bed practically like a _couple._ unfortunately, this lead him back to thoughts of his family, and he sobered up quickly as his worry returned. In the quiet darkness of the room, it was easy to voice his fears, and more comforting than he could say when she tried to reassure him. He knew there was no way to know for sure, but hearing things were alright in Hermione's convicted tone of voice let him believe it for a little longer.

Without meaning to, it had set her mind down a bad path, and he realized that she had worries of her own. All thought stuttered to a halt as he felt her hand slide down his arm and link with his, her fingers lacing with his as if they had done this a thousand times before. The sensation went straight to his head, and he felt as if he was levitating three feet off the floor, with only her hand to anchor him in place. It took him a moment to realize that she was moving her hand away, and he instantly wrapped his fingers around hers, thrilled when she stopped moving and continued to hold his hand.

As his mouth stumbled to say the right things, his thumb traced over her fingers, and he marvelled at how small and light they were compared to his giant, clumsy mitts. They were soft, too, except for the callouses from where she held her quill. So bent on studying her, that it took awhile to notice that her thumb had begun to stroke him in the same manner, and this time the blood went to his lower half. They were facing each other, and he could look directly in her eyes; there was something flowing back and forth between them, something he knew the Muggles had a word for. The closest he could come to was likening it to a stupefying spell. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her. He would barely have to move his head, and their lips would be connected in the way he had dreamed of for so long.

But he couldn't.

Not because he was afraid, even though he was. It was because...it was because after everything that happened today, feeling that good somehow seemed wrong. And it would almost be using it as a distraction, which isn't how he wanted their first kiss (because he was determined that there was going to be one) to go. He wanted it to be when they were happy, and only thinking about themselves. Maybe that was selfish, or unrealistic, but nearly every time they had been close physically lately, it had been out of something like comfort. Was it wrong of him to want things to be different?

_Hermione frowned. He was right, and she had mostly felt the same way herself. But this mean he was disappointed with how their first kiss eventually turned out? Did he feel...cheated? He had never acted like it, but now she was nervous to eventually see that memory. It had always been so special to her, and she knew she would be at least a little crushed to find that he felt it had been tainted somehow. She watched herself and Ron struggle to stay awake, wondering if she shouldn't have been bold sooner than she had._

Ron squinted at the sheet of parchment stretched out on the table in front of him, wishing, for probably the first time in his life, that he had bothered to learn decent penmanship. What good was making a bloody list, when you couldn't make out the bloody words? He was racking his brain for every last drop of information he had about the Ministry, cursing himself for not paying more attention to his dad when he had the chance. Facts were beginning to blur together, and he had started to second guess himself.

He tossed the quill down on the table, and massaged his temples, doing his best to ease the throbbing ache that was forming. There was a lot of pressure on him to get this right, and he was beginning to feel like he would crack under the strain. There were a million and one things that could go wrong, and it would all be his fault. The thought of something happening to Harry or Hermione because he fucked something up had him sick to his stomach. And even if they did manage to make it out alive, if he bungled it where they didn't get the locket, they would hate him for sure. They would have to, because he knew he would hate himself.

_While she had no doubt that he would have felt that way about himself, Hermione thought she could speak well enough for Harry to say that neither of them would have hated Ron for something like that. It was true they were snappish and on edge, but Ron wasn't solely responsible for the outcome of the mission. For one thing, they weren't going into a static situation. Many changes could have (and had) occurred without him knowing, and there was no way to predict with any real accuracy the actions of people they would randomly encounter. There was also the fact that she and Harry were just as likely to make some sort of mistake as he was, and he shouldn't feel like he had to take the blame for that. Ron had done the best he could, and she had always been proud that he had gotten them as far as he had._

He didn't know which was harder; trying to remember all of these details, or the days when it was his turn to watch the Ministry, and seeing his dad but not being able to talk to him. Each time, Ron searched his dad's face for any sign of what might be going on with his family, and each time, it was harder not to make himself known. He felt like a tit, because he wanted nothing more than for his dad to tell him everything was going to be alright, or to give him some clear advice that would magically make everything better, like when he was little. But he _wasn't_ little. He was an adult, and he needed to get over the idea that running to mummy and daddy was the answer. How could Harry and Hermione rely on him if he was busy sniveling after his parents?

_Ron had missed quite a lot if he thought he was the only one in that boat. Harry had longed for his parents so much that you could almost taste it when they had gone to Godric's Hollow, and she would have given anything for a comforting word from hers. Being an adult, even if only legally, had nothing to do with it. When times were hard, it was perfectly natural to want your mum and dad._

"Ron? You don't look very well. Why don't you stop and at least have a sandwich?" Hermione asked from where she stood behind his chair.

"Can't. We're running out of time, and I need to get all this sorted out." He responded morosely.

He expected to hear her sigh and walk away, so he was surprised when she gently swatted his hand as he went to pick up his quill.

"Oi, what's that for?"

Hermione gave him a push so he was sitting back on the sofa, instead of on the edge hunched over the table. He gave a moan as the muscles in his lower back made their displeasure known.

"I think it's time that I turn the tables on you," she answered, sitting down beside him and handing him a plate of sandwiches and crisps, "You keep writing things down and then scribbling them out. I can tell you're getting frustrated with yourself, but you'll never get anywhere if you don't take a break."

"I know, but I wasn't really that hungry any-oh," he took a bite, "Thi' i' goo'."

Hermione gave him a smug smile. "See? I knew you'd be hungry. You didn't eat all of your breakfast this morning."

Ron had wolfed down his first sandwich, and was well into his second. "Yeah, but I knew I needed to get this done as soon as possible. There's only so much sitting outside of the Ministry will help us with, and we can't stay here forever. Especially not with Harry in the mood he's in."

Both of them sat there glumly, remembering the recent scene with Lupin.

"I wish he had handled that better. I understand why he would be sensitive about it, and Lupin couldn't possibly have been thinking straight..." Hermione thought out loud.

Ron slowed down to savor his last sandwich. "You can kind of see how Lupin feels, though. He was worried enough about just _being_ with Tonks. Having a baby must've scared him shitless, knowing how people are going to treat it."

"So you think leaving them was the right decision?" Hermione asked, her voice gaining a sharp edge.

"What? Hell no!"

Lupin knew how babies were made. If he was worried, he should've taken better precautions until the war was over. Now it was too late, so he'd better be responsible. Ron choked on a mouthful of chips, horrified to realize that his mum was living in his head.

"He needs to be with his family. You don't...you don't just run off and leave them. He probably just came here before he got his head on straight."

Suddenly his crisps didn't seem so appetizing, and he put down his plate. Was he being a hypocrite? Because if he remembered correctly, he had pretty much done the same thing, leaving his family behind to help Harry. At least Lupin hadn't left her to face Death Eaters. He looked down as a hand slid over his, stilling the fingers that were rubbing up and down his arm.

"Ron," Hermione said quietly, "It's not the same." At his disbelieving look, "No, really, it isn't. Lupin took on the responsibility of a family when he married Tonks. That was their choice. We... _you_ aren't doing anything any differently than any other child that grows up and leaves home."

He wanted to believe that. He really did. But he couldn't help comparing the way he left to the way his older brothers had. Except for Percy. At least he wasn't as shit as Percy.

"Really? Because it seems a little different than the way my brothers left home."

The corner of Hermione's mouth quirked up. "Alright, so ours was a little more...dramatic. But it was going to happen sooner or later, you know. We couldn't stay kids forever."

This last was said with an air of wistfulness, and Ron wondered if she felt, as he did, that the three of them hadn't even had a normal length of a childhood, much less one that would qualify as forever. And, he thought with a sigh, it wasn't going to get any better if he didn't knuckle under and get this list made. But his attempt to move was thwarted by Hermione, who pulled him back onto the sofa, hugging his arm to hold him in place.

Confused, he looked down at her, searching her troubled expression for a reason why Hermione Granger, of all people, would hold him back from paperwork.

"Hermione? I should, um, probably get back to work now. Thanks for lunch, though."

Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, and sighed. "Just twenty minutes. Your brain needs the rest, and it won't make that much of a difference in the long run."

He put a hand to her forehead. "Are you sick? Should I have a look through your bag for some kind of medicine?"

She snorted, but didn't move. "Seriously, Ron. Harry will be back later, most likely in a bad mood. It feels like the entire world is going mental. Everything is moving too fast, and I just...I just want things to _stop_ for a few minutes, so I can try to catch up. I want twenty minutes where I don't feel horrible."

She had hugged his arm tighter as she spoke, and any desire to move left him completely. "Well, I wouldn't want you to feel horrible," he said softly, tilting his head to rest on top of hers.

Ever since that first night they had fallen asleep holding hands, there had been an increase of physical contact between them. It wasn't sexual (at least not intentionally. He'd be lying if he said none of it had that effect on him), but there was something special about it. Moments like these didn't happen nearly as often as he would like. They were going full tilt most of the time, working on the plan. But it was these moments that they had alone, when they could talk about things and comfort each other, that made him think that there was a future for them after this war ended. He felt her grip relax as her breathing became slow and even. Sitting like this, it was easy to pretend that they were actually a couple. One that had even been together for awhile, with a more permanent arrangement in the future. Lupin clearly wasn't thinking straight. He and Hermione might not be on the same level as Lupin and Tonks, But one thing he was sure of.

Ron knew he could never walk out on something like this, no matter how bad it got.

_His sincerity nearly broke her heart. Hermione knew that he truly believed what he was thinking. And she knew that had the locket not gotten ahold of him, things would have played out differently. He still would have been grumpy and frustrated, just like her and Harry; they had gone through periods of that at school, and handled it just fine. Times like these had made his leaving all the harder on her. Being able to talk about serious subjects, and the way physical affection had become easier between them had given her a sense that things were going in the direction of a relationship. As much as she had tried to deny that it was an option, she had begun to hope. Since Dumbledore's funeral, Ron had been showing a new maturity, and more noticeable efforts with the way he treated her. Which was why, when things started to go bad, it had been difficult not to take it personally._

Ron lay on his cot staring at the roof of the tent, whatever potion Hermione had given him for the pain making his head swim. He flexed his arm, raising it a few inches before the pain made him lower it again. It had been several days since their escape from the Ministry, and he was frustrated that he wasn't healing faster, a feeling he knew Harry shared. He knew they were having to move slowly for him, and he hated how he was the one slowing them down, right off the bat. He was glad that neither Harry or Hermione had been the one to be Splinched, but he really wished he had been able to avoid it as well. Just his usual luck, he supposed.

He heard the two of them whispering, and flopped his head over unsteadily on his rubbery neck. They were sitting at the table, and he frowned faintly. Hermione had been taking care of him, but it felt like she was spending less and less time with him. He had hoped that she would creep into his cot for a cuddle more often, but she had only done so a few times since the first day. Was she disgusted that he was holding them up? He wasn't doing it on purpose. At Hogwarts, he hadn't been above milking an illness to get out of work, but he wouldn't think of pulling a stunt like that here. Or was she just finally sick of spending so much time with him? His frown deepened. She didn't seem to be having that trouble with Harry. He blinked. Why had he thought that? That was mental. But a lot of his thoughts had been, recently. Must be a side effect of whatever potion Hermione had him on. He tried to clear his head, but it was like being underwater. It wasn't too bad at the moment, and he hoped he would get over it when he felt better, or at least not keep going through periods of being worse.

He tried to sit up, but he jostled his arm, and the sharp pain made him cry out. A chair scraped as it was pushed away from the table, and Hermione crossed over to his side of the tent.

"Ron? Aren't you asleep yet?"

"Nuh-uh. Need to get up, and get used to moving."

Instead of the concern that he had half expected, his statement was greeted with an impatient huff and narrowed eyes. "No, you need to _rest._ You'll never be able to heal properly unless you do." She reached for the chain around her neck. "Here, it's your turn to wear it."

Ron pressed himself back into the mattress, putting as much distance between himself and the locket as possible. He hated the thing with an intensity that he'd never hated with before. He feared it too, but he was less ready to admit that out loud. He'd already said that the thing gave him the creeps, but they hadn't seemed very sympathetic. They didn't like it either, they said, but they didn't have a choice. Maybe he _was_ making too much of it. He didn't think he would bring it up right now, since Hermione looked like she was in the mood to take his head off if he fought her on it. Besides, with his arm fucked up, this was the only thing he could do to carry his weight. So he bit back a grunt of disgust as Hermione lowered the chain over his head, the locket lying like a stone on his chest, dragging him deeper into the water. His vision blurred, and his eyes became heavy.

The last thing he saw was Hermione turning away from him, and walking towards Harry, leaving him alone.

_Hands covering her mouth, Hermione gasped. She hadn't remembered this day until now, since in her memories, there was nothing to make it stand out. She had been near the end of her shift with the locket, and it had made her grumpy and on edge. His lack of sleep had worried her, but she hadn't realized that her worry had come out so harsh and uncaring. If that was how she appeared to him, it was no wonder he had seemed to withdraw from her. What made her even more sick was witnessing herself putting that accursed locket around his neck. She might not have known what it was like for him at the time, but she might as well have poisoned him. Not that she really knew what it was like for him even now; he had never wanted to talk about that time, and since she had realized that the locket had exerted some sort of influence over him, and she had already forgiven him, she didn't feel the need to make him relive it. Now, the moment had come to find out what had truly gone on in his head, and she was almost sure that she didn't want to know._

Cat piss. Cat piss and static. The two constants in his life. Even in his dreams, he couldn't get away from the reek and the sounds. Some nights, he woke up clawing at himself. He heard Harry sigh from across the tent as he tried to adjust the radio again. Ron ignored him. At least he was doing something that might get them some information. All Harry did was sit there and eye-fuck that damned Snitch. As much as he had always loved Quidditch, he never thought he could hate anything related to it as much as he did that Snitch. Hermione gave an echoing sigh, and his eyes flickered over to where she was reading. He wasn't too keen on books at the moment, either.

His stomach gave a loud growl, and he paused a moment to let the wave of dizziness that accompanied it pass. The radio let out a high pitched whine, and he slammed his hand on the side to make it stop. If he just wasn't so damned _hungry_ all the time, he might be able to concentrate enough to get a decent station. They hadn't heard any news in days, and the last list of those missing or dead had been depressingly high. How many more had been added to it in the meantime? How many were people they knew? Or were related to...

Damn it, why wouldn't this piece of shit fucking _work!_ With a sharp snap of his wrist he flicked it off, throwing himself back on his cot. He scrubbed his hands down his face, the stubble on his cheeks and chin making a scraping sound against his palms. Couldn't even get a radio to work right. How pathetic was that? His head tilted to the side, listlessly watching Harry and Hermione. The Chosen One, and the brightest witch of their age. Harry was going to defeat the greatest threat that the Wizarding world had ever known. Hermione was brilliant enough to solve all the puzzles to help him do it. Fuckin' perfect for each other, weren't they? Like goes to like. People in their class didn't scrape the bottom of the barrel. Tits who couldn't even get a radio to work, for example. What were they even doing with him? He couldn't contribute like they could. He might as well not even be here. For all they had been paying attention to him lately, he might as well not be.

_Anxiously, Hermione hovered nearby. After experiencing most of Ron's life from this vantage point, she had gotten a good idea of how Ron's mind normally worked, and how it felt. Something had shifted, though. There was a darkness inside of him that had never been there before, cobbled together from his original fears and insecurities, and held together by some outside force that was twisted and evil. She had experienced something similar, but not nearly this vivid. This must be because of what they found out about Ron when he went in for Auror training. When the brains attacked him in fifth year, they did more than just leave scars on his arms. They had affected his mind, and his treatment had only healed the surface. It had left the door to his mind ill-fitting; it didn't catch when it was shut, and once magic had blasted its way in once, it was extremely easy for it to do so again. Harry had years of experience dealing with Voldemort in his head, so while the locket had affected him, it hadn't been unbearable. She didn't have the same protection, but she had something else. She had a lifetime of blocking out the world around her to focus on whatever she was reading. When she was intent on studying something, mental barriers unconsciously sprang up in her mind, making it harder for magic to have sway. It didn't completely keep it out, of course, and she was particularly vulnerable when her mind wasn't busy. But most of the time she had been reading and puzzling over possible clues in Beedle the Bard, and it had helped._

_Ron had no such protection. In the early days, he had asked them to play chess with him, but both she and Harry had turned him down. Seeing what the locket was doing to him made her hate herself for that. Chess would have been a perfect mental diversion, and she had denied him that small bit of peace. It also would have made him less isolated, and made him feel wanted and included._

Melancholy replaced the tight anger in his chest. He had seen them, even if they thought he hadn't. Talking. Whispering. Looking at him, then quickly away if they saw him looking back. Probably talking about how much better it would've been if he hadn't come at all. And who could blame him? He couldn't offer anything more than they could do themselves, and do better. Why had he even come? His family could use him more. At least they wouldn't be running the risk of the Ministry hauling them in if they found out he wasn't really sick at home. He was pretty certain that not everyone who was taken for 'questioning' made it back out again, and bloodtraitors were looked on as just as bad as muggles.

And Ginny was alone at school, now, without another family member with her for the very first time. Who knew what kind of fucked up shit was going on there? Hadn't he promised himself in second year, after she had been possessed, that he would look after her better? If something happened to her because he hadn't been there to stop it, he'd never forgive himself. His mum wouldn't, either. She had always wanted a daughter, and after what must have been the disappointment of a sixth son, she had finally gotten one. All his life, he had been told to watch out for Ginny. And what does he do? Runs off and leaves her to fend for herself, during a fucking war.

_Hermione was having a hard time keeping up with his jumbled thoughts. Of course she and Harry had been whispering. When Ron was wearing the locket, he became aggressive and sarcastic, picking to death anything they said. It was always best to avoid talking to him, because they just ended up fighting. And it was hard not to look away from him, when he sat there glaring at you all the time. She had spent years wishing for Ron to look at her, and then had spent months trying to avoid it. But she did the same thing with him when Harry was wearing the locket, and she had seen them exchange looks more than once when it had been her turn. It was true that his complaints and comments had made her angry, but she had never thought he was useless, or wished that they were rid of him. Underneath it all, she had never stopped loving him. She had, however, doubted that he felt anything close to the same._

_Oh, that locket had been sly. She saw clearly what Ron, at this time, couldn't; it was using his family against him. Slowly, subtly, it was using Ron's greatest strength and twisting it. Ron was loyal to a fault. He was loyal to his friends, and to his family. The locket played on this by dividing those loyalties, and made it seem like it had to be a choice between the two. It used his guilt at leaving them to magnify things, and even warped his insecurities to suit its needs. Molly might have always wanted a daughter, but it didn't mean she loved her sons any less. It just meant she wanted both. How did it even make sense that she would love her first five sons, and then look on her sixth as a mistake for not being a daughter? And from her conversations with the family, each child had been told to look after the next youngest. She couldn't be everywhere at once, and it helped to have extra pairs of eyes to keep accidents from happening._

_Ron always would have felt bad for leaving his family behind; he had done so even before the locket. But his love and concern for them were the two things that could get him to leave his friends. The locket must have taken every opportunity to feed these feelings, which was probably why he had fiddled with the radio obsessively. It was splitting him down the middle, and poisoning what little self-confidence he had to make him think it didn't matter if he left._

Maybe if he tried again, he'd have better luck. It wasn't like he was needed for anything else. He sat back up, and reached for the radio, looking at Harry and Hermione out of the corner of his eye. There they were, whispering again. Looking awful cozy, as a matter of fact. Cozy enough that Harry might've decided that it wasn't worth it to wait for Ginny, when he had a brilliant witch right here...and Hermione. Well, whatever had been building between them had clearly been one-sided, because nearly any sign of affection towards him had dried up. A small, stray thought asked the question of whether or not he might have been helping that along, but it was quickly drowned out.

All he could hear was the static.

The days that he wasn't wearing the locket were better. Or they would be, if he didn't have to deal with whoever was. Just when his nearly constant headache seemed to fade, one or the other one got their knickers in a twist, and would decide that whatever was bothering them was best taken out on him. Ron shuffled around in the closet-like bathroom, jamming his hip on the sink as he stepped out of the shower, but ignored the pain. He was feeling better than he had in awhile, not that that was saying much. They had managed to scrape up some food, and had eaten well (comparatively) last night, and had even been able to have a decent breakfast. Ron had put off brushing his teeth, just so the taste of food would linger in his mouth. He rubbed at his chest with the towel, absently trying to warm the cold spot that seemed to cling to him even when he wasn't wearing the locket anymore.

Tugging on his trousers, he wondered what he should do when he joined the others. It was still Hermione's turn with the locket, so he supposed he would join Harry, wherever he went. Unless he was in one of his silent moods again. Ron felt like he was drowning and struggling for air, and wondered if maybe he would feel better if he spent some time alone today. He wished...well, he wished they weren't in this fucking mess, but since they were, he wished the others didn't make him feel as useless as a third tit being there. Hermione had nearly snapped his head off when he had reached for the plate of bread earlier, her voice dripping in disdain as she told him that he would have to forego his usual fourth servings, since they weren't at Hogwarts or the Burrow. She had been so downright nasty about it that he hadn't bothered to mention that he had been going to pass the plate to her.

He pulled his jumper over his head and hung up his towel, running his fingers through damp hair. If he was gone much longer, it would start to look like Bill's. It was quiet in the main part of the tent, with Harry and Hermione still sitting at the table. He raised his eyebrows at Harry as he came in, and Harry gave a slight shrug in return. Damn. He was hoping to find out which direction Hermione's mood was going, so he knew if it was safe to open his mouth. He went over to sit on the edge of his cot, thrusting his large, bony feet into a pair of wooly socks with holes at the heels and toes, and then into his shoes, which were wearing thin at the soles. Through his fringe, he observed Hermione, who was tapping her fingers on her book, her mouth set in a thin, tight line. A quick look at her chest confirmed that she was wearing the locket. Why did they have to wear it? There was something wrong about that, he had tried to tell them, but they hadn't wanted to listen. And alright, so he wasn't the Chosen One, and if he had tried to make a Polyjuice Potion when he was twelve, he probably would have turned himself into an inside-out, giant pink worm. But he knew things about the Wizarding world that the other two hadn't learned about in school or books, and he had his gut; both were telling him that they should lock the bloody thing up until they knew what to do with it. But he'd keep quiet. He wouldn't give his opinion where it wasn't wanted.

"Um, Hermione? I think it's my turn with the locket, now. You might as well give it to me, and have the next turn at the shower," Harry said with a pleasantness that was a touch too forced to be real.

"Fine, if you'll clear away the dishes. I did them last night."

Harry began to do so at once, using his wand to send them to the sink. "Sure, Hermione."

Ron kicked himself; why hadn't he thought to do that? As Hermione lifted the chain over her head and passed it to Harry, he shuddered, and blurted out, "Blimey, I'm glad it's not my turn yet. I hate wearing that thing."

Hermione glared at him, her upper lip curled back. "No one _wants_ to wear it, Ron. It's a Horcrux, in case you've forgotten. I'd be more worried if you _did_ want to wear it," she sneered at him.

_Sweet Merlin, had she really been that...that bitchy? She knew how ugly the locket made them act, but if Ron's memories and her own experiences were anything to go by, it also dulled your perceptions of your own actions, and made you feel like the other two were acting much worse. If asked, Harry had probably felt the same way. Poor Ron! One of the rare moments he had been able to surface from the mental torment, and she was there to push him back down. She didn't care that it was because of the locket. It was still hurtful, and he hadn't deserved that. He had been making perfectly normal conversation, and she had rewarded him with stinging belittlement._

Blood welled up from where his teeth sank into his cheek, doing his best to mask the pain he felt at her harsh words. Why was everything he said and did _wrong_ to her? He couldn't...he couldn't deal with this right now.

"RIght. I'll just...go see if I can find some mushrooms, or something. Take the first watch, too. Alright? Right." He said tightly, snatching up his coat and almost running out of the tent, not bothering to wait for an answer, or to even look at them.

The ground was still wet from the rain last night, and he nearly slipped on the leaves several times as he stalked away from the camp, his eyes burning with repressed tears. He took in great, gasping lungfuls of air, trying to calm himself down. He wanted to throw something; wanted to scream. Why was it always him that was the stupid one? Why were _his_ fuck-ups and awkward comments the ones that got pointed out? It wasn't like he wasn't frustrated too. All of this wandering around in circles wasn't doing them a damn bit of good. They weren't making any progress at all, and the only thing they were likely to accomplish out here was to give the local wildlife a meal when they finally dropped dead from malnourishment.

They were cut off from supplies, support, and information. They had no direction, and Harry wasn't even willing to look beyond the little that Dumbledore had sent them with. Which basically boiled down to being able to toss around a Snitch and read a book by a nifty looking light. If this was all they were going to do, then they could do it back home, where they could at least help others. It might be more dangerous, but there was a better chance of figuring things out, if they could talk to people like Lupin. But no one was going to listen to anything he had to say, were they? He couldn't even make a comment about the locket without getting his bollocks ripped off and handed to him for it.

He stopped and leaned against a tree, not wanting to accidentally leave the wards. He was just so tired; he wasn't eating enough, wasn't sleeping enough...he felt miserable and on edge all of the time, as if everything good in his life had either been a lie, or was slipping through his fingers. Back at Grimmauld Place, he had thought that as long as he and Hermione could count on each other for support while Harry was dealing with the weight of what he had to do, then he would be alright. But he didn't even have that anymore, and he was beginning to think he was imagining ever having it in the first place. He had thought...he had thought things were going _right_ for them. Now, he could barely remember what her hand felt like, or how she had looked when she smiled at him.

What had he done to make her change? All the warmth had gone out of her, and he always felt like she was looking at him the same way she would an unwelcome houseguest. Had she finally been around Harry and him long enough to compare them, and realize that Harry wa the better deal? He had tried, he had tried so _hard,_ honest he had, to measure up. It just...how could you measure up to a hero, when it was obvious you were never more than sidekick material, at most? Hermione was a bright, ambitious witch. She deserved someone who was going places, like she was. He probably should've seen it coming all along, but it was only in the past couple of months that it became clear to him. She and Harry never really fought. Harry was smarter. More athletic. Braver. Better looking, better dressed, and richer. Ron gave a slightly hysterical laugh; if he was into blokes, he might make a play for Harry himself.

The laughter died away in the wind, and he frowned sadly. He missed the way things had been before. He missed talking to her and touching her. He missed feeling like he was wanted, like there was actually a chance that they could be more. He missed it so much that his bones ached...he missed it, even if it had only been a lie he told himself.

_He looked so incredibly lost, standing there in the cold; a far cry from the angry, cruel man he had appeared to be when the locket had him. Out here alone, he was just a seventeen year old boy who was hurting, and thinking that the people he loved didn't care about him at all. The locket had twisted him up so much that he didn't even need to be wearing it; it had already used his insecurities to poison him against himself, and he was in too deep to break out of the cycle on his own. Ron had always had a hard time seeing the good in himself, or believing that anyone else could. Now, each little thing was magnified and distorted so far out of proportion, that it had little in common with reality. She freely admitted, and deeply regretted, that her own words and actions, both with and without the locket, had contributed to that._

_But there were some things that had been purely Ron, and the possibility of there being something between her and Harry was one of them. In the tent, she had never acted any differently with Harry than she ever had; actually, because of the locket's effect on them, she was more distant than anything. During a time where Ron was feeling guilty over leaving his family behind, worrying over them and the bleak future that the Wizarding world was facing, she had been one of the few bright spots he had. The comfort of their friendship, and the exciting possibility of more, and given him a respite from all the darkness going on around them, and then that was taken away. She hadn't done it on purpose, and some things hadn't been her at all, but the locket's lies. He wasn't wearing the locket now, though, and even though she was currently being influenced by it herself, it was still her words which had hurt him. Tenderly she touched his cheek, and looked up into half-open eyes which stared through her unseeingly._

" _None of that was ever true, Ron. None of it! You have so many wonderful qualities, and we never thought you were second best to anyone. You...you've always been more important than you know, no matter what you think of yourself. I wish you could see it, and...if anything that I have ever done, or said, whether it was through ignorance, the heat of anger, or whatever... If I contributed to this in any way, I want you to know that I am so, so sorry. I love you, Ron. I've always been rotten at finding the right ways to show it, but I swear I've been trying to learn. And I'll keep trying, because I never want to see you like this again."_

"Ron?"

His head shot up at the sound of Hermione's voice, and he blinked rapidly to make sure she wouldn't see his tears. Why was she out here? She had never gone so far as to follow him to keep berating him before.

"What?" He asked shortly, keeping his eyes fixed over her shoulder.

She fidgeted with the loose loop of thread that was poking out of the back of one of her mittens, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry for snapping back in the tent. I know I've been beastly all morning, and...I don't even know why. But it was hypocritical of me after getting mad at you for doing the same thing night, so I apologize."

_At least she had apologized this time, Hermione thought. She was glad to see that she hadn't been completely horrible the entire time. It still didn't make up for the countless times she had more than likely failed to do so, though._

"S'alright." Ron said, his eyes flicking to hers, then away again.

Hermione's shoulders slumped, as she took a few steps closer. "No, it really isn't. There's enough wrong without us fighting amongst ourselves. You hadn't even done anything to justify me being upset, let alone reacting that way. Can we please start the day over?"

Finally, he looked at her. She really did look like she was sorry, and to be honest, he didn't have the heart for one of their fights. And if she had bothered to come all of the way out here to apologize, instead of staying with Harry, he didn't want to run her off.

"If we're starting the day over, does that mean we get another breakfast?" He asked with a faint smile.

Looking relieved, she joined him to lean against the tree, and he felt a bit of warmth spread where their arms rubbed together. Some of the pain eased around his heart, and he found he could breath easier.

"Ron, if we ever get out of this, I promise to make you _three_ breakfasts."

He knew his ears were burning at what her remark had implied, even though he knew she didn't mean it like that. Still, things were looking better than they had earlier, and he was determined to make it last as long as possible.

"Is he playing with the Snitch, or looking at the map again?" He couldn't help but asking.

A puff of air became visible with her sigh. "The Snitch. You know how he is when he gets fixated. I wish he'd leave it alone, and concentrate on something else."

Ron jammed his hands deeper into his pockets. Yeah, he knew how Harry got, alright. And he had never minded much before, but this was the limit. "I still think we should talk to him about making some sort of plan. I don't know what!" He said to forestall her expected question, "I just know we need to be doing something more than _this._ Aside from getting the locket, have we actually done any good?"

"I know, and I feel the same way, I really do, but...but what else is there to do? They're looking for us, and it doesn't make sense to walk into a trap for no good reason."

He knew that. He had been over it a million times in his head, when he could think straight. That didn't mean he had to like it, or accept that they couldn't figure something out. But arguing with Hermione wasn't going to solve anything, and he really just wanted to have one day of not feeling like utter shite. So he merely grunted, and the two of them lapsed into silence.

"Merlin, it's freezing out here!" Hermione said after some time had passed. "Do you think we should go back in? Harry is probably wondering where we are."

Ron very much doubted it, and couldn't help feeling glum over the fact that she was already wanting to leave him. "Let's stay out a little longer. Harry knows we'll stay close, and he probably won't even notice how long we're gone. Here. let me do a Warming Charm."

His hand was stiff when he went to pull out his wand, but he was pleased when he was able to cast the charm with no trouble, and both of their teeth stopped chattering almost immediately.

"Oh, that's much better! Well, if you really think he won't mind..."

"He won't!" Ron said eagerly, knowing that another chance like this might not come along anytime soon.

"Alright. For a little bit more."

A little bit more. He was always greedy for a little bit more. A little more time, a few more words. He was having to string these little bits together, but they were coming fewer and farther between. He tried to use these moments to anchor himself, to keep from getting swept away by all the mental things in his head. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on, though. He was slipping, and he wasn't sure he could hang on by himself anymore. Maybe...if she could just...

"Hermione?" He asked hesitantly, not really sure what he was going to say, only knowing he needed to reach out somehow.

"Hm?" She replied, and he noticed that her eyes had strayed over to the tent.

"Nothing. Nothing important," He said in a hollow voice.

A little bit more of himself crumbled away.

_Hermione tried to understand how his mind had made such a leap, but was finding it difficult. She hadn't been longing for Harry, or anything ridiculous of that nature. She was concerned for him, because they really were stuck until he decided on a different course of action. Since he didn't seem inclined to think along those lines, it didn't bode well for them. She had also been wondering if she shouldn't be looking for clues in the book, even though she had read it over and over again until her eyes had crossed. That he had reached such a low point for something so trivial to be misread in that way was alarming. Things like that must have happened on a daily basis, and she was surprised he hadn't lashed out more often. If the situation had been reversed, she wasn't sure she could have maintained the same control. Apparently, Ron had nearly reached the end of his, and when he finally did, she knew the results had been devastating for all of them._

The static was back, louder than before. It roared in his ears, and echoed through his fractured thoughts. The world came together and fell apart in bits and pieces, like looking through one of his brothers' kaleidoscopes. A beast roared in the distance, and he swung his head around, only to realize that it had just been his stomach. He couldn't remember the last decent meal they had had. Or even the last less than decent meal, for that matter. He was getting desperate. He had long forgotten what it felt like to be full. The gnawing sensation never left his gut, and he was pretty sure he had thrown up blood this morning. A squirrel hopped by a short distance away, looking plump and well fed. Humans could eat acorns, right? He was desperate enough to hunt down the squirrel and steal its stash. Hell, he was desperate enough to hunt down the squirrel itself.

_He looked utterly awful. She had done the best she could to keep them all fed, but she had never come close to having enough to work with. Ron, who was taller and used to consuming much more than the other two, had been hit the hardest. Not only did he suffer from the lack of physical nourishment, but psychological, as well. She hadn't quite understood at the time, but food meant more to Ron than just fuel for the body. Molly had most often used food to express her love, and Ron had come to associate it with comfort and affection. Lack of food translated to a lack of the things he associated with it, and while food usually lifted his mood, being cut off from it had an equal and opposite effect._

_He had always been tall and rather gangly, but starvation had given him a sharper frame, cutting away any illusion of softness. The dark hollows under his eyes made him look even more dangerous, and the corner of his lip, which she used to delight in seeing lifted in a grin, was almost permanently pulled back in a snarl. These things she was only able to notice peripherally, since her own head was throbbing along with his, to the point she wanted to scream to make it go away. How had he stood it? It was like a thousand people whispering all at once, and you were only able to decipher bits and pieces, none of them pleasant._

He crouched beside Harry and Hermione, straining to make sense of what he heard through the Extendable Ear. At first, he wasn't able to grasp much, but the mention of his sister came through, cutting the static like the sword she was said to have stolen. He thought he was going to be sick. Ginny was back at Hogwarts at the hands of that greasy fucker, while he was out here in the woods with both thumbs up his arse. He wish he could be there to choke Snape for sending his sister into the Forbidden Forest. What had she faced in there? Was she alright? All he could think about was her first year, and how she had nearly died in the Chamber. He had sworn that he would never let anything like that happen again. He had _sworn._ He remembered the summer after that, and standing outside her room and listening to her cry. The nights her nightmares were so bad, that she had snuck up to his room, like when she was little. What new nightmares was she having now? And who was there to help her through it?

And what the hell did they mean, when they said the Weasley's didn't need another thing to happen to one of their kids? Had something even worse happened that he hadn't heard about? Not knowing was killing him. He staggered back to the tent after Harry and Hermione, collapsing into his bunk as the two of them nattered away, disgustingly pleased with themselves. Did they not just hear the same things he had? His family might be getting picked off one by one, and they hadn't even the decency to look worried. When Harry blew off the part about Ginny being sent into the Forest, Ron wanted to fly across the room and punch him.

Now they were getting all excited about having to chase down the sword. What was there to be so happy about? They didn't know where it was, so it was just as lost as the other Horcruxes. How could they possibly think that they were any better off now? Oh, finally asking him, were they? A bit late for that. They hadn't bothered to ask him until they had talked it over themselves. And now that they had asked, they weren't much liking what they were hearing. Too fucking bad; he hadn't liked what he had heard since they had set out on this little trip through the woods, so he didn't much care if they were bothered by the truth. And where the hell did Harry get off saying all that about him? He had known they weren't going on any picnic. He hadn't expected to _enjoy_ himself. He had just thought that they would actually be doing something that mattered!

So Harry wanted him to leave, is that it? Maybe he would, just to show him. It would serve him right, and show Harry that he was serious. He needed to learn that he couldn't insult him like that, or take for granted everything the Weasley family had done for him. Another push too far, and Ron was pulling his wand before he even knew it, not realizing till Hermione cast a Protego that Harry had done the same. That filthy little...Fine! He would leave; he would leave, and see how far he got before Harry came crawling after him. Who else would he have to blame when things went wrong? It sure wouldn't be Hermione.

Hermione.

He snatched up his rucksack, and turned to her. She was saying something, but he couldn't hear what. This was it; right here, right now, he would find out the answer to the question that had been eating at him. If she had ever felt anything for him, if this past summer had meant anything to her at all, she would come with him. She had to see that it was down to either coming back to help him, or squatting with Harry in this moldy tent.

She chose Harry.

Rage and despair clashed together like waves within him, crushing his bones and robbing him of air. Rage, because no one took his pain and worries into consideration. Despair, because his best friend, a friend he had stood by for years, had finally shown him what that had been worth. And his other friend, the girl he had loved for years, she had...well, neither of them gave a damn about him, he knew that for a fact now. He turned on his heel and stomped out. Well, they might not want him, but they could use him; they would see. Hermione was screaming something behind him, but it barely registered over the rain. Swinging his bag over his shoulder, he Apparated, hoping to get somewhere quiet to think.

_Hermione wrapped her arms around middle as she listened to herself scream, the memory of that night making her sob with a pain she thought she had put behind her. How could he think it had ever been a choice? It had never been about Harry, not really. Yes, Harry was her friend, and she had promised, and that mattered. But she had been thinking about the larger picture as well. The future of not just the Wizarding world was at stake; Hermione had known that Voldemort would utterly wipe out all Muggles once he was in control. She and people like her would be hunted to the death, as would anyone associated with them. They would be living in a hell on earth, and then they would be slaughtered. There was only so long you could run, so many places to hide. She was fighting for the Cattermoles of the world, for the Deans, for the people who would never even know why they were being killed. And, perhaps selfishly, she was fighting for them. For her and Ron. She wanted a future where they could be together without threat of death hanging over them, where their love could grow and strengthen, and where their children could be raised in peace. She had to stay, because it was the right way. The only way. And he had crushed her when he had walked out, because to her, that was saying that those reasons weren't important enough for him to stay, as well._

He landed hard, in another forest, this one closer to home, where they had camped once before. It wasn't raining here, and the silence helped his head. There. Now all he had to do was wait, and give them enough time to realize what they had done. He would've stayed closer, but they would have been able to see him through the-he spun around wildly, his pack slipping down his arm to land on the ground. The Wards! He had forgotten he wouldn't be able to see the camp once he was outside them! What had he done? The weight of his hot-tempered decision hit him, and he dropped to his knees, gasping for air. How could he have walked out on them? He had promised Harry that he would always be there for him. Why hadn't that seemed as important back in the tent as it did now? He knew he hadn't always gotten things right in the past, and he didn't have much to offer. But he had always been able to hold onto the fact that Harry could count on him, no matter what. He had just thrown away seven years of the best friendship anyone could hope to have, just because he had been trying to prove a point to heal his damned pride.

Hermione's voice somehow caught up to him, and he moaned. She had called for him! She had chased after him, shouting his name! Why would she do that, if she didn't care at all? How had he ever thought she hadn't? And why, of all things, had he asked her to choose? Hermione wouldn't leave when she knew the right thing to do was stay. She would hate him, now. If she had felt something for him beyond friendship, he had just killed it completely. Hermione loathed traitors, and that was what he was now. He had betrayed them, and he no longer deserved their forgiveness or friendship. Now they truly were better off without him.

But what if he could get back? Maybe it wasn't too late! He hadn't been gone long, and surely the camp wouldn't be too hard to find again. He struggled to his feet and Apparated to where he thought their camp had been. He turned in circles, looking for something familiar. Nothing. But maybe this had been an earlier camp? He shouted, but no one answered. He Apparated again, and repeated the process. Then again. And again. Three more times, and he knew he had failed. If he tried anymore, he would probably Splinch himself right down the middle. Not that he gave a damn, anymore.

_Hermione was dizzy with his exhaustion, and fearful about what would happen if he didn't stop soon. Had he hurt himself more than he had told them? She always knew that he had regretted his actions as soon as he had left, and she had believed him when he told her that he had tried to get back. But knowing was entirely different from experiencing the near madness that drove him, and the guilt and dark recriminations that he hurled at himself._

" _Oh, my poor Ron," she whispered when he had finally allowed himself to stop, leaning her head between his shoulders, and hugging him tightly._

He dropped to the ground once more, and pressed his cheek to the cold earth, his only source of heat the burning tears streaming down his face. Behind him, he heard footsteps, and the whisper of rough voices. Something told him that they meant him no good. The thought did nothing to move him, for he no longer cared. What was the point?

He was already dead inside, anyway.


	36. Chapter 36

**A.N. : Sorry for the long wait. February is...a very dark time for me, and it slowed down the writing process. I also had to go back and rewrite a few things, as my state of mind bled into the story a bit and made things darker than strictly needed. That being said, these are still fairly intense chapters, since they deal with Malfoy Manor. I tried not to be explicit, but I realize some people are sensitive to the subject matter involved. The next update will have three chapters, and will finally have us moving out of the realm of the books!**

**Things to keep in mind: Even when you don't believe you deserve to be forgiven, it doesn't stop you from wanting to be. On the flip side, even when you want to forgive someone, it doesn't always come easily, or all at once. When trust is damaged, it has to be built back up. And, finally, when people are hurting, they often become blind to the pain of others. Not because they don't care, but because they can barely cope with what is going on with them. Hurting people often lash out, and hurt others when they do so, even those closest to them. In short, emotions are messy, but that doesn't make you a bad person.**

**And, finally, because it needs to be said; HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RON WEASLEY, WHEREVER YOU ARE!**

The Tales of Beedle the Bard lay on the table in front of her, silently chastising her for not having so much as open the cover in three days. She tried to bring herself to care, but caring took energy she didn't currently have. What was the point? They knew now that they needed the sword. But they were no closer to finding it than they were the last three Horcruxes, and Harry showed no signs of making any kind of decision. To be honest, Harry didn't do much aside from fiddle with his Snitch, or look at the map when he thought she wasn't looking. She tried very hard not to be jealous that he _had_ a map, where he could see...well, it was more than she had. All she had were her thoughts, and they were far from comforting.

If she focused on her surroundings too long, she began to feel trapped. Without a clear goal in sight, or anything to fall back on, a future of aimlessly running from place to place loomed ahead of her. Her parents were gone. Any friend that might take her in would be at risk, because she was a Muggleborn. She had very little money, and no prospect of being able to earn more. Until this war ended, this was what the rest of her life could very well look like. Why couldn't Harry make some kind of decision? At this point, she would even settle for a wrong one.

Not that she could tell him that. She couldn't tell him much of anything. He rarely spoke to her, and she found that when she tried to make the effort herself, bitter words bubbled up and lodged in her throat. The reason for that, of course, was Ron. He had been gone for three days, and she was still reeling in disbelief. Some moments, she was so weak with the shock, the _betrayal,_ that it was hard to breathe. In those moments, she hated him. A cough from outside drew her attention, sparking irritation in conjunction with her train of thought. Some moments, she blamed Harry. Why had he pushed Ron like that? Ron hadn't said _anything_ about leaving until Harry asked why he was still here, and then made those nasty jabs about running home to mummy. He was the one that had been leading them in fruitless circles, with no hope of an end in sight. If only he-she shook her head, guilt washing over her. Harry had done the best he could. He didn't know any more than they did, and it wasn't his fault that some evil maniac had overthrown the government and was set on killing him.

Maybe blaming Harry was just a convenient way to avoid looking where the blame should really be placed, a voice whispered. She shuddered. Maybe that was true. Maybe _she_ had done something to push Ron away, to make him think that leaving was his only option. What if she had tried to talk to him more? What if she had used magic to stop him from leaving, until he calmed down?

_Ron squeezed her shoulder. Holding him there would have only prolonged things. By that point, the poison had been in his system too long for anything she or Harry could have done to make a lasting difference. The locket had been devious enough to use what had been in his own head against him, to the point that he couldn't tell where the insecurities he mostly realized as baseless left off, and the lies began. But he recognized the pattern to her thoughts; the locket was playing games with her more often now that he was gone, and she was concentrating less. It was trying to break the group down further, until Harry was completely alone._

"Hermione, I'm going out. I don't feel like sleeping, so I'll take a double watch." Harry said, rolling out of his bunk, stuffing the map under his pillow in the same movement.

Normally she would argue with him; it was cold out, and not a good idea for one person to be out that long alone, even with heating charms. Words, which always sprang so readily to her mouth, lodged stubbornly in her chest. Instead, she gave a lethargic, one shouldered shrug, ignoring the fact that he had just spoken more words in that one sentence than he had in the past three days.

"And Hermione, I just want...I just..." He seemed to crumple in on himself, looking as small as he had in first year, all the exhausted weight in his eyes drawing his gaze to the floor. He stuffed his hands deeply into the pockets of his coat, and pushed the tent flap aside.

Hermione felt the stirrings of her typical worry for her friend, and she wondered if she should go after him to find out what he had meant to say. He would probably shut her out, like he always did when he was upset, but it wasn't good for him to go out like that. She turned to share a look with Ron, hoping he would know what to do.

Except Ron wasn't there. The one person that would know exactly how she was feeling, and could help her figure out what would be the best action to take, wasn't with her anymore.

With a sob, she swept her cup of tea off of the table, where it flew through the air, liquid arching out in a stream before the whole thing landed with a wet crash. Magic welled up in her, and overhead, she heard the loud beating of wings. With a great deal of effort, she brought herself under control, and cleaned up the mess she had made, repairing the cup so that all traces of the breakage were gone.

She wished she could do the same for her heart.

Telling herself she would ask Harry again when he came back in (even though she probably wouldn't ), she shuffled slowly over to her bunk, curled herself into a tiny ball, and drew Ron's blanket up over her head. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the familiar scent of his hair, and the soap that he used. She had charmed his blanket to retain the smell, afraid that it would fade the more she used it. She hated herself for taking even a small amount of comfort in it. She wouldn't _need_ it if he had stayed. It made no sense for her to be anything but hurt and angry. She should curse his name, and erase him from her thoughts. But she couldn't. For nearly seven years, Ron had been an almost daily part of her life, growing with her, growing closer, until he was almost a part of herself. How was she supposed to forget a part of herself?

Did he even think about them, now that he was gone? She hoped so. She hoped that somehow, it was all a big mistake. Maybe she had been reading too many fairy tales. The harsh, bitter reality that the voice whispered to her told her that Ron was probably happy with his family, warm and comfortable, with little thought to those he had left behind. After that huge row, he was most likely still mad at Harry, and as for her...who had she been kidding? Ron was never going to see her as more than his swotty, naggy friend at best. She had read too much into the kindness he had shown her in the past few months, and she had only herself to blame for the inevitable crash.

Curling herself into a tighter ball, she forced herself to get some sleep. Maybe if she slept, some of the pain would go away...

_Ron rested his head on the pillow next to her, distressed at the thoughts and feelings swirling inside her. It must've felt like he had been the one to have it easy. And in some respects, that was true. He had been safe, warm, and well fed, if he had chosen to take advantage of that. How was she to know that he had given up those comforts most of the time as a sort of self punishment? Not that it made it the same as what she and Harry were going through, because for him it had been a choice. Would it have helped at all for her to know that he had been absolutely miserable, and not a moment had gone by without him thinking of them? Probably not. None of his explanations had cut much ice with her._

_It was strange to see the way that the two of them acted when he wasn't there. He knew things weren't like this when they were at school, and the stress of the situation and the locket were partially to blame, but he hadn't expected them to pull apart this much. When things got bad, he had always made a point to nudge the other two out of their dark mood; he hadn't realized what a big impact he had had on them. He had never seriously considered that it could be true, but maybe they did need him, after all._

As the weeks passed, Hermione settled into a numb acceptance of the way things were; she and Harry still rarely spoke, but the silence was less strained than it had been before. Mostly, they were each lost in their own thoughts, and without Ron there to spark them into liveliness, they were content to drift. Her nightmares had eased as she had started to attempt to decipher the meaning of the book, but she was still a far cry from her usual self. Everything felt so dull and colorless, and she knew that Harry felt the same. Both had carefully avoided any mention of Ron, but each felt his loss keenly. Sometimes, Hermione wanted to talk about him, but not to Harry. She knew she might end up getting upset and saying something she shouldn't, and Harry couldn't deal with anything that could be taken as lack of support. And she did support Harry. In spite of everything, he was her friend. Nothing was going to change that. But he wasn't in any position to deal with her needs right now, so it was unfair to bring them up.

_Ron didn't completely agree. He knew Harry tended to isolate himself when he was upset, but that didn't mean that Hermione should have to bottle everything up. Harry was keeping to himself by choice, but Hermione didn't get the luxury of choosing. She had nowhere to turn, no one to talk to, and for someone who was in the habit of expressing her emotions, it must have been hell. Shoving all of that down inside of her, combined with the locket, was making her nervy. She started at noises more often, and she couldn't get over the sense of being watched, no matter how carefully she checked the wards. Couldn't Harry see how badly she was doing? Hermione was never this quiet. Not that she always ran off at the mouth, or anything. It was just that, even when she was revising, there was an energy to her silences that were absent now. He understood Harry was in a bad spot, but he was the one (as much as anyone could be said to be) in charge of this operation, and that meant he had a responsibility to the people following him._

_But then, that was his training talking. Harry was just seventeen here, and you couldn't really expect him to think about things like that. It also bothered him that Hermione wasn't speaking up for herself. For some reason, she always tended to do that when Harry got mad, walking on eggshells so she didn't upset him more. When he had been younger, he had thought that was a sign that she cared more about Harry and what he thought, and he had been jealous. That had changed, though. Now, he would rather that she be open with him, so he knew what she was thinking and feeling. It might not always be comfortable, but he would take that over her feeling like she couldn't talk to him, any day._

She should have known that when he finally had an idea, it would be dangerous. She tried to think up a good argument, but her heart wasn't in it. For one thing, it was at least something besides wandering from campsite to campsite; even if it turned out not to be productive, it would feel like it. And it was hard to say no to him when he gave her those big, sad eyes. She ached to see her family again, and Harry would never see anything but a headstone. How could she deny him that? They didn't have to stay long, after all. And in this weather, chances were more than good that no one would be out to see them. She would keep alert for anyone paying them special attention, and she would keep ahold of Harry, in case they needed to Apparate. It would have been better if she had had more time to plan for it, but she knew that Harry wouldn't want to give her time to come up with reasons why it was a bad idea. And maybe it wasn't; maybe she was becoming overly paranoid.

_Ron squirmed uncomfortably. They hadn't gone into very much detail about this part, and he had always been sort of glad about that. His guilt had been too fresh at the time for him to really process any of the details, and Harry and Hermione had been kind enough not to rub his face in it. By the time he had gotten enough distance from it to have perspective, the topic hadn't come up. So he was curious, but still hesitant to watch everything play out._

_He trudged along behind them, Hermione a tightly wound bundle of nerves, and Harry looking incredibly young. He found himself agreeing with Hermione about it being best to use Polyjuice, but he also sympathized with Harry for his reasons for not wanting to. It would be like going back to the Burrow after years away; it would feel wrong to be someone else, as if it would somehow lessen the connection he had with the place. And he would have people to go back to. All Harry had connecting him to his parents was himself, and Ron figured that being yourself was the best way to meet your parents._

She noticed something she wasn't expecting, as she scanned the area for any sign of danger. Through the frosty, foggy air came the warm glow of tiny, bright lights; Christmas lights. With a pang, she realized that they had completely forgotten about Christmas. A knot formed in her stomach as she recalled the Christmases of her childhood; warm fires, singing carols while she and her parents decorated the tree, the special holiday food...and then there were the past few years, where she either hadn't gone home, or had isolated herself in her room most of the time. How foolish she had been! Why hadn't she known that every second counted when it came to the people you loved? In the end, memories might be the only thing you had. Her earlier, happier memories were tainted by the feelings of regret. If she ever...If things worked out alright, she would make sure to work on her relationship with her family. They had always been loving and supportive of her, and she realized, now, how much she had unconsciously counted on that.

She slid a glance at Harry. As bad as things were with her family right now, she knew it was better than what Harry was going through. She still had a chance of seeing her parents alive and well again. Harry would have to meet his as cold, carved stone. She squeezed his hand as they neared the cemetery, and felt his grip tighten in response. This had to be horribly hard on him, but she had no clue how to make it better. Something told her that this was something that _couldn't_ be made better.

_Like a ghost, Ron followed behind them as they searched the graves for Harry's parents, and for a time, his attention was mostly on Harry. He had seen his friend cut up before; had seen him almost mad with grief. This...this quiet, sober sadness was almost worse. As his friends knelt together, and Hermione comforted Harry, he dropped to his knees as well, putting a hand on Harry's free shoulder._

" _I'm sorry, mate. I know you end up forgiving me an' all, but...I still should've been there for you. I mean, I've always tried to...you know. I've fucked up a couple of times, and I regret it. And even though it doesn't make up for me not being there, I'm glad you had Hermione."_

_And he was. There had been a part of him that had been afraid he would feel the old, insecure jealousy rise up, but it didn't. There was nothing the least bit romantic about this situation, and it would be sort of insulting to think otherwise. It was grief, plain and simple. He and Ginny had shared the same kind of embrace when Fred died. How could you be jealous of that? Hermione had comforted him then, too, but it was...different. Her touch had been more intimate...more...he didn't know how to explain it. And maybe that didn't matter. Maybe it was now, after he had watched her life and the way she acted with them from the outside, he could see the difference for himself. Harry had needed her, had needed the older sister that she had so often acted like, and Ron didn't begrudge him the comfort._

_He thought this was what he had been meant to see from this memory. At the time, he had been afraid that things between Harry and Hermione were completely different, or that at least one of them wanted it to be. He wished he could say with some degree of honesty that he could have recognized it if he had been around to see it then, but that wasn't likely. Now that he was older, and he had gotten things straight in his head about not only their relationship, but himself in general, he could appreciate what they had. Harry and Hermione's relationship wasn't like the one he had with either of them, and that was alright. He had learned that just because someone else had something to offer didn't mean that he didn't, or that what he offered wasn't important. Even here, he could tell that they were missing him, and he would have added something in his own right, instead of being a third wheel. It was sort of a relief to see how much his thinking had changed. He had come a long ways since then, and it made him feel confident that he could continue to grow. But it looked like there was more here for him to see, although he thought he already knew everything that had happened. Had he forgotten something?_

_Things sped up, and though the edges were blurry, he could still tell what was going on. He went after them as they followed the little old lady (he kept his distance, remembering, with revulsion, that this was a corpse animated by a snake and dark magic), mumbling about how Harry better have gotten it through his ruddy head in training that you didn't let a stranger take you to where they had the upper ground. He shared Hermione's unease once they were inside, and nearly screamed when Harry went upstairs without her. What if that had been a trap? Well, more than it was. What if someone else had been there to take care of Hermione? A million things could have gone wrong, and what happened was bad enough._

Hermione had a bad feeling about this. Not that it would be the first time that she had doubts about what Harry did, but this time Harry was alone. Even when Ron agreed with Harry's more ill-advised ideas, there had been at least the two of them to deal with it. She tried to be patient, and to trust that Harry knew what he was doing. Oh, what was the point? That had never been her way. Thumping sounds from upstairs caught her ear, and she knew that Harry was in trouble.

"Bloody hell!" She whispered under her breath, understanding the satisfaction that Ron must get out of that phrase in times of stress.

She nearly lost her balance several times bolting up the rickety stairs, following the sounds of fighting that no woman who was truly that elderly and frail could possibly be making. Whatever she had been expecting to see, It wasn't Harry being half killed by Voldemort's monstrous snake. The body of Bathilda Bagshott lay crumpled in a heap like some forgotten cocoon, but Hermione barely noticed that in her haste to blast the snake away from Harry. There was no time for thought, only action; this was no ordinary snake, and it refused to be denied its prey. A small corner of her brain wondered if its relationship to Voldemort had not only boosted its strength, but given it some sort of resistance to magic. But that was only a small part; the rest of her was consumed by fear. Her shots were going wild in her efforts to not hit Harry, and they ended up ricocheting around the room. Harry was yelling, but she couldn't make sense of it over the sound of her own screaming; Something shattered, and she howled in pain as Harry dragged her across the bed, shards of glass digging into her back.

_In a whirlwind of adrenaline and broken glass, Ron clung tightly, yet uselessly, to Harry and Hermione as the snake lunged towards them, Hermione's scream piercing his ears. He felt her panic, her voice shaky as she tried to protect Harry, who was dragging her along, before Apparating them to safety. His stomach lurched queasily, and everything went black. When he was able to orient himself again, he saw that they were back at the tent. Specifically, in the bathroom of the tent._

Hermione held the towel to herself loosely under her arms, not for any need for modesty, but for the small amount of warmth it provided. Harry had been unconscious when they arrived, and she had panicked, reminded horribly of splinching Ron during their flight from the Ministry. She had checked him over as best she could, but there were no signs of anything more than superficial injuries. She had gotten him into a cot, and healed him as best she could; it was only after doing so that her own injuries made themselves felt. It came as a series of sharp, stinging pains, covering her back, arms, and legs.

Wincing, she had hobbled into the bathroom, and stripped, hissing as her clothes ripped away from the bloody patches on her skin. It was a slow, tricky process to remove the bits of glass that she found imbedded to various depths, made all the harder by her shaky hands. Stifling whimpers, she made a thorough job of her arms and legs, carefully portioning out the Dittany. That was the easy part. Her back was another story; there was no way she could get all the pieces herself, and had to content herself with knocking the larger ones free, and hoping the smaller ones didn't burrow in and get infected. She felt wasteful dripping the Dittany down her back, but there was no other way, unless she got Harry to do it. Even if he had been awake, that wouldn't be an option.

Long experience had taught her that Harry blamed himself when the people around him got hurt. That was something that made communicating with him hard enough at the best of times; right now, she didn't think either of them could take the added strain. Once the DIttany had dried, she pulled on the loosest shirt she had, reminding herself not to lie on her back for awhile. She had just finished dressing, and was contemplating if it was worth the effort to brew some tea before sleeping, when a shout startled her into tripping into the corner of the sink in her haste to get to Harry.

Wand held out in preparation of an attack, she burst into the main area of the tent to find Harry alone, thrashing about in the bottom bunk, sweat pouring off of him as he screamed incoherently. Frantically, her eyes darted around the tent for any sign of an intruder; finding none, she cautiously approached Harry, trying to figure out what was the matter. He was babbling now, and she caught the word 'snake' several times. That made some sort of sense, she supposed, after what had happened, but this didn't seem like a nightmare. It was almost as if he was-just as she thought it, she got a good look at his flailing arm. Where there had been small wounds she had assumed were from glass, two of them were now swollen and angry looking, clearly bite marks.

"Ohmygod, _Harry!"_ She screamed, rushing to to where she had dropped her bag. With no regard for the contents, she tossed things around until she found what would hopefully work as an antidote to the poison. Holding the vial in one hand, she practically had to sit on his chest to get him to hold still long enough for her to pour it down his throat, clamping her hand over his mouth.

"Water. I need to get some water," she muttered to herself, wanting to bring his temperature down. In her haste, she stepped on something that rolled under her foot; looking down she found Harry's wand.

_Half_ of Harry's wand.

Shakily, she reached for it where it stuck out from under his bed; pulling it out, she saw that it was held together by the merest sliver. She closed her eyes, and gulped. Her memories of earlier played back, and she realized that one of the crunching sounds she had heard hadn't been glass. Somehow, his wand had been broken. Harry was going to be furious. Briefly, she considered trying to fix it, before recalling Ron's wand in second year. No, there was no hope of fixing it...

An anguished scream from Harry made her drop the wand on the table, on her way back to his side. He was clawing at his chest now, and something smelled sickeningly like singed flesh. She gripped his t-shirt and yanked it up, nearly recoiling when she saw the locket practically embedded in his chest. With one hand, she tried to pull it away; when that didn't work, she tried both. His screams were becoming more desperate. She hadn't wanted to resort to this, but there was no time to think of another way. Quickly, she cast a Severing Charm. the locket fell to his lap, coated in blood. Sobbing, she reached over to try to push him back down, and screamed when his eyes flew open, glowing a malevolent red before returning to normal and rolling back.

She fell off the bed, staring in horror as he subsided into feeble jerking movements, with the occasional word slipping past his lips. With a hasty motion, she snatched the locket, nearly gagging as she cleaned the blood from its surface. Face screwed up, she threw it into her bag. Oh, why had they ever worn the thing in the first place? How could they have been so _stupid?_

Harry's chest was still bleeding, leaving a large stain on his shirt. She knew she needed to tend to the wound, but she hesitated to get close to him. The look in his eyes...she shuddered. _That_ hadn't been Harry. She wouldn't say he had been possessed; Dumbledore had been fairly sure that couldn't happen. But just like Harry could sometimes see through Voldemort's eyes, she thought that what had just happened had been the reverse. It took her a few moments to steel herself before beginning to clean him up. Once she had done the best she could, she fetched a bowl of cold water and a cloth, and sat down next to him. For the next several hours, she tried to keep him cool. A few times, he would go too long between breaths, and she would be terrified that he was dying. But each time, just before she used Enervate on him, he would pull in a ragged lungful of air.

_Ron was shaking nearly as bad as Harry. Holy...he knew it had been bad, but he hadn't known it was this bad! Every hair on his body was standing on end after watching that, and he wasn't sure how Hermione was able to force herself to keep going on. She was exhausted, in pain, and quite frightened. She looked and felt seconds away from passing out, and if Harry's situation wasn't so bad, Ron would say that would be the best thing she could do. She was wearing herself to a frazzle, and Harry must have been mortified when he woke up. That was probably why Hermione hadn't talked about it much; she wouldn't want him to feel worse than he already did._

_At least, that's what he thought, until Harry actually woke up. Ron watched in growing confusion, which soon became frustration, as Harry completely ignored the fact that Hermione had saved his life, in favor of worrying about his broken wand. Alright, he, of all people, could understand being upset about the wand in general. If he had learned anything in second year, it was that a wand was a vital part of being a wizard, and he wasn't talking about in the crude sense. With his broken, he had felt helpless, useless, and incomplete. Harry was feeling all of that, with the added weight of being caught wandless while his life was in mortal danger. There weren't very many situations less enviable than that. So he got it. He really did._

_But hell, didn't Harry understand? They had been in a shit situation, and even if he had been able to get out by himself, the snakebite could have finished him off. Or he could have been too slow, or traced. Hermione had done the best she could, and while the loss of a wand was a blow, it didn't matter quite as much when you looked at the bigger picture. And speaking of looking, Harry had noticed she didn't look well. Why wasn't he asking her if_ she _was alright? She was painfully thin, looked like she hadn't slept in days; her hair was breaking, and her skin was dry and cracked. But even if he had gotten used to seeing her like that, there wasn't much excuse for not trying to find out if she had been injured. He kept waiting for Harry to catch on, or to apologize for the danger she had been in...but Harry just put on that stiff, fake smile, cut her off, and walked out of the tent._

_Ron watched Hermione's face crumble, and he nearly flew after Harry, even though he couldn't do anything. He had to content himself with shouting._

" _Bloody_ HELL, _Harry!" He roared at the flap of the tent, watching with one eye as Hermione dropped to the bed and began to cry. "She stayed! She fucking_ stayed! _She's driven herself nearly mental looking for clues, she's been brilliant about the protections on the camp, she planned a hell of a lot more than we did, and she's half dead on her feet!"_

_He began to pace, not caring how loud he was. "She stuck with you through everything! She could have left, but she didn't! She's saved your life, and you walk out on her like that? You walk out just like-" His voice broke, and he wiped away the hot tears spilling down his cheeks._

_Who was he kidding? That wasn't one of Harry's shining moments, but if Ron was being honest, as he knew he had to for this whole therapy thing to work, the reason he was so furious was because Harry was reminding him of himself. Oh, he had had good reasons for acting the way he did before he left. Good reasons for leaving, too. But reasons weren't excuses. Good reasons don't undo the damage you cause others. And blaming Harry for his mistakes weren't going to erase his own; besides, this was the past, and it was between Harry and Hermione. If Hermione had forgiven him and moved on, then he needed to do the same. It was just hard, since he had never forgiven himself. And while he didn't think he would ever go that far, maybe he should try to make peace with it, to some extent. Thinking about it had made him wonder about something, but he couldn't deal with it right now. Hermione's thoughts and emotions were sweeping over him like a tidal wave, and drowning his out. He staggered over to sit beside her, where she was still crying, her chest heaving with each breath._

Hermione had tried to keep herself together, but had soon given up. It was all too much; what did Harry expect of her? She was doing the best she could! For months, her entire life had been devoted to this mission. She had given up her family, her education, and any shred of safety that going into hiding might provide. She had made herself a target, had followed him to the brink of starvation, and had come much closer than she would like to losing her life on more than one occasion. And it still wasn't enough. She was expected to figure out all the answers, and to perform perfectly. Well, she wasn't perfect! She made mistakes just like anyone else. For him to walk out like that, after everything...just because she had messed up?

Of course, reasoned a dark voice, she was only worth having along if she was useful. If she couldn't pull her weight, then what was the point in putting up with her? Feebly, she protested that that was a lie. Harry wouldn't leave her over that. It might take awhile, but he was her friend, and he would get over it. But...she hadn't thought that Ron would leave her, either. He had, though. And the way things had been going, why should she assume Harry wouldn't go on without her? He wasn't acting like himself. She wasn't acting like _herself._ The world was tipped on its side, and there was no guarantee where you would land.

The events of the day had taken a toll on her, and she drifted to sleep, dreaming vividly of happier days. She was in the Common Room with Ron, Harry, and Ginny, sitting by the fire. Harry and Ginny were laughing about something that had happened in Quidditch practice, while Ginny stretched her legs out to rest on Harry's lap. Ron had been on the opposite side of the pitch and had missed whatever it was, but he smiled anyway from his seat beside Hermione. Hermione didn't care a bit about Quidditch, but she was happy to curl against Ron's side with a book, relaxed by the gentle way that his fingers twirled a strand of her hair, from where his arm was draped along the back of the sofa. his head was a comforting weight on top of hers, and she let one of her hands rest on his thigh, holding in a smirk as she felt the muscles tense. Her actions hadn't gone unnoticed, and Harry grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows. Ginny caught on to what was going on, and let out an amused cackle. Ron flipped them off with his free hand, but she could feel him smiling as he tilted his head to let his lips brush against her temple. Under his breath, he made a suggestion that had her face turning redder than his ears ever had, and she gave his arm a small slap. Not that she was totally averse to his idea, however...

Her dream continued in the same vein, although the setting and the number of people around them changed. Sometimes it was the four of them, and sometimes it was his whole family along with her parents. And sometimes it was just the two of them. It was so different from the nightmares she had been having that she relaxed completely, losing herself in the mix of daydreams and memories. She woke refreshed, a smile on her face. She rolled over to look at Ron, and then reality came crashing back down on her, all the worse for the small time she had been able remember what it was like to be happy. Harry had come back in, and was snoring in his bunk, his glasses slipping off of the pillow under his head.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tightly, denying the tears that wanted to flow. She would not cry again. She would _not._ It was time she put all of that behind her. Things were never going to go back to the way they were, so she might as well just get used to it. Ron had hurt her by walking out, but she wasn't going to keep letting him hurt her now that he was gone. Viciously, she flung the blanket off of her bed, and stood up. She was hot, and wanted to feel some cool air on her face to calm her down. Pausing on her way to the tent's opening, She lifted Harry's glasses, deciding that it would be best if he didn't break them along with his wand. One of the ear pieces was still under his head, and the movement must have woke him up, at least a little, because she heard him stirring as she walked away.

"Are you leavin' too?" Harry slurred sleepily, freezing Hermione in her tracks.

"No. Of course not! I just woke up, and decided to check outside." Hermione reassured him, softening her tone. He had sounded so young and vulnerable, she had been unable to hold his earlier attitude against him.

He reached up to scratch his head, making his hair stand up so wildly that it was impossible to tell which were the regular locks that wouldn't stay in place. "'M sorry. Wasn't supposed to be like this," he said plaintively.

"No, it wasn't," sh admitted, "but it is. And we have to get used to that, because that's how it's going to be. But we'll come out alright in the end, you'll see."

"Will we really?" Harry asked, already falling back asleep. He hadn't sounded like he believed her.

To tell the truth, neither had she.

_Ron had expected them to be mad about him leaving, but he hadn't expected it to affect things between Harry and Hermione. Part of it was the locket, but he hated how his mistake had each of them wondering if the other would be the next to abandon them. Their faith in each other had always been unshakable before, but he had shattered that; the unthinkable had happened when he left, and if that had happened, then anything was possible. Maybe that was even part of the reason they had been distant with each other; each was warily watching the other for signs that things would end the same way. It was scary, stressful, and confusing; so it really wasn't surprising she had reacted the way she had when he had finally found them._

Hermione rolled over, bleary from sleep, but all thoughts of a quick trip to the bathroom vanished when she saw that Harry was gone. Not that he hadn't done that before, but she really wished he would tell her before he left. She hated to admit it, but it sort of scared her to wake up and find she was alone. How long had he been gone, anyway? She stood up and padded over to peer outside. He shouldn't be out there, out of sight of the tent. She had tried to be good about giving him space, and he, for his part, was trying to act normally, even though she could tell the loss of his wand still rankled him. She didn't really like the fact that one of them was always without a wand, but she obviously couldn't mention that, could she? It was hard not to say _something,_ though. The paranoid feelings had been replaced by a mounting irritability. Any day now, some sharp comment was going to fall right out of her mouth, but she didn't know how to stop it. She didn't really know what was wrong with her, for that matter. Besides the obvious, of course. Now, with nowhere to vent, it was even worse. Neither she or Harry could afford a fight, and she really didn't have the energy for one. But there was that nasty little niggling sound always in her head, always pushing her towards some rash remark.

She let the flap of the tent fall back in place, after checking to see if Harry was on his way back. Still no sign of him. If he wasn't back in twenty minutes, she was going after him. And her protectiveness would probably irritate him, and it would be the third year fight over the broom all over again, she thought moodily.

Her temples began to throb slightly, and she picked up the beaded bag, rummaging around for something to ease the pain. She was trying to save the magical remedies for serious things, so she made do with a couple of aspirin. With a glass of cold water, she swallowed them down, grimacing as they hit her empty stomach. Medication without food wasn't a great idea, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. Once she had choked down some more water, she picked up the book she had been trying to read earlier. Somehow, a history of wizarding wars had seemed more appealing back when she had packed. It now failed to hold her interest, and she was wishing she had brought something more light and entertaining.

After flipping through several more pages without really taking them in, she looked at her watch again. Ten more minutes. With a sigh, she began to look for her shoes. She might as well start bundling up to go after him. Just as she had tied the laces on the last one, she heard shouting from outside, and she paused. It was her name, but it didn't sound like trouble. Could it be a trap, though? Had their luck finally run out? Peeking out suspiciously, she was greeted by a far too cheerful looking Harry. A part of her was shocked; when was the last time she had seen him smile?

Her curiosity was wiped away once she caught sight of the person standing behind him. Her heart began to thud loudly in her chest, drowning out whatever Harry might have been trying to tell her. She would figure that out later. RIght now, her senses were saturated with Ron. He stood there almost shyly, his expression embarrassed, and somehow managing to look ashamed and hopeful at the same time. Her first instinct was to rush to him, to throw her arms around him and make sure he was real; to berate him for leaving, to make him swear not to do it again. She wanted to cry, and she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to tell him how much she had missed him, and had needed him to be there for her when he was gone.

And that made her absolutely furious. How _dare_ he? How dare he come back, and make her feel like that? No. No, it wasn't fury. It was fear. After dealing with the initial shock of betrayal, and the misery filled weeks that followed, how could she so readily open herself up for him to hurt her like that again? She knew she couldn't take it. Not in the way that the heroines of novels meant; she wouldn't wilt just because she didn't have a love interest. But first and foremost, Ron was her _friend,_ one that she had valued highly and trusted. This wasn't like their fights at school. There, while she had been deeply upset, she had been safe. She had the support of her teachers, the support (even if just through letters) of her parents, and she had been physically and mentally healthy.

None of that was true here. Both she and Harry were doing badly in all respects, but it was hard to help each other since they both coped with things differently. If she let Ron back in now, she ran the risk of living through that last night in the tent all over again, and she didn't know how much good she could be for the mission if she had to pull herself out of that twice. There was no way she could let him get close; so she did the only thing she could. She allowed the fury and fear to take over, to drive a safe wedge between them.

_As Ron watched her explode, he nodded his head. He had sort of suspected as much. And since he had felt the need for some sort of punishment, he hadn't really complained. He knew it had been wrong to let her hit at him like that, even if it didn't hurt nearly as much as he let on. He had felt like she had needed to get in an equal amount of damage to what he had caused her. They had both been wrong. Their reactions had been wrong. This wasn't the kind of thing they could do to each other anymore. And, to be fair, nothing like this had happened since then. As Hermione yelled at him, he was struck again by how young they had been, even though it wasn't all that long ago. Merlin, but the emotions that were cycling through her nearly made him dizzy! Angry and confused, elated and terrified...Yeah, she was wrong, but he couldn't think that too many people would react any better, in this situation._

Embarrassed, Hermione finally stopped screaming long enough to hear what Harry was telling her. It helped that he still had her wand. When he got to the part where Ron saved him from drowning (honestly, what had he been thinking, diving into an icy pond?), she drowned out the feeling of pride by focusing on the sword, and the fact that the locket had finally been destroyed. Both of them acted oddly when that was mentioned, but since she was trying to avoid interacting with Ron, she didn't ask. Actually, she was more than a little jealous that Harry was able to accept Ron so easily. It wasn't as if she didn't want to! And maybe if it had been her that he had dragged out of the pond, she might be able to. But she doubted it. She knew that the relationship between Ron was different than the one she had with either of them. And that was alright. She just wished things could be as easy for her, too.

They weren't. And as much as she would love to be able to pretend that she was fine, and have things go back to the way they were, she couldn't. Because she had been breaking apart for months, what with one thing and another, and it felt like she shattered every time she scraped a few pieces back together. Ron had the power to be the person to help her through the hardest times, to support her while she pulled herself together. But he also had the power to hurt her the worst. Now that they had the sword, and had destroyed one Horcrux, things should begin to move forward. If she was going to keep her head clear and focused so she could figure out any more clues that they might come across, then she was going to keep her distance from him.

Listening to him describe what had happened to him, she held on to the reassuring heat of her anger. Maybe it had hurt to Splinch his fingernails off, but that was _nothing_ compared to the way he had Splinched her heart! How could anything he had gone through possibly compare to what she had? And it had been his decision, not hers! So if he thought that that was enough to make her-

When he began to talk about hearing her voice, and following that ball of light back to her, it had been like being punched in the stomach. Why couldn't he have said something like this months, or even years ago? How could he give her nearly a month of sullen silences and sharp, almost hateful comments, and then come up with words that went straight to her heart? It made something inside her stir; something she thought had died in the days after he had walked out on them. Ruthlessly, she crushed it. At least, she tried to. But it kept popping back up, whispering to her to believe that things weren't as hopeless as she had thought, that maybe, although he had left them, she could still trust him, if she gave him a chance. Had hearing her voice really led him back to them? Had he cared that much, that it had triggered whatever magic Dumbledore had put into the Deluminator? It was hard to reconcile that to the way he had acted before he had left. Then again, it had been hard to reconcile _that_ to the person he had always been before. So which was he? Was he the Ron that would be there for her, no matter what, or was he the one who would walk away without even a glance back? She didn't know, and until she did, she couldn't let herself be swayed by his story.

_He had always wondered if that had mattered to her, his hearing her voice. On one level, he was pleased to see that it had. But he also realized that the whole thing had to be confusing, too. Hermione was a very black and white person. Either you were right or wrong, good or bad. At eighteen, she still hadn't totally grasped the fact that sometimes good people did horrible things. What he had done had been pretty horrible, too. There wasn't any denying that. It was up to her to weigh that against all of the previous years, and the things he had actually gotten right. If he had still been around fourteen, or even sixteen, it might have upset him how slow she had been to forgive him. In the years since, he had learned that just because you wanted to forgive someone, that didn't mean it happened instantly. Something had been broken, and it took time to repair. Really, he thought as she left his other self and Harry outside to go in and get in bed, it had probably been healthier that she hadn't forgiven him right away. Letting something that big slide without even questioning it would have been sending the message that he could get away with anything, and that she didn't care enough about herself to prevent someone from treating her badly._

From the other bunk, she heard them whispering about canaries, and she retorted sharply, not letting them see her wince. She was already feeling guilty about hitting him; she wasn't actually going to use the birds. She wouldn't do anything physical at all. However, she felt that he deserved to hurt some, too. It would never equal what she had gone through, but he could suffer through her silence, and she certainly wasn't going to guard her tongue, if she did speak to him. She curled up tighter in her blanket, having completely forgotten that it was, in fact, actually Ron's. Behind her, she heard the boys settling into bed, and it wasn't long before Harry's even breathing was almost drowned out by the sound of Ron's deeper snore.

Lulled by the sound, she was unaware that the tension in her body, which had been wound to the snapping point, relaxed.

_The silent treatment had been hard, he admitted. He had wanted her to yell, to start a fight. Well, a one-sided fight, but he had expected her to keep going the way she had when he first arrived. But she had kept it all bottled up; only the occasional snide remark would slip past, but it was never really said directly to him. He hadn't expected her to forgive him. He had come back fully prepared for both of them to hate him. But he knew Hermione, and knew that the only way for her to get over something and move on from it was to get it all out in the open. For her sake, he had wanted her to let it out, because he could tell that holding it in was only hurting her more. And the last thing he had wanted was to be the cause of any more pain. Which was why, one day when she was still being unnaturally cool, he had finally tried to push the issue._

Harry's turn for being on watch were always the worst times, Hermione reflected. It was harder to ignore Ron when they were alone, and he was staring at her like a wide-eyed spaniel. It didn't help the fact that he had been the picture of thoughtfulness, accommodating to her every whim. He hadn't given her a legitimate reason to snap at him, and while that certainly hadn't stopped her, it had made it much harder. On the other hand, she knew she always forgave him after a good row to clear the air, and she still wasn't ready for that yet. He seemed to be doing everything he could to make up for what he had done, and he hadn't made any excuses, nor had he tried to make her feel like he deserved to be forgiven just because he was doing the right thing now. It was...mature of him, and any other time, that would be enough to thaw her out.

She glanced over to the chair where he was sitting, turning the Deluminator over and over in his hand, his fingers sliding over the smooth surface. He was watching her out from under his eyelashes with an expression that was hard for her to decipher. There was heat, but she hesitated to call it anger. There was a certain sense of sadness as well, and a resignation that constantly forced her to harden her heart. All she knew was that there was a quiet intensity that seemed to follow her everywhere, even when she knew he couldn't see her. Which wasn't very often, since he seemed to be making an effort to stay as close as he could without invading her personal space. It would have been much easier to ignore him if she thought he was trying to get her to forgive him, but it felt more like he was trying to do the right thing because it was the right thing to do, and not purely for personal gain. Oh, he agreed with whatever she said, and he was always jumping up to do small jobs about the place, but he was never surprised or put out that she didn't respond. Mostly, he put on a cheerful front; the only way to tell he was bothered was by his ever widening eyes, and the way his body would droop like a plant denied water.

Checking again, she saw that he was still watching. With a huff, she decided to get up and make tea. Not that she wanted any. And not that what they had was very good. But it gave her something to do, somewhere for her eyes to rest without straying to him.

"I'll get that!" Ron said, hopping to his feet with a clatter as his chair was pushed back.

"I can get it myself, thanks," she said stiffly, blocking his entrance into the small kitchen area.

He had one arm out to reach for the tea, and he frowned. She tried not to touch him as she brushed past, but with a shiver, she noticed that he had replenished whatever shampoo it was he used, and her mind was suddenly full of happier days at the Burrow. The memories of the good times, of moments of hope and missed opportunities suddenly made her legs weak, and she choked back tears as she stumbled to the side, only to have Ron grab her arm to steady her.

"Hermione? Really, I think you should sit down. I can make-"

"I can make it myself!" She said shrilly, pulling away, "I can do everything myself! I don't need you, for _anything!"_

That was a lie, and it was probably hitting below the belt, but she needed to push him away. She didn't want to fight. She just wanted him to leave her alone. But instead of going off in an angry sulk, he just nodded understandingly, giving her a rueful smile as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"I know that. I never really thought that you did. I had...well, I just knew you didn't. And-And that's alright. I just want you to know, now that I have a chance to say it-"

She turned to the tea, not wanting to hear it. "There's nothing to say. You've told your side of the story. What happened, happened, and that's all there is to it. Just forget it."

He scooted around to look at her face, leaning across the counter. "But there is! I hadn't realized that I hadn't actually said it yet, and even if it doesn't mean anything to you-"

"What could you possibly have to say that would matter?" She asked brittlely, setting down two mugs with a clink.

"Well, if you would let me jus-"

"I really don't see-"

"I'M SORRY!" Ron bellowed, his face screwed up and flushed, and his hands curled at his sides.

Hermione froze, her hand hovering over the kettle. Ron didn't apologize. He occasionally mumbled and murmured things that might turn into an apology before you took pity on him and stopped him, but she couldn't remember those words ever coming out of his mouth, at least not directed to her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Which was fine, since he apparently wasn't done yet.

"I'm sorry for every wrong, stupid thing I've ever done between the day we met and now. I'm sorry for calling you a nightmare in first year. I'm sorry for laughing about your tail in second. I'm sorry for that stupid fight about Scabbers in third-even though I was right, the way I handled it wasn't. I..." His jaw worked as he tried to get the words out, "I'm sorry for being such an arse in fourth year. About Krum, and the bloody Ball...if I had just-we-that doesn't matter now. But I'm sorry for it."

He paused to catch his breath, and Hermione waited, still too stunned to interrupt the flow of words that was pouring from him.

With a deep breath, he started back up. "I wasn't too bad in fifth year, which must've been a bloody miracle. Sixth year...fuck. I cocked most of that up, but you were probably expecting it by that point. Everything with Lavender, and...I'm sorry. And the thing I'm sorriest for, Hermione, is walking out on you and Harry. That was the biggest mistake I've ever made, and the one I'll always regret."

He leaned towards her, his eyes blazing into hers unwaveringly. "And the hell of it is, I know sorry doesn't cut it. A person can only screw up so many times before their second chances become fifths, and then tenths, and...you just can't anymore. Some things are too big to come back from. And I don't expect you to forgive me. That's not why I'm saying it. But you deserve to hear it, and you need to stop holding in the anger until it drives you mad. I don't blame you for hating me. I hate myself. Just...don't let it keep hurting you like this."

She turned away to lean over the sink, unable to meet his eyes any longer. He thought she hated him. She had tried to. So many times over the years. But it had never worked. Probably would never work. Couldn't he see that? She hated what he had done, even though she understood it. She hated how it had made her feel. And she hated that someone had the power to make her feel that way. But there was something about his apology, which had caused her heart to be less hard against him. She just...couldn't admit it yet. It had always been a matter of when she would forgive him; she had known that the moment he had returned with Harry. But it was still too soon to let him back in completely; not out of spite, but the very real fear that something would happen again, and she refused to take that risk. She was taking enough of those as it was. Still, she couldn't let him think she hated him.

With her shoulders hunched, the words came out of her mouth slowly. "I don't hate you, Ron," she said, pausing at his surprised intake of breath. "I don't hate you, but I can't-I can't let this go right now. Everything you just said-"

"Doesn't matter," he cut in quickly, "I know. But even if you can't forgive me, if you could just-I dunno, let it all out in one go-you'd feel better. Harry needs both of us, so if you could try to stand me for that long-"

"That's not what I mean," she sighed heavily, pushing herself away from the sink. "It's not that I-it's not that I can't forgive you, it's that I can't forgive you right _now._ I just need time." She closed her eyes briefly, before looking at him again, with an expression more open than it had been in months. "You don't know how much that hurt, Ron; how much thinking about it still hurts."

As he hung his head, she had to resist the urge to reach out and pat his arm. She was trying not to send conflicting messages, but it was hard when she was still working things out for herself.

"I know it doesn't fix things, but I am sorry, Hermione. I never meant for it to go that way; I know I was a complete arse, like you said, but I never meant for things to end up like that."

"I believe you. At least, I want to. But it's hard to risk getting hurt like that again. I can't count on you, only to have you walk out. I just can't."

"I know. And I won't-"

"Ron!" She cried out, raising her hand up as if she could physically ward off his words, "Please, please don't make any promises. I know you would mean them, but..."

She couldn't bear it if he said the words. She wanted to hear them, badly, but after what she had been through, she needed action now, and not just words.

"That's not what I was going to say," he said quietly, his right hand unconsciously reaching into his pocket to touch the Deluminator, "I won't make pretty promises. I've never been that great with words, and it wouldn't help much, anyway. So I won't promise, but I'll show you, instead."

And...that was enough. If he could give her something to believe in, she would. She would travel down that path, once she was sure that there was solid ground beneath her feet. But he also had to understand that she was going to be moving at her own pace, and rushing her wouldn't help. How would he take that?

"I'd like that," she whispered, "I don't want things to stay like this. But I still need time, and it might be awhile."

"I can wait."

She shook her head. "I'm not talking about days. It could be weeks. Months. Maybe even years."

Well. Not years. But if he got upset at the thought of a long wait now, then he wasn't really invested in making things better, was he? Better to know now. So she waited for the protest, or bargaining, as if they were back in Hogwarts on a Sunday night, and he was trying to get her to work on his essay.

"However long it takes, I'll wait."

That hadn't been what she was expecting, and while it thrilled her, it also frightened her. It would be much easier to stay mad; the risk of being hurt again decreased dramatically if she did that. Then again, she was a Gryffindor; reckless risks came naturally.

"Alright, then." She said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. "I'll just go back to making my tea, if we're done."

Ron volunteered, "I can make it, if you want to go read."

"No! She yelped, clutching the teapot, keeping it out of his reach. She still needed some kind of distance, after all. "No, I can manage."

"Oh...okay. I'll just, um, go back and sit down." He turned away, his shoulders hunched.

He looked so pathetic, but he hadn't even protested; he had listened, and backed off. Maybe...maybe she could give a small sign that she was taking things under consideration.

"Would you like a cup?"

"Yeah!" He said brightly, offering her a tentative smile.

She couldn't quite bring herself to smile back, because she knew she was still going to have days where she was feeling standoffish, and she was struggling to be fair and not yo-yo his emotions around. But, she reflected, as she brought the water to a boil, it was rather nice to see him smiling for a change. Maybe, in the future, she would be able to join him again.

_The fact that she really had wanted to work things out was reassuring. In the first few days after the war, he had worried that she had only because of the things had happened next; that she had been afraid to lose more than she already had, or something like that. Events sort of pushed them closer together faster than she had probably been planning, but he saw now that the only thing that had really been affected was the timing. And, given the scene unrolling in front of him, he wished that they had had that time. His mouth went dry as the enormity of what he was about to face hit him. It had taken over a year for him to distance himself from this enough that he didn't have nightmares every night, and he wasn't sure what watching it from this vantage point was going to do to him._

Things had been progressing well. Not fast, and maybe not in large steps, but well. While it had been a hard decision, she had come to the conclusion that Ron was important enough to her for her to try to make things work, and she was doing her best to get to that point. Ron, for his part, was taking things remarkably in stride. His attitude was a complete change from the way he had been before; instead of sulking silently in his bunk, He was constantly moving about, doing whatever he could to motivate them. The suspicious side of her said he was only doing it to get back in her good graces; the part of her that had known Ron for years thought differently. Ron had never been good at faking things. For one thing, he didn't have the patience for it. For another, his emotions were readable by the changing color of his ears. She had been watching him keenly; after a harsh string of cutting comments from her (honestly she wasn't sure if she was testing him on purpose or not), she could see them redden enough to indicate that he was hurt or frustrated. But where most people, if they were trying to hide it, would paste on a fake smile, Ron would acknowledge it with a sharp nod of his head, and then move on.

In conclusion, he gave every sign of someone who was genuinely trying to do things right. He was hurt, and he was unhappy, but he was pushing that aside for others after his mistake, and doing what was best for them. It reminded her very much of fourth year, and she was seriously wondering if maybe the locket had played a larger role than she had thought. That would just upset her all over again; if she was going to forgive him, she would forgive him, but she wouldn't do it by making excuses.

_He could understand that. He had never really even considered it an excuse. It had been a major factor, but not something that he was going to hide behind. And even though the things she had said hurt him, he had known that it was important to earn her trust back. Hermione being Hermione, some days she was harder on him than others. It had reminded him of the stray dog he and Ginny had tried to tame when they were little. It had obviously been beaten at one point in its life, and was wary of people getting too close. They had snuck food out to it every day, and, little by little, it had let them come closer while it was eating. Some days, it would growl and run; other days it might let you reach out and pat its head. You never knew which way it was going to act, and it even looked like it wanted to let them get closer, but didn't know how. The memory of the pain it had suffered was too strong to let it. Ron had hoped that he would have better luck with Hermione._

When she had suggested that they visit Luna's father, she had known Ron didn't fully agree with her. But in the interest of getting her way, she had only shrugged when he raised his eyebrow behind Harry's back. He wasn't the only one that could show some initiative, after all!

She should have known things wouldn't be that easy. Their visit had been a nightmare, and had nearly gotten them killed. She had expected Ron to rub her face in it, or at least look smug; but there had been nothing but concern on his face that night when he asked if she was alright. His hand had reached out, briefly, to touch her arm, but she saw him jerk it back before smiling at her apologetically. Apologetically. For showing concern. For trying to be there for her if she needed him. That small gesture had made her feel mean and petty about the way she had been treating him, even though she knew that wasn't his intention. She almost wished it was, so she could stay mad. Mad was safe. Mad meant distance. Distance meant she wouldn't get hurt. But damn him if he wasn't rising at every opportunity to show her that he had changed. Or maybe not changed; maybe refined was a better word. Ron, at his core, had always been a good person. And he had had the potential to be even better, if he would let himself. Maybe that was what had happened. Maybe he had found a way to let go of whatever it was that had been holding him back from maturing into the man she had always believed he was. And if he had, did she really want to let fear make her miss out on that? What kind of Gryffindor was she?

And, thanks in part to her idea to research the Hallows, she now needed Ron more than ever. Harry was becoming what she thought was dangerously obsessed, and she found comfort in the fact that, instead of scoffing at her, Ron shared her worried looks. She could tell that he thought the way Harry seemed to focus on the Stone was far from healthy, and it was a relief to know that she would have someone on her side to keep Harry from doing something that would put his life in more danger than it already was.

_Ron had been afraid. Very afraid. Because Hermione hadn't been there that Christmas in first year when Harry had found the Mirror. Even at eleven, Ron had known that what Harry had seen had meant more to him than the visions it had shown himself. For him, they were dreams; nice to look at, and probably wouldn't come true. But Harry...Harry had acted as if he would step right through the Mirror if he could. And Ron reckoned it was the same way with the Stone. Not that he could blame him, but still. Living with the dead wasn't much better than being dead yourself, was it? Not that he could talk about it much with Hermione, even though he could tell she wanted to. Harry was pretty paranoid, always watching them as if they were talking about him. All Ron could think to do was to keep Harry moving and distracted._

_And in doing so, he had missed the fact that his efforts were having any sort of impact on her. Had he matured? He hadn't thought so at the time. He was just doing what he thought was best for everyone, even if sometimes it felt like he was beating a dead hippogriff. He sure as hell hadn't felt mature. If anything, he had felt younger and more scared than he had ever felt since he first got on the Hogwarts Express._

The second that Voldemort's name left Harry's lips, she knew it was a mistake. One look at Ron's face, still and frozen as his eyes moved rapidly from side to side in the way they always did when he was thinking, told her that. The color had drained from his face so fast that he looked in danger of passing out. All three of them leapt up to put up the Wards, but the loud humming of the Sneakoscope told them that they were too late. Hermione breathed hard as she tried to remember what Ron had told them about the Taboo. Would it bring Voldemort himself, or Death Eaters, like they had faced back at Luna's? Her wand was shaking in her hand; they weren't ready for this! There was no way the three of them could survive Voldemort. It would be a miracle if they managed to get away from another group of Death Eaters! She performed the spells as fast as she could, but it was too late; loud voices were coming closer, and Hermione could tell that they had been spotted. A glance at the others told her that they knew, too.

Harry's face was twisted with guilt, and she knew that this was just one more thing he would beat himself up over if they lived through this. Ron was tense, his face set in a blank mask that brought to her mind the way he had looked back in first year, during the chess match. It frightened her, and she wished, suddenly, that there was time to tell him not to throw himself away like that, to tell him that she forgave him. But there wasn't time, and there might never be time again. The senselessness of it all made her head spin, even as the Snatchers bore down on them.

_Ron wiped the sweat from his palms on his trousers, his hand aching to curl around his wand. Was he really going to have to watch this all over again? Hadn't it been bad enough to live through it? There was only so much one person could bear, and he wasn't sure he could take seeing what was going to happen to Hermione. And as weird as it might be to say so, but he was glad that she hadn't forgiven him right then. He knew she meant it, but it would have been harder for him to believe back then, and he would have kept wondering later if she had regretted it._

_He choked out a wordless cry of warning as some of the men circled closer to Hermione, even though he knew it was useless. His fists clenched as her fear spiked within him; what was he going to do? He could already hardly stand to watch, and he knew it was going to get much, much worse._

Hermione's stomach coiled in knots as men that looked like they had just stepped from stereotypical wanted posters closed in on her, forcing her to drop her wand. There was no way she could take that many on, and she knew it; she only hoped that her desperate attempt to disguise Harry would work long enough for them to bluff their way out of this.

"Oh, we have found something sweet out here, haven't we?" A low voice growled from behind her, and a large, heavy hand wrapped far too intimately around her waist.

She nearly gagged at the smell of putrid meat wafting from his breath, although that didn't turn her stomach nearly as much as the feel of his lips against her throat.

"Get-off-her!"

She heard Ron yell, and she looked up in time to see him rushing towards her. He was stopped, and the impact of fists against his face and stomach made her cry out. "Leave him alone!"

Oh God, what if they had killed him? But no, he was alive! She winced at the sight of the blood that he coughed up, and prayed that it was from a cut tongue and not from internal injuries.

Twisting against the hands that held her got her nowhere, except a vicious yank of her hair,as he muttered in her ear, "None of that now, girlie, or it'll go badly for you when I finish nibbling on you later."

It finally registered who was talking, and she couldn't move fast enough when he pushed her away. Grayback! These weren't low level lackys. They were in serious trouble, and she had a feeling that Grayback liked to play with his food. She had seen men like him before, and she knew that in the unlikely event that he didn't kill her, he would do his best to make her wish he had.

They had tossed Harry and Ron together, and she was glad to see that while they were both hurt, they were still able to come up with a decent lie. Just as she thought that, Ron's story about being Stan Shunpike was blown, earning him another blow to the face. Anymore, and it would be more swollen than Harry's.

For the first time, she wished he hadn't come back, for an entirely different reason. At least if he had stayed with his brother, he would still be alive. He would have been safe! Why, oh why had he come back to this? One look at him kneeling on the ground, dirty and bleeding, told her. He had come back because he cared about her and Harry. He had come back because it was the right thing to do. He had come back because he was Ron, and Ron would never let his friends go through something like this alone for any longer than he could help. He was human, and he made human mistakes; he had done things that had hurt her in their years together, and she had done things that had hurt him. And yes, his leaving was probably the worst thing he had ever done, but unlike most other people, he had come back and tried to make things right. Maybe you didn't get the measure of a man by how often he was right; maybe you got it by what he did when he was wrong.

_Ron released a shuddering sigh, and his eyes drifted shut briefly. For years, he had figured that Hermione would never understand him at all. Sometimes he thought that in frustration, while she was nagging him and Harry about something or other. Sometimes he had thought it in despair, convinced his feelings for her would never get through. But she had! Somehow or other, she had. The locket had looked into his heart, and had focused on every negative aspect that it could find. Hermione had looked, and had shown him the good that was there, and had given him something to remember when times got dark._

The thoughts passed like bolts of lightning through her mind, as she did her best to lie with the others. For a few, brief moments she thought they might get away with it, until Grayback decided to take them to Malfoy Manor instead. As the ropes tightened around her wrists, she looked over at the boys. Harry was glaring at the ground, obviously furious that it was he who had been (at least partially) recognized. Ron, however, was looking back at her; a dozen different emotions seemed to swirl in his eyes, and she saw him try to lean closer to her, but he was pulled sharply back. Tears slid down her face as she was forced to stumble along, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Harry and Ron. Aside from her parents, they were the two most important people in the world to her, and she was terrified that she was going to see them die. She tried to come up with some kind of plan, but she couldn't think of a single way to get them all out alive. They were outnumbered, wandless, and in the very heart of the enemy camp. The best she could realistically hope for was a few minutes to try to tell Harry and Ron how much she loved them, and how sorry she was that it had ended like this.

_Ron had tried to stop walking, balking as her thoughts grew darker. Unfortunately that didn't seem to matter, because his body just glided along beside Hermione against his will. Feeling her resigning herself to death was wrong on more levels than he could count, and he was already having to fight the urge to be sick. Although, he thought darkly, it might make him feel a little better if he managed to do it all over Malfoy._

Even though she was afraid, Hermione couldn't help feeling disdain for Malfoy. He was the type of person who, when caught in the middle of something, tried to play off both sides until he figured out what would be most advantageous to him. He had obviously bitten off more than he could chew with Voldemort, and was looking for a way out of being in direct proximity to him. On the other hand, he had never liked Harry, and Hermione doubted he was going to say anything he couldn't retract later, if he thought it would be in his best interest. If he really wanted to help Harry, he would lie. Yes, there was a risk, but it wasn't any greater than the ones the rest of them were taking. He was such a coward, when he didn't have someone else to do his dirty work.

But doubt was better than nothing; as long as there was doubt, Voldemort wouldn't be called. Bellatrix, however, was too clever for that. Hermione wasn't sure how the woman could read things so easily, but the knowing look in her eyes was enough to tell her that they had had it. The sword was only the icing on the cake, and it seemed to send Bellatrix into a frenzy of fear and rage. A frenzy of which Hermione found herself bearing the brunt. Perhaps she should have been surprised when Bellatrix chose her, but she wasn't. After all, Harry would have to be kept until Voldemort came, and Ron was a pure blood, even if he was a traitor. But Bellatrix loathed Mudbloods, and she had to satisfy her sadistic tendencies somewhere. Thankfully, Harry and Ron were being taken away; Hermione didn't want them to watch, and she thought that they would be safer while they were out of Bellatrix's direct line of sight.

"No! shouted Ron. "You can have me, keep me!"

Hermione's heart cracked at that, and the sound of it drowned out the blow when Bellatrix struck Ron. How had she ever doubted him? He was willing to take her place, to be tortured and possibly even die for her. She was infinitely glad that the madwoman didn't listen.

_Fat lot of good it had done, Ron thought as he watched his younger self. What good was being willing, when she was the one who had ended up being tortured anyway? His uselessness in this situation had kept him up at night for months afterwards, and when he did sleep, it had plagued him with nightmares. Nightmares that he was sure he was going to relive again after this._

Bellatrix turned to Hermione, her eyes glazed over fanatically, her lips set in a tight smile. "Now, let's find out how much the little Mudblood can take before she cracks. You two, hold her down!"

Hermione raised her chin as Greyback grabbed her right arm, while Scabior took her left. As long as Ron and Harry were out of the way, she could do this. She hoped. Her skin crawled as Greyback shifted, and she felt something long and firm press against her hip. She tried to pull away, but he yanked her back, grinding into her with a laugh.

"If you're a good girl, maybe you won't be awake when she gives you to me," he growled in her ear, using his free hand to stroke her stomach, just below her breasts.

She sucked her stomach in, noting for the first time that what she had assumed to be dirt under his nails was, in fact, dried blood. Hermione might not have been the most imaginative person, but she could picture several ways it could have gotten there, and none of them were good.

"Don't look so surprised, girl," Bellatrix laughed, "Didn't you know that dogs love to roll in filth?" Her face hardened as she leaned closer to Hermione. "Now, tell me what you know about that sword!"

"It's just a replica!" Hermione whined, "The boys just had it to show off!"

Bellatrix struck her across the face with a backhanded blow, the force so hard that Hermione heard her neck pop. "Don't lie to me! Do you think I'm so stupid as to fall for that? You're not dealing with a pitiful lacky like Umbridge!"

"I'm telling you the truth! How could we even have the real sword? The boys were just being stupid and trying to impress me!" Hermione hoped they would forgive her for that; it was the only plausible thing she could think of at the time.

With a sneer, Bellatrix spat at Hermione's feet. "Do you expect me to believe either of them would fancy a little nothing like you? Or did you just think that being the so-called Boy Who Lived's lover," she said nastily, making air quotes with the hand not holding her wand, "would afford you some type of protection?"

"She's got it wrong, hasn't she girlie?" Greyback chuckled, giving her a quick nip on the ear, "I could smell it, you know. When you screamed. Your blood runs hot for Ginger, doesn't it?"

Bellatrix made a gagging sound, grasping her throat mockingly. "You dare to contaminate a pure blood? Even if he is a blood traitor, I won't let you spawn any more disgusting creatures like yourself! You should have stayed with the Muggle trash, where you belong." She then smiled slyly. "Of course, maybe that would be the best way to get you to talk? Perhaps I should bring him back here, and open him up to find out how pure his blood really is!"

"If you even touch him, I'll never tell you _anything_ about your precious sword!" Hermione hissed. Not that she had any intention of doing so anyway, but maybe Bellatrix would believe whatever she told her next, if she thought Hermione was telling the truth to save him.

Wild, black hair cascaded around Bellatrix as she threw her head back, cackling loudly. "Did you really think I needed you to tell me anything?" With an almost supernatural speed, she was face to face with Hermione, her eyes flat and soulless, all traces of laughter gone. "I just want to watch you break," she whispered.

Hermione leaned away as much as she could, letting out a premature breath of relief when Bellatrix turned her back on her and walked away. She had taken about ten steps when she suddenly spun around, her wand pointed at Hermione. "CRUCIO!"

Scabior and Greyback were blown off of her, and Hermione's body was lifted into the air by the strength of the spell. Her spine arched until she was bent into a semi-circle, and every nerve in her body came alive with the agony. Her muscles spasmed, and her head cracked sharply against the stone floor where her body finally landed. Words like 'fire' and 'lightning' were usually used to describe intense pain, but they paled in comparison to what Hermione was feeling right now. It was as if her very soul was being evicted from her body; as if she was being rearranged on a molecular level, and was aware of every ripping, tearing shift. She was freezing and burning up; was there any such thing as a cold fire? How was it possible to be numb and yet feel so much, all at the same time?

" _Holy shiiiiiiit!" Ron screamed along with her, feeling what he knew to be only an echo of the pain she was experiencing. It was enough to make him collapse next to her, his body folding over in sympathy with hers. How could she possibly stand this? This was beyond the physical and mental limits of what a human should endure!_

For an unknown amount of time, Hermione's mind was a staticy mess; she forgot her family, her friends, the mission...even herself. All that existed was pain, engulfing her so fully that she could find no reason to believe that she hadn't always existed in this state.

"HERMIONE!"

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of that voice, and the fog in her head parted just enough for her to be aware of what was going on. Hermione. Her name was Hermione. She was a witch. She was on some sort of mission, and it was dangerous. Had she gone to some sort of school? She thought she had. Yes. And she had parents, too. And friends. Her friends were here with her. Someone was trying to get her to say something. If she said it, her friends would be hurt. If she didn't say it, she would be hurt. She didn't want to hurt, but for some reason, it seemed important that she kept her friends safe. Why?

"HERMIONE!"

Ron. And Harry. Pictures formed in her head, and as she pieced them together, she recognized them as memories. Oh! That was why. They were important to her, these people that created a warm spot inside of her, in contrast to the biting cold that was trying to consume her. They were more important to her than herself. Had she ever told them? No? How sad. She wished she could. Maybe if she moved a little closer to that warm spot?

Sluggishly, Hermione rolled to her side, pushing herself up on one arm. Through the hair that hung down in her face, she saw someone standing in front of her. The bad woman, her mind supplied semi-helpfully. The bad woman who wanted to take everything away from her.

"I had heard you were the smart one of the group; it appears you're mentally strong in more ways than one." Bellatrix said conversationally, as if she hadn't nearly killed her, "But I promise, you'll regret that fact. CRUCIO!"

Hermione screamed again, her lungs burning so much she thought they would burst. Her head throbbed, and she barely registered the spells that were hurled at her, cutting her body with invisible knives. Oddly enough that pain was more bearable than the one in her head; it was cold and it was dark, and the sound of a thousand whispering voices echoed like the buzzing of bees. Is this what dying was like? If it was, she wished it would hurry up and end. She was ready; she couldn't take any more of this. Nonsense words fell from her lips as Bellatrix questioned her again; she was dimly aware of making the effort to lie. How much more could she stand before the truth slipped out? For someone claiming that they already knew the answers, the madwoman was being awfully insistent. Her eyes felt heavy; maybe if she just shut them, everything would go away...

"Oh no you don't! You two! Make yourselves useful, and keep her awake!"

_Ron watched from his spot on the floor as Greyback and Scabior obeyed; Greyback sank his claws into her flesh, practically purring at the rivulets of blood that welled up. Scabior made do with a dagger, jabbing at her with practiced motions so that the wounds were deep enough to hurt, right on the brink of being life-threatening._

_Hermione's head lolled to the side, and she was crying now. "Stop...please, just make it stop..."_

_Ron sobbed, crawling over to lay his body over hers. This was too much; he couldn't take it! "I'm sorry! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" He repeated, his body shaking as he watched, powerless again to help her._

" _You think that hurts? I'll teach you what pain is! CRUCIO! CRUCIO! CRUCIO!" Bellatrix screamed, her eyes alive with malicious delight as Hermione's body convulsed._

She was a child again. Everything was white and warm, except for a small dark spot over there in the corner of the brightly lit garden. Hermione moved away from it, following the pretty white birds. All she had to do was let them take her away, and nothing bad could ever happen to her again. That would be nice. A place where she could be happy all the time, with not a care in the world...

"HERMIONE!"

She stopped, remembering. That voice kept calling to her. What did it want? It was back in the dark, and she didn't want to go there!

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"

She wasn't a child anymore. The darkness was closer, and she knew who was calling. Why couldn't he stay quiet? Didn't he know what would happen to him if he kept screaming like that? He would end up-that monster would-with an effort, she turned away from the light, if only to get him to be quiet.

Bellatrix's face floated into her vision, flushed with triumph until she saw the awareness in Hermione's eyes.

"Damn you, why don't you give up? I've broken better than you! I've driven pure blooded wizards and witches out of their minds! Why-won't-you- _die?"_

Hermione did her best to brace herself, she really did. But this was beyond anything you could prepare your body and mind for, and the force of Bellatrix's growing anger tore through her as if she was a sheet of wet tissue.

"CRUCIO!"

She couldn't hang on any longer. What was the point? 'Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry...Please don't feel guilty about this. Mum, Dad...you won't even know I'm gone; I wish I could see you, just once...'

The world slid out of focus, melting into an oily black void. At least she had managed not to give Bellatrix what she had wanted; even as she slipped away, she took a vindictive pleasure in that. She could die with no regrets; everyone was as safe as she could make them.

_Ron was totally caught up in the moment, and the knowledge that this was only a memory was forgotten. All he could see was Hermione dying right in front of his eyes, his worst nightmare brought to life. He had failed. He had failed, and she was dying! Everything within him rebelled at the wrongness of such a thing, but the proof was right next to him in the form of her pale body, her eyes dulling even as he tried to shake her. Something in his mind snapped; his sanity was teetering on the brink. Only one thing was left to him, and that was the word that nearly burned the inside of his throat as he screamed._

" _HERMIONE!" His voice joined with that of his younger self, in macabre harmony._

"HERMIONE!"

A flash of red cut through the darkness. Not everyone was safe; someone was throwing himself after her.

"Ron?"

_Ron blinked, the tears in his eyes clouding her vision. Hermione was alive...but why did it sound like there was two of her?_


	37. Chapter 37

Ron continued to stare down at the dead leaves, even as the footsteps approaching him became louder. He could tell when they saw him, for the harsh, masculine voices abruptly switched to whispers. Either whoever it was were Muggleborns on the run, or else they were sympathetic towards Death Eaters, and up to no good. There weren't many other people who would be out roaming the woods otherwise. Logically, he knew he had a good chance of being in danger, but he still didn't move, because he just didn't have the energy to care. The only thing he could focus on at the moment was how badly he had screwed up. Why hadn't he remembered the damn Wards? Probably because he had always been on the inside of them, and had never had to think about what would happen if he wasn't. Either Harry and Hermione had forgotten, too, which was why they hadn't been down when he had tried to go back, or else...or else they just didn't want him back at all.

" _How can you even think that?" Hermione demanded. I begged you to stay! Begged! Do you think I would have done that if I hadn't meant it? Both of us were miserable while you were gone! As much as Harry and I care about one another, it just isn't the same without you! Did you ever figure that out? Do you_ still _think things like this?"_

_The very thought that he might hurt her heart. Ron brought something to the friendships that he had with them that they just couldn't give each other. And it wasn't from a lack of caring; it was just...both of them needed the Ron-ness that only he had._

"What do we 'ave 'ere, Burt? Has Ginge here been out on a bender?" A voice asked.

"He'd 'ave to stumble an 'ell of a long way to make it out 'ere, I reckon," someone answered.

A dusty, worn pair of boots appeared in Ron's line of vision as a bulky man in raggedy robes squatted down in front of him. A heavy hand landed on the top of his head, and yanked it up by a fistful of hair.

"I reckon this 'ere's likely to be a runaway. Now, I'm thinking the only reason to 'ave come out this far is that he 'as somethin' to 'ide. And who 'as the most to 'ide, nowadays?"

The man grinned, revealing a set of broken, tobacco stained stumps. Ron could feel his breath on his face, and the sour stench that wafted out with it. He blinked, but said nothing; If they were going to rob him, they wouldn't be taking much, and there was nothing in his rucksack that was worth fighting over. It wasn't until he looked up into the taller man's eyes that he thought he might be in any real danger. They were dark and still, like a lizard's. To emphasize that fact, the man periodically darted his tongue out to moisten his lips.

"He's either a Muggleborn, or blood traitor. You-Know-Who pays well enough for both. What's your name, boy?" He asked, finally addressing Ron.

The mention of You-Know-Who brought his mind sharply into focus. There was something going on here, and he needed more information. He couldn't give his own name; everyone knew the Weasleys were blood traitors, and that they were connected to Harry. All they had to do was put his age and name together, and they would know that they might be able to get to Harry through him. That thought gave him purpose. He had cocked things up badly, but there was no way in hell that he was going to do anything to put his friends in more danger. And if there was something going on that they needed to know about, then he had to find a way to let them know. He pulled a name from memory, and tried to make his face look slack and thick-witted.

"Stan. Stan Shunpike."

The two men paused, puzzlement creasing their faces as they looked at him, then at each taller one raised an eyebrow, and the short one in the tatty checked jacket shrugged.

"The name's familiar, but I don't think it's on the list," he said thoughtfully, still not releasing Ron's hair.

"Doesn't he 'ave somethin' to do with the Knight Bus?"

The taller man, whose shoes looked like they were too tight, and had earlier been addressed as Burt, shrugged. "'Ow should I know? Do I look bleedin' daft enough to ride the Knight Bus? Let's take 'i'm back to the others and see what they think."

"Alright. Even if he doesn't know anythin' about Potter, he'll still fetch a good price."

Ron grunted as they jerked him up, but didn't fight them. It was clear now that Harry was being hunted by more than regular Death Eaters. How many other people knew about this? What else was going on? The thought made his hand twitch for his wand, which, unfortunately, didn't go unnoticed.

"'Ere, none of that, now! Sid, take his wand!"

His wand was roughly yanked from his pocket, and Ron bit back a curse. What the hell could he do wandless? What if they decided that he was too much trouble to keep alive? He tried to come up with a plan as they marched him through the trees, their grips bruisingly tight on his arms. For some reason, they hadn't bothered to take his sack, and briefly, he considered using it as a weapon. He quickly discarded the idea; it was too light to do any good, especially against two other people.

"You think that Greyback will want a look at 'im, to see if we should call Vold-"

Ron was jerked roughly as Burt reached around him to punch Sid. "Shut up, you daft bugger! Don't say his name! Did you forget about the Taboo? You'll get us killed!"

Inwardly, Ron groaned. Merlin! A Taboo! This was bad. Really, really bad. And smart, too. Hardly anyone said Voldemort's name out loud, but Harry had never been one to follow that unspoken rule. He wondered if Hermione's Wards could block that out, but they probably couldn't. They were strong, but he reckoned she hadn't worked a counter against Taboos into them. And now, he wasn't there to stop them from saying it.

Firelight flickered up ahead of them, and they entered a small clearing, where three other men sat on logs, as close to the heat as they could get. Their eyes were predatory as they took him in, and his heart sank. He had never been in a situation like this alone before. No one was going to come after him, or tell him what to do. Whatever he did, it was going to have to be quick, and work the first time; there was no way he could fight them all off at once.

_Hermione paced back and forth next to him, her heart hammering along with his. At the time, she had been too upset to really process what had happened to Ron while he was away. Objectively, she had known he had been caught; but she hadn't found out until he was safely back with them, and obviously unharmed. Somehow, the reality of the situation had never really hit her. But it did now, like a brick to the head. He could have died out here so easily, his body never to be found. He could have been tortured. He had passed it off lightly, and she had forgotten that he often did that when things were most serious. Even though she knew he got away, she still felt sick at the thought of him coming to harm._

Even though the night air was bitterly cold, Ron felt beads of sweat trail down his spine. One wrong move, and he was dead. He couldn't die now. He had to get out, had to warn them! So far, they seemed like they were buying his stupid act. Either that, or they thought he wasn't much of a threat without his wand. Too bad they were right.

"Bring back something pretty, did you, Burt? Bring it over here into the light." One of the men called, eliciting laughs from the others.

"Found 'im crawlin' around on the ground, not too far from 'here. What should we do with 'im?"

A man that hadn't spoken yet stood up, and walked towards them, and there was a danger about his silence that told Ron that this was the one to fear the most.

"Well, boy? Let's have your name." He asked in a soft, whispery voice.

"Stan Shunpike, like I said," Ron answered, pasting a goofy grin on his face.

It was promptly backhanded off of him, the crack of skin on skin echoing after the blow had landed. Ron thought his jaw was going to break, and tears sprang to his eyes.

"Try again, Red."

"St-Stan Shunpike," Ron choked out again, swaying a little as Burt and Sid backed away from him.

Again, he was belted across the face, and he staggered to the side.

"What's your name?" The man asked in an even tone, as casually as if he had never struck him.

"Stan Shunpike. Why do you keep-" Ron replied stubbornly, refusing to give in.

This happened two or three more times, his replies becoming more slurred. The final time he was asked, the man balled up his fist and punched him in the stomach, causing him to double up and drop to his knees, gasping for air.

" _Stop it!" Hermione cried out, her voice muffled by her hands. She could practically taste the blood in her mouth from where Ron's tongue had been cut on his teeth, and it made her retch. He could have lied! He could have told them that he was out trying to collect the rewards for her and Harry, or on Muggleborns. He could have used the fact that he was a pureblood, but instead he was taking a beating because he wouldn't give them any information. It hurt to watch, and it hurt to feel; but it hurt the most to know that he thought he deserved this for walking out._

"So. You're not going to talk, eh? Maybe you'll change your mind if we take you to someone a little more...persuasive," the quiet man said, eyeing him with calculation. "Jack, Dave, keep an eye on him while we decide what to do."

Ron felt a boot to his ribs as he was kicked across to two of the seated men, one who looked down at him with bemusement, his wand held loosely and pointed at the ground. Ron wheezed, fighting for breath. He had been in scrapes before, but he had always either had help, or the people fighting him hadn't truly meant to hurt him. It was a struggle not to pass out, if only to get away from the ringing in his head. His eyes felt like they were swelling closed, and he squinted over at the men who had begun to argue about what would be the best thing to do with him. None of the options sounded particularly promising, and some sounded downright fatal. They must have thought that there was no reason to watch him too closely, except for his guards, and Ron wondered if he could use that to his advantage. The men didn't seem too interested in him; they was more intent on listening to what their mates were saying.

To test it, Ron let out a groan. The men didn't even flinch; a short, stubby wand dangled between one's fingers. Ron licked his lips nervously, grimacing at the congealing blood. He only had one shot at this, and if he got it wrong, they would almost definitely kill him. Well, the way he felt now, that didn't bother him much. The only problem with that scenario was that Harry and Hermione would still be out there, not knowing about the Taboo, or how widespread the hunt for them and Muggleborns had become. Taking as deep of a breath as he could, he steeled himself for what he was about to do next.

Slowly, he let his hand creep closer to the fire, where hot ashes and cinders clumped together. He touched it with the tip of one finger, and hissed at the burn. With one last glance to make sure he wasn't being watched, he scooped up a handful, biting his lip as his hand burned. Quickly, he rolled to his side, flinging the burning mess into the eyes of one of his guards, rocketing up to deliver a sharp punch to the other man's stomach. Their wands fell to the ground, and he snatched them both up.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion; He knew he had to Apparate away, but there was nowhere to go. It was impossible to get back to Harry and Hermione, but it was just as impossible to face his parents. Some things stick with you from when you were young, though, and if ever he felt like a lost, frightened child, it was now. Without even consciously thinking of it, he picked the one place he knew he could go, the one person to accept him even if they were upset with him. He clenched his eyes, gripped the strange wand, and _turned._

One minute, a curse was exploding into the ground beside to him, and the next, he was spitting out a mouthful of sand. The wind was even harsher here next to the ocean, but Ron was oblivious to it as he struggled to sit up, looking around dizzily. It was dark, so he wasn't sure where he had landed at first. Crawling over to a nearby rock, he pulled himself into a standing position, hunching over as his stomach gave a jolt of pain. Now that he was upright, he could see the lights from the windows of the cottage. Slowly, he began to stagger towards it, stumbling over stones and bits of driftwood as he went. His pack slid down one arm and bumped against his side, and the stolen wand nearly dropped from his nerveless fingers several times.

He sped up a little the closer he got to the cottage; he didn't think he could last much longer without passing out. No sooner had he thought that than a loud sound was heard from inside, followed by shouted voices. Oh. The Wards. Tonight was his night for forgetting about those, he thought, cackling madly, before choking. He stopped moving as the door to the cottage flew open, the light from within framing Bill. His oldest brother stepped outside with his wand drawn, the scar on his face making him look even more ferocious.

"Whoever you are, drop your wand, and stay still!" He barked, not being able to make out Ron's face in the dark.

Ron did as he said, nearly tumbling to the ground himself, he was so tired. "Bill? 'S'me. Ron. C-can I come in?" He asked, causing the cut on his lip to open and start bleeding.

Bill peered closer, his eyes widening as they adjusted to the lack of light. "Ron? Bloody hell, what are you doing here? What happened to you?" He asked incredulously, lowering his wand to rush forward.

"Stop!" Came a sharp voice from the doorway, and both men looked to see Fleur standing there, her wand poised to release a spell. "Bill, move away unteel we know it ees him!"

"Of course it's him! I know my own brother, and he's hurt! You'd do the same if it was your sister!" Bill yelled back, not moving.

"Oui. And you would stop me. Now, make him answer."

Bill sighed, turning back to Ron. "Alright, tell me something only you would know."

For several moments, Ron struggled. His life before going after the Horcruxes seemed hazy and unreal, as if it had happened to someone else. He was taking too long, and Bill's face began to show signs of suspicion.

"One time, about two years ago, you saw Fred and George slip something into my food. When they weren't looking, you took it, and slid some onto each of their plates. Their skin turned green and they croaked for a week." Ron blurted, hoping that would be enough.

Bill's shoulders relaxed. "It's him," he called back to Fleur, already striding over to grasp Ron by his shoulders.

As if he were four years old, Ron felt large, fat tears slip out of his eyes as he gave a hiccuping sob, letting himself fall against his brother's chest. Fleur had joined him, and she and her husband shared worried looks.

"Ron? Ron! You need to tell us what happened to you-and wait, where's Harry and Hermione? They aren't-"

At this, Ron sobbed harder, nearly collapsing in his grief. He was barely aware of Bill half carrying him into the house, as Fleur ran to fetch something to help treat his wounds. Bill got him seated in a chair in the small, warm kitchen, and took stock of his little brother. Ron knew he must look a mess, but he couldn't seem to get himself together.

Bill cleared his throat, his scar standing out more now that his face had drained of its color. "Ron," he began gently, If Harry and Hermione are-if we need to bring...bring them back, you need to tell us where they are."

His question was able to penetrate Ron's mind enough for him to answer, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve. "They're not dead. They're fine. Better, really, now that I'm gone."

His brother leaned back, narrowing his eyes at him. "If they're fine, then what are you doing here, looking like something the cat dragged in that the dog wouldn't eat?"

"Bill, let him tell you after he's been healed!" Fleur admonished him. "Just look! Your mother will 'ave fits when she sees how thin he is! We can at least get rid of the cuts and bruises."

Ron waved her away. "Don't. I...just don't waste it on me. I'll be fine. And they _are_ better off without me, but I've got to find a way to let them know about the Taboo!" He finished loudly, half standing up.

Fleur pushed him back down. "Nonsense. You need your wounds healed, and Bill can bring the others here. Just tell him where to find them."

He pushed her hand away from where she had been trying to clean the blood from his face with a damp cloth. "Do you think I'd be here if I could find them again? Even if you knew where to look, you wouldn't spot Hermione's Wards. And by now, they've probably moved to make extra sure I can't come back."

"You left them?" Fleur asked in shock. "On purpose?"

"No! I mean, yeah, I did, but not really," he fumbled, not sure how to explain.

Bill rubbed his face. "Ron, please just tell us what's going on? You look more than half starved, I'm assuming the others don't look any better, and as glad as I am to see you alive and in one piece, something tells me that you're not supposed to be here."

Ron slumped down in the chair, wincing as he hit a sore spot. "I can't tell you much. I'm sorry, but I can't. Just that...there was some dark stuff, and...it affected me more than it did them."

"So you left them with it?" Bill asked, confused.

"I didn't mean to!" Ron shouted, unable to keep his emotions in check. "I didn't remember I wouldn't be able to see the Wards! I tried to get back as soon as I left, but I couldn't find them! And then when I was jumped on in the forest-"

"You were attacked? Do you know who did it? And while I'm asking, how do you know about the Taboo?"

_Ron explained as best as he could, not noticing that Fleur was surreptitiously healing the worst of his injuries while he was distracted. Hermione watched as Bill became frustrated by the way Ron left so much out, and both brothers glared at each other with matching Weasley stubbornness. She knew he was caught between his embarrassment over his actions and his breakdown, and his desire to have Bill make everything better like he had when they were children. She could tell it was hard on Ron to have Bill see him like this. Ron had always looked up to him, and what Bill thought of him mattered. Ron assumed he had lost his brother's respect, and that Bill was disgusted by him. From her objective standpoint, Hermione could see that wasn't true. First of all, Bill was still worried about Ron. But he was also frustrated by Ron's reticence, because it kept Bill from helping as much as he could. He was also confused, just as anyone who knew Ron would be._

Bill tugged on his earring, which he always did when he was upset. "Alright, I can see you're not going to budge on this. Let's get you settled in for the night, and and I'll take you home in the morning, when you don't look so beat up."

"No!" Ron yelled, sitting up too fast in his panic. "Bill, I can't go back! They can't even know I'm here!"

"Are you serious? Do you know what Mum will do to me if I don't bring you back? She's been out of her mind worrying about you!"

Ron slumped back, feeling guilty. "Yeah, I know. I've been worried about the rest of you, too. That's one of the reasons why I...well, I was worried."

Bill nodded to himself, as if he finally understood something. "That makes sense. Still, I don't see why you can't go home."

"Please, Bill," Ron pleaded, "I don't want anyone to know what a useless bastard I was. Besides, if I go back, Mum will never let me out of her sight. I don't know how yet, but I need to find Harry and Hermione to warn them. I know Harry; he'll say You-Know-Who's name eventually."

His brother blew out a loud breath of air. "Alright. But if Mum finds out, I'm taking you down with me."

Ron sighed in relief. He still had to face Harry and Hermione; he didn't think he could do that on top of the humiliation of having his entire family know what he was. "Thanks, Bill. Hopefully I won't need to stay very long."

_But it had been longer than he had thought. With no idea how to get back, Ron was drowning in a sea of guilt and regret. If Hermione had thought his bouts of self-loathing were bad before, they were nothing compared to what they were now._

Ron sat on a large rock, his legs drawn up to his chest as he looked out at the ocean. He had been out here for nearly an hour, after a fight with Bill. He hadn't _wanted_ to fight, but Bill wouldn't quit pushing for information about Harry, and what their mission was. Ron had tried to tell him that it was too dangerous for him to know; for the family, and Harry and Hermione. Bill said that they obviously needed help, and they couldn't possibly be in more danger than they were already. Ron wasn't willing to take that risk. Besides, Harry had been the one to insist on not telling anyone, and there was no way in hell he was going to betray Harry more than he already had. He knew Bill just wanted to help, but unless he could come up with a way for Ron to find the others, there really wasn't anything he could do. Ironically, the one person who could probably figure out a way was one of the people he was looking for.

Hermione.

Just thinking her name made his heart hurt. Everytime he closed his eyes, he could hear her screaming out for him. Maybe it was the ocean playing tricks on his ears, but sometimes, he could swear that he could hear her close by. What was she doing now? Were she and Harry happier now that he was gone? DId they ever think about him at all? Probably not. Once the initial disgust wore off, he figured they had realized they were better off, and had most likely tracked down more Horcruxes now that he wasn't there to slow them down.

_Hermione fumed at this. The way he was acting, you would think that she and Harry had thrown a party with streamers and confetti once he was out of the tent. And what progress had they actually made by the time he got back? Besides nearly getting themselves killed at Godric's Hollow. Ron had been there when the sword was found, and had been instrumental in saving Harry from drowning, as well as retrieving the sword itself. While he had been gone, they had mostly been in a listless, depressed rut. Once he had come back, he had encouraged and pushed them into moving; he had used the leadership qualities that he usually set aside in favor of letting them lead, and he had managed to lift their spirits and at least make them feel like they were being productive. Could they have done those things on their own? Whether they could or not, they hadn't, and that said something. But even if they had, it wouldn't have been nearly as easy, and she wished he could see that his presence alone had an impact on them._

He yawned, his jaw cracking sharply. He hadn't been sleeping; instead, he would come out here, and sit in the cold as if he was on watch. Somehow, the cold made him feel closer to them. He would sit out here and wonder where they would go next, and if he would have a chance to spot them if they ventured out for food. He wished, now, that they had set up some sort of schedule so that he would have some idea of where they would be. He had even been desperate enough to go through Bill's books, trying to find some way to track them down, but he couldn't find anything that Hermione wouldn't have already thought to cover.

"You will catch your death of cold out here, if you stay much longer," his sister-in-law's voice sounded from beside him.

Ron shrugged, noticing that her accent was almost completely gone when she wasn't upset. He didn't much care if he did, and he cared even less to talk about it. His stomach gave a gurgle, reminding him that he had skipped breakfast, and was most likely missing lunch as well. For once, though, he didn't have the heart to eat. Food became sour in his mouth, and he was ashamed of being able to eat so much when Harry and Hermione had so little. He managed to choke down enough to keep from passing out, but after a few bites he always felt sick. Nothing tasted good anymore; all he wanted was mushrooms.

"You aren't doing them any good, being so hard on yourself," Fleur continued, ignoring the fact that he clearly wanted to be alone.

"I know that," He said with a scowl. "But what else can I do? I can't think of any way to get back, and I don't deserve to be comfortable when they're not; not after the way I-I just don't deserve it, alright? Not that it matters. Nothing I do can make up for it. I'll be lucky if they let me tell them about the Taboo, before they run me off."

He stared out at the ocean, his thoughts as harsh and churning as the waves that crashed upon the rocks.

"Oh, so you have already decided for yourself what they will do? Tch." Fleur made a small sound of displeasure.

"Well, what else would they do?" on asked, surprised into talking. "You can't forgive what I did. And I don't blame them for that! I'll tell 'em what they need to know, and I won't put up a fight when they kick me out."

He wouldn't, even though he wanted nothing more than to stay with them and help make sure they were safe. But why would they want to take back a traitor?

Fleur rounded on him, her blue eyes flashing so fiercely that he nearly fell from his rock. "That is not your decision! Tell me; do you even plan on apologizing?"

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't really matter; I don't deserve for them to-"

"Non!" She said, making a sharp motion with her hand. "Are you sorry?"

"Of course I am!" He snapped, getting angry.

"Then you must tell them so! But it is _their_ choice to forgive you or not. If they decide that your friendship outweighs your actions, then you have no right to say that it doesn't."

"But this is the worst thing I've ever done! How can they forgive something like that?" Ron asked, truly wanting to know.

Fleur shrugged, calming down. "That, I do not know. I'm not them. I do know that even the best of relationships require forgiveness at times. And as badly as you may have acted, I do believe the three of you have that."

Ron shrugged. "I thought we did. Then again, I never thought I'd cock it up so bad, so who knows?"

His sister-in-law rolled her eyes expressively. "No one ever does. Can you honestly say that the others have never hurt you?"

He squirmed uncomfortably at that. In the face of what he had done, he didn't think it was the same. but he answered honestly, "Well, yeah."

"And you forgave them. Are you saying you wouldn't do the same, if one of them had done what you did?"

With a frown, Ron tried to come up with an answer. If Harry or Hermione had left him like that, he knew he'd be mad. And hurt. He probably wouldn't want anything to do with them for awhile. But...he couldn't picture shutting them out of his life forever. He had learned last year with Hermione what it was like, and knew he'd be miserable. But could he turn them away if they were really sorry? He didn't think he could. The question was, did that go both ways?

I would. And Harry might, once he stops being pissed off. Hermione though..."

Fleur patted his arm. "Bill says that you and Harry are like brothers. I do not think he will let you go so easily," she gave him a sly smirk, "And I do not think Hermione will give up on her lover without a fight. Much yelling, of course, and she has a sharp tongue, but I wouldn't be so quick to assume you've lost her."

"What? We're not-I'm not her _lover!"_ Ron spluttered, his face heating up from his embarrassment until he was completely toasty.

"What? Still? But the way you two at the wedding-and it's been months-"

"It's complicated," he muttered, keeping his eyes on the ground, wondering what she meant by 'Are all Englishmen this slow, or only the ones with red 'air?' that she furiously whispered under her breath.

"Besides, Hermione doesn't think of me that way," he continued, not even bothering to deny his own feelings at this point. He was already embarrassed beyond belief, so why not?

With an arched eyebrow, she stopped talking to herself in French. "Are we speaking of the same Hermione? Ron, why do you think she hates me so much?"

She doesn't _hate_ you," Ron lied, not wanting her to feel bad when she was trying to help.

"Ron. Every time she looks at me, I can practically feel flashing green light. Haven't you noticed she always does that after you've, shall we say, appreciated my Veela heritage a little too much?"

Why did she have to bring that up? He felt like such a tit about that. "I dunno. I just figured she was disgusted by it or something."

"Are you as thick as the food you eat?" She asked pityingly. "I'm no stranger to jealous women; men can't resist me, and the women that love them resent me for it. And Hermione resents me very, very much."

He gave a bitter laugh. "That might've been nice to know a few years earlier. Even if it was true. it doesn't matter anymore."

Fleur threw up her hands. "You are as stubborn as your brother! Fine; I won't argue with you, as long as you promise you won't give up on them until they tell you to."

And she accused him of being stubborn? "Alright. I'll let them decide."

"Good." she nodded. "Now, I'm going to go cook something. Be in the house in twenty minutes to eat, or I'll give you more to worry about than a flock of canaries."

Ron's mouth sagged open as she walked away. How the hell had she heard about that? Although to be fair, it wasn't exactly a secret.

He turned back around as she walked back to the house, and resumed staring out at the ocean, thinking of everything she had said. Maybe, he admitted, she did have a point about it being their decision about whether to forgive him or not. At the very least, they deserved the chance to tell him off before they made him leave. And he couldn't fix what he had done, but he owed it to them to try, and to apologize for it. But what if that really was the end? Fleur might have been trying to make him feel better, but now, he actually felt worse, if that was possible. Harry was like a brother to him, and Hermione...if he'd ever really had a chance with her, it was surely gone now. He may have lost two of the most important people in his life, and it was all his own fault. Every chance he had had at having the life he had wanted, and he had probably thrown it away. It wasn't the sting of cold air that brought tears to his eyes, and, not for the first time since he had arrived, he put his head in his hands and cried.

_Hermione wasn't sure what to focus on first. She really had been horrible to Fleur up to that point. And it didn't surprise her that Fleur knew the reason for it. Hermione had seen for herself over the years how much attention she got from men, that she neither wanted nor asked for. It wasn't her fault that she was part Veela, and it hadn't been her fault that Ron hadn't yet learned to keep his hormones in check. She was glad that she was on better terms with Fleur now, and she was thankful that the other woman had tried to talk sense into Ron._

_She knew he was conflicted; on one hand, he didn't feel he deserved to be with them, but knew they needed to know about the Taboo. On the other hand, he wanted to be with them, because he cared for them and needed to be sure they were safe. But Ron always expected the worst when it came to himself! Or course she had been mad, and of course she had been hurt; anyone would have been. But part of the reason she had been able to forgive him had been because of how he had handled the matter when he came back. He had done so in a way that she could respect, which was an important factor when it came to forgiveness. She wasn't sure she would have been able to if he had come back, only to leave them again. Fleur had been right when she had told him that she and Harry were the ones that got to decide. She realized that saying that you're sorry is a very scary thing, but she hoped that Ron had learned that things were only made worse when you projected your own feelings onto other people._

Ron heard the sound of the Floo being used downstairs, and knew that Bill and Fleur and gone to Muriel's to spend Christmas with the family. They had tried to get him to come, but he had refused; he still didn't want anyone to know he was here. He had already disappointed enough people that mattered to him, and if he added any more to that list, he didn't think he could take it. Besides, he was in anything but a festive mood, and while he would dearly love to see for himself that everyone was alright, he knew he would ruin their day with his attitude.

Listlessly, he turned over on his bed, one long arm draped over his forehead, while he flicked the Deluminator in his other hand. There was supposed to be a broadcast on the radio later that he didn't want to miss, in case there was any news about Harry and Hermione, but that left him several hours with nothing to do. At least he was alone. He knew he wasn't the best company, and he felt bad for Bill and Fleur having to deal with him. Most of the time, he tried to stay up here, but sometimes Bill would insist he join them. He knew his brother was worried about him, but he couldn't seem to force himself to be sociable. His mind was filled with Harry and Hermione; worrying about what might have happened to them...regretting what he might have done differently. And, in all honesty, fearing what would happen if he found them again. He had fucked up royally, and he didn't expect them to forgive him. But what would he do if they wanted him to leave? He couldn't force them to let him come, but he also couldn't let them face everything on their own, either. Could he convince them to at least let him help, even if they hated him? He wouldn't even sleep in the tent if they didn't want him to. He was fine staying out by the fire.

He wiped his eyes with the back of last year's Christmas jumper, the sight of it reminding him of Christmases past. Most vividly, his first one at Hogwarts. He had wanted to go home, at first. It might've been soppy, but he had missed his parents and sister. But as the holiday got closer, Harry had seemed less excited; it was pretty obvious he didn't want to go home at all, but staying alone in a mostly empty castle wasn't very appealing, either. He had looked so scrawny and lonely, that Ron hadn't had the heart to leave him behind. Harry had been a good friend right from the start, never making him feel like his family's lack of money mattered. He had decided, then, that even if Harry had a shite family, he could always count on him to make sure he wasn't alone.

How could he have forgotten that so easily?

At least Hermione was with him. He sighed. There was another relationship he had fucked up beyond repair (no matter what Fleur said). Hermione might not care that he was poor, or that he wasn't anything on the same level as Harry. But she did care about loyalty, and doing the right thing; he had failed at both. And he knew from past experience that Hermione was anything but forgiving when it came to traitors.

_Hermione flinched at that, remembering Marietta Edgecombe. What had seemed like a good idea at the time looked unnecessarily cruel in hindsight. She had been so caught up in the cause that she had overlooked some of the finer moral points. And, to tell the truth, she had been fairly unforgiving when she was young, when she thought that she was in the right. And to an extent, that was still true, although she hoped she was getting better. People were human, and they made mistakes; she didn't want Ron, or anyone else she cared about for that matter, to think she would toss them aside the second they messed up._

He sighed heavily. None of that mattered now. If he could just be there for them, help them do whatever needed to be done so that they came out of this in one piece, that was all he asked for. And alright, he could see the sense in what Fleur had said before, that they were the ones that had the right to decide if he could be forgiven or not, and he would give them that choice, even if he didn't think he deserved it himself. He would do all of that, if he just had the chance! If there was some prayer he had to say, or some sacrifice he had to make, he just wished someone would tell him already. If he just had one more chance, he swore he wouldn't mess it up this time...

The thought that it might be too late made him release a strangled sob. Anything could've happened to them by now, and he would never know. He needed some sign that they were alright; the worry was about to drive him mad-

"...Ron..."

Or maybe it already had. He sat up sharply, willing to swear that he had just heard Hermione's voice, from his pocket of all places. But there was nothing there, except for the Deluminator he had thrust inside moments before.

"...Ron..."

That _was_ Hermione's voice! He couldn't be imagining it! He turned the Deluminator over curiously, his thumb flicking to release the catch. He jerked back as a small, bluish ball of light shot out, darting past him to hover in the middle of the room. Tentatively, he stood, and took a step towards it. As soon as he did, it shot out of the window. He rushed over to look, and found it hovering outside, over the small path that led to the door.

_Dumbledore!_

That clever, devious old wizard! Somehow, he had known that Ron would need a way back. The thought was hardly flattering, but he didn't care; he didn't even care that he might be wrong. He knew he wasn't. Everything inside of him was telling him that this was what he had been praying, begging for. He nearly tripped as he flew across the room, grabbed his rucksack, and plundered the dresser for his few belongings, one eye always on the window. In his haste, he almost forgot his wand; he grabbed it, and the extra he had managed to steal for good measure. He jammed his trainers on without even bothering to tie them, and stuffed his coat under his arm.

Double checking one last time that he had everything, He trotted down the stairs, ready to follow it outside. Then he paused; Bill would be worried if he came home to find him gone.

"Give me just a second," he pleaded, hurrying over to Bill's desk, where there was a quill and parchment. Hurriedly, he scrawled the words, 'I'm fine. Found my way back. Don't worry about me.' He dropped the quill, careless of the splattering ink, and ran towards the door, just as the light outside seemed to dim. His shoelaces tripped him up, and he skidded on the rug before catching himself. He only took the time to make sure that the door was firmly shut behind him before sprinting after the ball, which had moved several yards away. Once he had caught up to it, he had expected it to continue moving, but it didn't; it just levitated in midair. Panic welled up inside of him; had he taken too long, or done something wrong?

"Please, C'mon!" He begged, trying not to cry, "I've just gotta...She called to me, didn't she? Hermione. She said my name. And thats all she has to do. I'll go to her every time, but I have to have a way! Just please, _please_ give me a way!"

He had scarcely spoken when the ball rocketed straight at him, before he had a chance to react. It slammed into his chest, but there was no pain. Instead, it felt as if it sank straight into his heart, bringing light into the places that had so recently been drowning in darkness. Warmth flowed through him; hours on the Quidditch pitch with Harry, the two of them throwing snowballs during Christmas break. And then there was Hermione. Hermione calling his name, back to the place he was meant to be. Something inside of him answered, and before he knew it, he was Apparating, his body twisting through space. With one final burst of blue light, he was gone.

_Hermione was beside him, nearly choked up with emotion. There was so much love in his heart that it practically overflowed; for her, and for Harry. For the years they had spent together, and everything they had gone through. It was no wonder that he found it hard to express his emotions, to form words to adequately convey what he was feeling. You could divert the path of a stream, or even change the course of a river. But no one had any power over the vast ocean. The depth and sincerity of his words couldn't be doubted, and Hermione knew for sure that Ron would always do his best to keep that promise._

The place he landed was familiar, but maybe that was because of all of the trees. It was dark, so it might have just been wishful thinking. He was hoping the ball of light would reappear and take him to them, but it didn't. He had been doing this for almost two days, and he was getting worried. Still, he must be close. He was tempted to rush straight off, but he held back, deciding it might be better to get his bearings. Besides, there was no guarantee that there weren't any Snatchers around. Once his eyes had adjusted more, he started forward, moving slowly. He walked for what felt like hours when a noise to his right made him freeze; A ghostly deer galloped by, followed by Harry. Confused as to why Harry would be chasing after his own Patronus, he forgot to move. Once he realized that he might lose Harry, Ron jogged after him, hoping he wasn't too late. But if he had been surprised before, he was doubly surprised by what he saw next.

And what he saw was Harry, stripping to his boxers, then plunging into an icy pond.

"What the _hell?"_ Ron shouted, his mouth hanging open in shock. He couldn't wrap his head around why Harry would want to do something like that. The point became moot when he realized that Harry had been under too long; he could see the water thrashing, but Harry still wasn't coming up. He had made it back in time to watch his best friend drown.

"Oh, fuck no!" He hissed under his breath, running towards the pond. He dropped his things as he ran, all thoughts of what he was going to say, and whether or not the others would send him packing were blown away. He barely took the time to take a large breath before he plunged into the water, the cold sending such a shock throughout his body that he nearly blacked out as he went under. He choked on a mouthful of water, barely able to suppress his panic. In the dark, it was nearly impossible to see, and he wasn't sure where Harry was. He thought he had gone down around here, but he could have moved farther away once under the surface.

He knew he didn't have much time, as he thrashed around, since his lungs were already burning. In desperation, he tried to use the length of his arms to his advantage, and it paid off. The feel of Harry's fan-fucking-tastically messy hair slid through his fingers, and he grabbed ahold. Using it to guide him closer, he wrapped an arm around Harry, and tried to get them to the surface. But Harry was oddly heavy, and felt like he was fighting him. Ron kicked at the underwater vegetation that Harry was tangled in, and with his free hand, felt what Harry must have been trying to grab. It was metal, and it was heavy; If Ron didn't know better, he would say it was a sword. But his lungs were burning and Harry was frighteningly limp, so he didn't have time to think beyond the fact that if Harry had been daft enough to dive in after it, it must be important. But there was another problem; Harry was wearing that damned Horcrux, and it was tangled as well, choking him. Using all of his strength, Ron snapped the chain, hoping he hadn't hurt Harry too badly in the process.

His muscles cramped with the effort, but he managed to get them to the surface, where, thank Merlin, Harry began to stir and move on his own. Ron choked up a waterfall of liquid, gagging as he staggered around, suddenly angry. Honestly, it was fear more than anger, but for Ron, the one usually looked like the other. What had Harry been thinking? If he hadn't shown up, he would've drowned!

"Why the hell didn't you take that off before diving?" He gasped, forgetting his promise tell Harry how sorry he was in the face of what had almost happened.

Harry's teeth rattled from the cold as he spoke, and when he began babbling about Ron casting the Patronus, Ron was afraid, for a few minutes, that the shock of nearly drowning had been too much for him. Harry quickly cleared that up, followed by bluntly asking what Ron was doing there. The reality of his situation came back to him in a rush; embarrassed, he couldn't for the life of him think of all the things he had been practicing to say. Really, nothing he could say felt right. Sorry wasn't enough. It was true that the locket had driven him nearly mad, but he didn't want it to sound like he was making excuses, because he wasn't. Whatever the reasons he had, the fact remained that he had fucked up. How could he explain that he wanted nothing more than to be allowed to stay so he could do what he had meant to all along? Doubts began to creep in, and he wondered if he even had the right to ask. It was hard, but he managed to choke the words out.

_Hermione shivered. She had known, of course, what had happened, but she hadn't fully realized just how close she came to losing Harry that night. How would she have handled it the next day, going out to look for him, and finding...it was too dreadful to think about; losing the person that she thought of as a brother would have damaged her deeply. She understood perfectly the fear Ron had felt, along with the anger at Harry's recklessness; yes, the sword was important, but both of them wished he would have stopped to think what his loss would mean to them if something had gone wrong._

_Her heart went out to Ron as he struggled with his apology. She knew that words didn't always come easily to him when he was trying to express himself. And she was also proud of the fact that he wasn't trying to excuse himself. It would have been easy, and even understandable, to place the blame entirely on the locket. But Ron wasn't looking for an easy way out. He was being honest, and was ready to take whatever Harry thought he deserved. Not everyone would have done that so honorably, and she respected that._

It was almost a relief when Harry seemed more interested in the sword, and while Ron knew he was still going to have to talk about things, he was glad for a chance to ease into it first. He was as curious as Harry about who it could have been to send the doe, and how the sword had ended up where it had. And he was more than happy to see that Harry was going to test it by getting rid of the locket...until he realized what Harry was asking of him. Of its own accord, his body began to back away. He couldn't touch that thing again, he just _couldn't!_ It had messed with his head before, and he had lost nearly everything that was important to him. Maybe not in the physical sense, but his friendship with Harry and Hermione meant the world to him, and he didn't expect it to ever be the same after this. Even so, he wasn't about to let it get worse! His eyes never left that hunk of metal, that almost seemed to glow in the light of the moon. A whispery voice echoed in his head, and he whimpered. Words tumbled from his mouth as he tried to make Harry understand, but he just didn't get it. Ron was about to drop the sword, to tell Harry that it absolutely could not be him.

Harry's next words made him stop. He wasn't sure if it was the way Harry said 'please,' or the fact that, for the first time since he got back, he said his name. Hadn't he said for weeks that he would do anything Harry needed, if only he could find a way back? Well, he had found a way, and now he had to make good on his bargain, no matter the cost. And he knew it would cost him. There wasn't any way that it couldn't, not when that locket was involved. But after everything that had happened, Harry needed him, and he was powerless to refuse him. He finally agreed, the hilt of the sword growing slick from the dampness of his palms. Bracing his body as if from an expected blow, he waited for Harry to open it. Once it burst open, Ron felt the night air become saturated with evil, and his knees shook. He wanted to run and hide. He wanted to drop to his knees, and beg for it to be over. But as sick and fearful as he was, that was nothing, _nothing_ compared to the way he felt when the thing began to speak.

_Underneath Ron's emotions, Hermione felt confused. Hadn't they just said it had merely screamed before being destroyed? Why hadn't they-oh. Hermione let out a cry as she listened to the filth that the locket spewed; every word pierced her heart like a knife, and for the life of her, she didn't know how Ron hadn't broken completely._

Entranced, Ron shuddered and shook, the only movement he was capable of. This...this was so much worse than before. No longer contained in the privacy of his head, where he could deny the words and try to talk himself out of believing them later. Now they were out for all the world to hear, all of his fears laid bare to the ugly bone. Distantly he was aware of Harry yelling at him to end it, but that hardly seemed real. Not while each word landed on him with an almost physical weight, burying him in the despair that had plagued him for months. And, just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. As if words hadn't been more than enough, visions sprang to life; visions out of his darkest dreams. He couldn't look away, even as his heart was torn to shreds by the sight of his best friend and the girl he loved, wrapped around each other in the way he had always longed for.

_Tears streamed down Hermione's face, her stomach churning as she fought the urge to be sick. This was vile...this-this sick, warped vision, that twisted and perverted the love that she and Harry felt for one another...it took a beautiful relationship and turned it into something it was never meant or wanted to be, all for the sake of causing Ron pain. It had been bad enough when it had been confined to his imagination, but for him to have to see it out like that, as if it were real...it was agony. All the more so because now, it seemed like a more realistic outcome after what he had done. It was shocking to see herself this way, and more than a little frightening. She understood that this version of herself was somehow more beautiful than she was in real life because that was how Ron saw her. But the expression she wore, and the words that shot out of her mouth like poison tipped arrows were what he feared to be true. Hermione gripped his arm, wanting more than anything to snap him out of it._

" _It isn't true! None of it! I...gods, Ron; I know I can be harsh, and I don't always say things they way I mean for them to come out, but it was never like that! I never thought those things, and Harry and your mum didn't, either! That's never what you were to us!"_

The image before him seared itself into his mind, every detail carved into his memory to replay for years to come. He wanted it to disappear; he wanted to run, wanted the horrible words to stop. Harry yelled at him again to end it, and from somewhere, he found the strength to lift the sword. The voice became louder then, drowning him in a haze of red; it told him that this was all Harry's fault, and if he were only out of the way, then everything Ron had ever wanted could be a reality. It would be so easy, to just let the sword slip...

But even as the locket tried to drive him mad, Ron looked at Harry, who was staring back at him, wide-eyed. And he saw not what the locket was trying to make him believe, but the eleven year old boy who had bought a trolly full of sweets to share with a new friend who didn't have enough money to buy any for himself. He saw Harry, popular and admired, but never treating him as if he was in any way less important. Harry, who had come into his home, and called it the most wonderful place he had ever been. And Harry, who after everything Ron had done wrong, who had welcomed him back, and offered him a chance to redeem himself.

His hands tightened on the sword, and his lips pulled back into a snarl. He already knew what a life without Harry was like, and he wanted no part of it. He had fucked up badly before, but he'd be damned if he let some talking hunk of metal make him destroy the things that were the most important to him. The sword, which had felt unnaturally heavy before, suddenly seemed as light as if it were made of paper, and he swung it easily, enjoying the thrill of satisfaction as the locket let out a final scream. The energy left his body then, as the emotions caught up with him, and his shoulders began to shake as he dropped to his knees.

Although it was over, he still couldn't get the things he had seen out of his head. As if that wasn't bad enough, Harry knew now, too. He must think he was the world's biggest, most twisted fuck. He couldn't stop crying, and he couldn't look Harry in the face. If he hadn't been disgusted with him before, he must be now. But Harry began to speak, and Ron could hardly believe what he was hearing. Well, now that he didn't have the locket, it was easier to believe that Harry only thought of Hermione as a sister. But the way Harry said it was without him...he had a harder time wrapping his head around that. Harry made it sound like they had been miserable without him, which had to be an exaggeration, but Ron appreciated it anyway. But it was when Harry hugged him that he knew things between them were going to be okay; neither of them were very...touchy people, but even though it was soppy, at that moment it felt like the most natural thing in the world. In fact, he felt so good about things that it was a jolt when Harry said they needed to get back to Hermione. Somehow, he suspected he wasn't going to get as warm of a welcome from that direction...

_Hermione stumbled along beside them, letting out hiccupy little sobs. It was true that she hadn't let things go as easily as Harry had. She had been too afraid to let him get close, only to lose him again for that. And by the time they had reached her, both had looked perfectly fine; Ron had hidden any trace of the anguish he had been feeling, and she had believed that her pain had been worse than any Splinched fingernails he had suffered. She had wanted him to know what it felt like to hurt so badly, never realizing that whatever punishment she may have thought he deserved, he had already endured._

The air left his lungs at the first sight of her. He stared at her greedily, after spending so long thinking he would never see her again. She was too thin, and the circles under her eyes were far too deep, but he didn't think she had ever looked more beautiful to him. There was so much he wanted and needed to say, but he didn't know where to start. And even if he knew, Harry was standing there, knowing too much already. So the first words out of his mouth were thick and clumsy, which he supposed he should've expected. Hermione's response was explosive, which he welcomed. His guilt was too heavy for him to accept anything else, and even though he knew it didn't even come close to making up for what he had done, he hoped it would at least make her feel a little better. So he pretended that her wild, nearly hysterical blows hurt worse than they did (he had no doubts that he wouldn't have had to fake it if she had been at full strength, but malnutrition had taken a toll), but he prudently backed away when she started to go for her wand.

Even as he was eyeing her warily, he found that having Harry defend him felt good; if not for the, uh...severity of Hermione's anger, it would almost feel like old times, when she was on their case about revising. He could tell she was practically burning with fury, but while he didn't deny she had a right to be, he drew the line at some of her assumptions. If she wanted to hate him for leaving, fine; she could queue up right right behind him. But if she was going to hate him, then he wanted it to be for what he had actually done. That had been bad enough, but he wasn't going to let her believe that he hadn't been miserable about it ever since, or that he hadn't tried his hardest to get back to them.

Maybe what he said about the ball of light got through to her, or maybe she was just too tired to fight. Either way, she gave up trying to get her wand from Harry, and went to bed. As he sat and talked with Harry, he watched her curiously. Did she know she had his blanket? Probably best not to bring that up, after she said she was still considering the canaries. Not that he thought she actually would. If she was going to do that, there was fuck all Harry could do to stop her.

His eyes drooped as he and Harry got ready for bed. The adrenaline he had been running on the last few days finally gave out, and he barely had the energy to kick his trainers off. Harry tossed him a spare blanket, and Ron raised his eyebrows, nodding his head at Hermione. Harry glanced over at her blanketed form, then back to him, and gave an awkward shrug.

"Hasn't used anything else the whole time," he mouthed, before he shuffled to his own bunk.

Ron rolled over on his back, staring at the roof of the tent. Why had she used his blanket? If anything, he figured she would've burned anything that had belonged to him. What did it mean? Was it even remotely possible that she had missed him? Could she still care-no. No, he'd better get those thoughts right out of his head. It was already a miracle that Harry had forgiven him. Asking for...well, for what he used to hope for, would be too much. Having her speaking to him was more than he thought he was going to get, even if so far, it had been mostly yelling. He had it better than he deserved, and he was only going to end up hurting himself more if he read signs that weren't there. He'd had his chance, and he'd blown it. Just being allowed back was enough; maybe, if he worked hard enough, someday she might even be friends with him again, although he wasn't going to push it. Still, he couldn't help the ache at the memory of the coldness in her eyes when she saw him standing there, and the knowledge that she didn't give a damn about what had happened to him anymore. He wished he could go back and change things. Even if it was just to turn around that night, and come back when she asked him to. Or even if he had just told her he needed to get away, but he wouldn't leave them for good. But if wishes were hippogriffs, then Muggles would fly; he needed to stop thinking about it, and concentrate on what he could do to help now that he was back. As he drifted off to sleep, he turned his head where he could see her, still wrapped in his blanket. At least part of him could be close to her...

_Hermione stroked his forehead tenderly. It had never been a matter of earning her friendship; it had been about her having enough time to feel safe risking her heart again. Ron and Harry were the two people in her life that she was closest to, and losing him had hit her incredibly hard. With everything else going on, it had been to much for her to sort out. But for so long, every single risk she had taken had ended in pain; she needed a sign that this wouldn't be the same. Attacking him physically had been going too far; it was something that she had never done since, and she was ashamed of it even now. She had been nearly out of her mind at the time, and acting purely on instinct. But that was no excuse, and she was thankful that Ron hadn't held it against her, even though he had every right to._

Ron tugged his trainers on, and grabbed his jacket to go check on Harry. The atmosphere in the tent was stifling, and he had a need to get outside where his presence was actually welcome. And it wasn't that he hadn't expected Hermione to be hacked off at him, because he had. But she wasn't acting the way she usually did when she was mad, and he was growing concerned. It was hard to think around her, though, and maybe Harry might have an idea about what he should do.

_Hermione bit her lip, surprised he had noticed, even though she shouldn't have been. Out of both boys, Ron had always been the one to know when something was up with her. Although he was wrong in thinking that she had been trying to punish him. Well, not strictly speaking. She had wanted him to see how much he had hurt her, but most of it had been because she was trying to keep her distance. Not for the first time, she had been somewhat jealous of the relationship Harry and Ron had. They were able to let things go so easily with the other person, and get back to where they had been before. She had a harder time allowing herself to be in a position to get hurt again. So she had pushed the things he had gone through to the side, and tried to hold onto the picture of him comfortable and happy at home, while she and Harry suffered out on their own. It wasn't kind of her, but pain, she had found, made people act their worst. Ron had been trying so hard, and that was actually part of the problem; it made her want to forget the pain he had caused, and go back to the way they had been before he had left. As much as she wanted that, though, she wasn't going to be the one to make the first move._

Harry looked up at him from the fire, where he had been staring in deep thought. "She still not talking to you?"

Ron sat down next to him, darting a look back at the tent, hoping they were out of her hearing range. "Well, she talks _at_ me, but not _to_ me. I keep waiting for her to finally blow, but she's just...quiet. I'm starting to wish she'd just set the canaries on me and have done with it."

Harry snickered, but quickly sobered when he saw how dejected Ron looked. "Just give her time; she'll come around. It was just...really hard for her, you know? We didn't talk about it much, but it was easy to see how gutted she was."

"It's not that I think she should forgive me," Ron tried to explain, "It's just that she's holding it all in, and that always ends up making her feel worse. I dunno; maybe she'd be better off if I wasn't here..."

"Don't say that!" Harry snapped, narrowing his eyes, "She might not show it, but she's happier with you back. But if you left again, I'm not sure she-"

"I didn't mean I was leaving!" Ron cut in hastily, "I just wondered if maybe I should keep my distance from her until she can stand the sight of me."

Harry rolled his borrowed wand thoughtfully between his palms. "I don't think that'd work. I think maybe you should spend as much time with her as you can, and maybe...get her used to you, or something. She'll be fine once she's able to talk. I couldn't really help her with that, you know. It's...different for me. And I think I might've even hurt her feelings a little because of it."

Ron blinked in surprise. He knew that Harry and Hermione handled being upset in different ways, but he hadn't really thought about what that would mean if they didn't have anyone there to smooth that over.

"Hermione knows you didn't mean whatever it was," he offered, tactfully not mentioning that they had had a good dose of that in fifth year.

"Maybe, but I still think it would be good if she was able to talk to you again. I mean really talk, not the way she has been. You can at least give it a try, and maybe it'll be easier if I'm not in there for it."

The ghost of a smirk passed across Ron's face. "Is that your way of saying you'll hide out here while I face her alone?"

"I wouldn't put it that way, but yeah, exactly."

"Coward."

"What can I say? I might be the Boy Who Lived, but that doesn't mean I want to tempt fate."

Ron gave him a soft jab in the arm as he stood up, his mind already forming a plan of action. Maybe Harry was right. It wasn't his intention to force Hermione into talking to him, but maybe if she got used to having him around, she would on her own. In spite of the yelling she had done when he first got back, he knew there were things that she probably needed to say, and she wouldn't truly feel better until she had. She might think that she was punishing him with the cold shoulder (and it hurt, he wouldn't deny that), but she was hurting herself in the process.

The tent was pleasantly warm when he stepped back inside, and he reminded himself to make Harry come in often enough to keep from freezing. He was wondering if he should make Hermione some tea when he made some for himself, when he saw that she wasn't sitting in the chair she had been in when he had gone out. Instead, she was in her bunk, and looked to be in a deep sleep. Quietly, he walked over to stand beside her, examining her face for any sign that she was sick. She didn't look flushed, and her breathing sounded clear; maybe she was just tired. He was about to turn away when she let out a small whimper, and her hand flexed on her pillow, as if she was having a bad dream.

Back at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place, or even at the beginning of their time in the tent, he would have risked spooning up behind her and pulling her into a hug. Now, he knew, he had no right to do that, and his attempt to comfort her wouldn't make her feel better. That moment was probably when he knew for sure that the worst part about what he had done wasn't how it had made him feel. It was not being able to help the person he loved when they needed it.

Careful not to wake her, he crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs, ready to make a loud enough noise to wake her if whatever she was dreaming about got too bad. For the past few days, he had mainly been trying to adjust to being back, and letting the others do whatever they wanted. He hadn't known what he needed to do, or even if he should do anything. That was sort of weak, wasn't it? Why would Hermione even consider trusting him again if he didn't give her a reason to see she could rely on him? And even though Harry had forgiven him, he shouldn't act like he took that for granted. He needed to step up, and show them that he wasn't afraid to do his share. He'd had a break from the rough conditions they had had to live with, so he could start by doing more of the work, so they could rest.

Glad to have some sort of a plan, Ron started making a mental list of all the things he could do, and hoped it would be enough to show them that he would never let them down like that again.

_And he had done what he had set out to do. If there was something that needed to be done, Ron was already finished before she or Harry had fully registered that it needed to be done. Ron wasn't any better at cooking than they were, but suddenly, it was his nearly inedible cooking that was on the table more often than theirs. Camp was set up and taken down much faster, and wood was collected for the fire on such a regular basis that you barely noticed the pile going down._

_More than the physical chores, though, was what he did for morale. Ron was usually talking, even if he didn't always get much of a response. He mentioned things he had learned while he was gone, but for the most part, he stuck to lighter subjects, always putting a wry spin on things. Where she and Harry had grown tired of looking for direction, Ron made suggestions, and somehow nudged them into movement, and even though nothing really came of it, it had felt good to feel like they were actually doing something. She had been inspired to come up with ideas herself, and had been forced to grudgingly admit that Ron had breathed new life into the mission._

_To some, his efforts, and the way he constantly deferred to her would seem like he was trying to make her feel obligated to forgive him, or to say that it erased what he had done when he left. Even she had had suspicions in that direction. But it didn't take seeing inside his memories to know it wasn't true; she had learned, when she got her parents back, how you felt like you could never do enough to make up for your mistakes. She hadn't made it easy for him, and she knew that it must have been extremely difficult not to let his hurt feelings get the best of him. He had continued to put them first, and she, in return, had refused to let herself acknowledge that. Until one day, he hadn't given her a choice but to realize how seriously he was taking this._

Ron's lower back ached as he stood up from beside the fire, and he winced as he rubbed it. His watch had just ended, and Harry had come out to replace him.

"What's the weather like?" Ron asked, with a nod to the tent.

Harry pulled a face. "Decidedly cool, but no sign of impending storm. Meaning, we've both seen worse, but I wouldn't blame you if you stayed out here with me."

Well, that didn't sound too promising, but he would hate to give up so easily. It was possible he was making some headway, since she didn't comment about his eating habits when he had an extra mushroom this morning. Most people wouldn't consider that much, but at this point, he was happy to take what he could get.

"Well, I think I'll risk it, if you can bear to be parted from me," he joked, glad Harry understood why he needed to do this.

"I'll manage to survive the cold winter evenings without you," Harry answered dryly, getting himself comfortable against two rocks that blocked the wind.

Hermione barely looked up when he entered, immediately turning her gaze back to her book. Ron imagined the words were probably tattooed onto her eyeballs by this point, but knew better than to question it. Without a word, he sat down in his usual seat, and pulled the Deluminator out of his pocket. He was never without it, anymore; even when he took a shower, he left it sitting right next to his wand, in easy reach. He'd die before he was willingly separated from them again, but he also wanted a way back in case something happened. He twisted it back and forth between his fingers, but was careful not to flick it open. It always pissed Hermione off when she was trying to read and he put the lights out. Normally, he might toss a few comments out, to see if she was responsive, but he was trying a new approach, since that hadn't been too effective. Now, he was keeping quiet, and waiting for her to talk. Whatever was going to happen would happen in the next few days, he could tell.

The way she was acting reminded him of both third year and sixth, and he was worried about what it was doing to her. Her sleep had grown more erratic again, and even when they had food, she didn't seem to have much of an appetite. He had heard that could happen, if you went too long without, and he was afraid what might happen if they needed to find a Healer. Knowing Hermione, she probably wouldn't mention that anything was wrong until she couldn't hide it anymore, so he was keeping an eye on her to make sure she wasn't getting sick.

_She had been sick. Quite sick. Their living conditions had played hell with her health, and the emotional ups and downs caused by his leaving and returning had made it worse. Not that she blamed him for that; that would be stupid. It was just that it had been difficult for her to process everything, and when she was upset, it had always affected her appetite and sleeping patterns. She had thought that Ron had been watching her unusually closely, and that would explain why. He had guessed correctly when he assumed that, rather than risk exposing them, she would have hidden any serious illness. Besides, how could they have found a Healer they could trust?_

They sat like that for nearly an hour, which Ron was used to by now; he had taken Harry seriously when he told him he should spend more time with her, and aside from his turn on watch, he was rarely very far away. He tried not to stare, because he knew that would just make her uncomfortable. But he couldn't help it; if she was going to ditch him as soon as they were done helping Harry, then he wanted to commit every last little detail to memory. Fortunately, he had practice from their years at Hogwarts, so he doubted that she noticed. He, on the other hand, was keenly aware of every tilt of her head, and the exact place her teeth left impressions where she bit down on her lip.

Whoops, he accidentally made eye contact. He looked away, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she sighed, and began to stand up and walk towards the kitchen area. Stumbling over his own feet, he sprang to get their first; he might never make it as a cook, but he could at least brew a decent pot of tea. Or he could, if she would just let him. He didn't know why, but she acted like accepting anything from him meant that she had forgiven him. Even he wasn't thick enough to think that; it wasn't something you could buy. He ignored the ache in his chest when she nearly fell when he tried to catch her after she tripped; it was more important that she rest, if she was feeling dizzy.

"Hermione? Really, I think you should sit down. I can make-"

"I can make it myself!" She said shrilly, pulling away, "I can do everything myself! I don't need you, for _anything!"_

Of all the things she had said since he came back, that hurt the worst. Mainly, because he knew it was true. Hadn't that always been his problem, when it came to her? Even if she didn't need him, though, he still owed her an apology. It wouldn't change anything, and maybe it was even a little selfish, but he didn't want her to believe that he wasn't sorry, or that he didn't regret it. Maybe it would even help her, to know that he would always carry that guilt with him, and the shame would torment him in his sleep for the rest of his life.

"I know that. I never really thought that you did. I had...well, I just knew you didn't. And-And that's alright. I just want you to know, now that I have a chance to say it-"

She turned to the tea, as if to block him out. "There's nothing to say. You've told your side of the story. What happened, happened, and that's all there is to it. Just forget it."

He scooted around to look at her face, leaning across the counter. "But there is! I hadn't realized that I hadn't actually said it yet, and even if it doesn't mean anything to you-"

"What could you possibly have to say that would matter?" She asked brittlely, setting down two mugs with a clink.

"Well, if you would let me jus-"

"I really don't see-"

Ron had never been a particularly patient person, and he rarely held back when he had something to say. He had been trying to keep both those aspects of his personality under control, and had been doing it rather well. But being repentant didn't make one a doormat, and it didn't make his feelings less valid than anyone else's. And frankly, he was tired. He had been holding his emotions in for over a month now, ever since he had left; he had had time to review all of his past mistakes,and he had been filled with a desire to, if not make them right, than to at least acknowledge them. Hermione was free to choose not to forgive him, but it was the right thing for him to do. And he was tired of the way they kept dancing around the subject, with her snide comments that she spoke into the air as if he wasn't there. She needed to say whatever it was that was on her mind, because holding it in was obviously not doing her any good. Hermione always felt better after she had a row to get it out, and while he wouldn't actually fight her, he could at least help her work of steam.

But she wouldn't let him. She always brought everything right up to a head, then stopped, just short of lancing the boil so that she could begin to heal. And he hated that he was the cause of that; that even though he had come back, he was still causing her pain. It was just the latest incident in a long series of failures on his part, but he wished that if she was going to hate him, then she would do it with the full understanding of everything he felt.

"I'M SORRY!" Ron bellowed, his face screwed up and flushed, and his hands curled at his sides.

Hermione froze, her hand hovering over the kettle. He didn't give her a chance to gather her thoughts, but pushed on, pouring forth every regret he had in connection with her, every time he had let her down.

"I'm sorry for every wrong, stupid thing I've ever done between the day we met and now. I'm sorry for calling you a nightmare in first year. I'm sorry for laughing about your tail in second. I'm sorry for that stupid fight about Scabbers in third-even though I was right, the way I handled it wasn't. I..." His jaw worked as he tried to get the words out, "I'm sorry for being such an arse in fourth year. About Krum, and the bloody Ball...if I had just-we-that doesn't matter now. But I'm sorry for it."

He paused to catch his breath, and Hermione waited, still too stunned to interrupt the flow of words that was pouring from him. It was hard to get his emotions in check, and not to say anything that he shouldn't at this point. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that confessing in this situation would be the wrong thing to do, for more than one reason. He wouldn't do that to her. He wasn't going to try to back her into a corner, with some fucked up emotional blackmail. So he was careful to censor himself, and mention only things she already knew.

With a deep breath, he started back up. "I wasn't too bad in fifth year, which must've been a bloody miracle. Sixth year...fuck. I cocked most of that up, but you were probably expecting it by that point. Everything with Lavender, and...I'm sorry. And the thing I'm sorriest for, Hermione, is walking out on you and Harry. That was the biggest mistake I've ever made, and the one I'll always regret."

He leaned towards her, his eyes blazing into hers unwaveringly. "And the hell of it is, I know sorry doesn't cut it. A person can only screw up so many times before their second chances become fifths, and then tenths, and...you just can't anymore. Some things are too big to come back from. And I don't expect you to forgive me. That's not why I'm saying it. But you deserve to hear it, and you need to stop holding in the anger until it drives you mad. I don't blame you for hating me. I hate myself. Just...don't let it keep hurting you like this."

She was so silent and still, that he thought he had gone too far. Embarrassment at exploding like that caught up to him, and he wished he could throw Harry's Cloak over himself and pretend he didn't exist. Merlin, why had he thought she would want to hear all that? What difference could it possibly make? Saying he was sorry wasn't going to get him out of the mess he was in. He should've just let well enough alone! And how stupid was he, to open himself up when he _knew_ she was mad? She was going to rip into the soft bits, and there was nothing he could do but take it.

With her shoulders hunched, the words came out of her mouth slowly. "I don't hate you, Ron," she said, pausing at his surprised intake of breath. "I don't hate you, but I can't-I can't let this go right now. Everything you just said-"

Air forced its way back into his lungs at her admission; those five words were more than he had dared hope for.

"Doesn't matter," he cut in quickly, "I know. But even if you can't forgive me, if you could just-I dunno, let it all out in one go-you'd feel better. Harry needs both of us, so if you could try to stand me for that long-"

"That's not what I mean," she sighed heavily, pushing herself away from the sink. "It's not that I-it's not that I can't forgive you, it's that I can't forgive you right _now._ I just need time." She closed her eyes briefly, before looking at him again, with an expression more open than it had been in months. "You don't know how much that hurt, Ron; how much thinking about it still hurts."

He hung his head, not needing the locket for the wave of self loathing that swept over him. "I know it doesn't fix things, but I am sorry, Hermione. I never meant for it to go that way; I know I was a complete arse, like you said, but I never meant for things to end up like that."

"I believe you. At least, I want to. But it's hard to risk getting hurt like that again. I can't count on you, only to have you walk out. I just can't."

How could he blame her for that? He was just amazed that she wouldn't _want_ him to leave. If the situation had been reversed, he knew he would feel the same way.

"I know. And I won't-"

"Ron!" She cried out, raising her hand up as if she could physically ward off his words, "Please, please don't make any promises. I know you would mean them, but..."

He understood the unspoken implication; he might mean it, but that would just make it worse if he did it again.

"That's not what I was going to say," he said quietly, his right hand unconsciously reaching into his pocket to touch the Deluminator, "I won't make pretty promises. I've never been that great with words, and it wouldn't help much, anyway. So I won't promise, but I'll show you, instead."

With his breath held, he waited while Hermione searched his eyes. He didn't know what she was looking for, but he prayed that whatever it was, she found it there. After a few moments that felt like several eternities, she gave a small nod.

"I'd like that," she whispered, "I don't want things to stay like this. But I still need time, and it might be awhile."

So what? What was time, when she had just told him that she wanted to forgive him? Just that was enough to make him want to cartwheel around the tent.

"I can wait."

She shook her head. "I'm not talking about days. It could be weeks. Months. Maybe even years."

He knew she was trying to put him off; it might be weeks or months, but he knew Hermione couldn't let something like that drag on for years. She'd either forgive him, or cut him off, so he shrugged.

"However long it takes, I'll wait." And I won't be going anywhere, he added silently; he might not make any promises to her, but he had already made them to himself.

"Alright, then." She said awkwardly, apparently not knowing what else to say. "I'll just go back to making my tea, if we're done."

She still looked pale, so Ron volunteered, "I can make it, if you want to go read."

"No! She yelped, clutching the teapot, keeping it out of his reach. "No, I can manage."

"Oh...okay. I'll just, um, go back and sit down." He turned away, feeling his shoulders hunch.

He knew doing things for her wouldn't make her forgive him any faster, but he liked to be of some use. He plopped back down in his chair, wondering if maybe he should go out to sit with Harry for awhile.

"Would you like a cup?"

Ron's head jerked up, startled by the offer. Hermione had been making a point of only fixing two of something unless Harry reminded her, and then she would always comment about how she 'wasn't used to three people.' It was a gesture that meant that the open hostilities were over, and while they were not fully at peace, they were at truce during negotiations. So not only would he love a cup of tea, but he'd happily piss a river of the stuff if she kept offering.

"Yeah!" He said brightly, offering her a tentative smile.

She didn't smile back, but she didn't glare at him, or even really frown, either. He could tell she wasn't completely comfortable, but she was trying to be civil; so he would give her the time she needed, and in the meantime, he would savor any small sign that she gave him.

_Hermione found it odd how you forgot so many details until you saw it all over again like this. She knew she had been upset, but she hadn't recalled taking it out on him quite like that. Rubbing his face in it had been unkind; her vindictive streak when she was hurt would be something she needed to get under control. Thank Merlin she hadn't used the canaries, at least. She was improving, slowly. Meanwhile, Ron had continued in his role of leadership, and he hadn't stopped accommodating her, either. Actually, he had been unusually cheerful; it was a little sad that he was that happy just because she wasn't being outright ugly to him. Oh, there had been bad days, when she would get nervous all over again about letting him get too close. She had snapped a few times, and once she thought his temper might finally get the best of him. But then he would look at her, and it seemed to drain right out of him. Being back with them was more important to him than winning some petty fight, or getting his own back for his bruised ego. Ron was learning to handle his problems like a man rather than a boy, and watching his growth from the inside, and outside, made her appreciate it all the more._

_But that time where they could have healed had been all too brief; the end of the journey was looming over them, and her idea of visiting Luna's father had been the tipping point. Hermione felt herself grow cold, knowing what the scene beginning to play out before her would reveal._

Ron felt as if a ball of ice had dropped into the pit of his stomach. He and Hermione had both known that Harry was feeling reckless, but he hadn't thought that he would pull something like this. If he hadn't been so afraid, he would be angry; hadn't he warned them? Harry might be the Boy Who Lived, but Ron was sure he would be ending up with an entirely different title. A glance at Hermione told him she felt the same, as she watched the Sneakoscope spin. It was too late to put up the Wards, and too late to run. Voices could already be heard clearly outside of the tent, and Ron was calculating the odds of surviving a second encounter with a group of Snatchers. He wasn't able to complete his thought, however, as he watched in confusion as Hermione pointed her wand at Harry. Everything was happening so fast, but at the same time, it was like moving through dark, murky water. His heart was thumping in his chest as Harry struggled up, and Ron nearly recoiled at the sight of his face? What had she done? Harry was nearly unrec-oh! Brilliant! Maybe they would be able to bluff their way out of this after all?

Upon catching sight of their attackers, Ron's small flame of hope was instantly blown out. This wasn't the incompetent group that he had run into earlier, who had been more dangerous because of their number. Each one of the men that stood before them now was a stone cold killer, and none more than the one Ron found his eyes riveted on. Greyback. Greyback was here. The very sight of him made the scent of hospital wards and blood fill Ron's nose, and the soft sound of his mother's crying echoed in his head. He found himself wishing fervently that Hermione was far, far away. Everyone knew the damage that Greyback was capable of. His murders were always savage, ripping apart lives and families along with the throats he sank his fangs into. But what the others might not have heard about, and what he hadn't been supposed to hear, but had, was how much worse it was for his female victims. Greyback had a taste for scared, crying women. If they weren't either of those things to begin with, he toyed with them until they were. And he liked them young; Already, he could see the way the man was eyeing Hermione.

Ron stood, undecided, his eyes darting back and forth between Harry and Hermione, not knowing who to go to first. He couldn't save them both; he had always sort of thought he would end up having to sacrifice himself for Harry, but he had never thought that he would have to choose between him and Hermione. Ron could do it himself, he was ready for that. Harry was his best friend, and the best hope that the world had to beat Voldemort. He was willing to give his life up, but he wasn't willing to give up Hermione's. Another glance, and he saw that the men questioning Harry hadn't realized who he was. Good. That gave them a chance, however small. Harry was smart, and could probably bluff his way out-

He felt a snarl rise up in his throat as his head whipped around at Hermione's yelp. Greyback was looming over her, his hands roaming down her body as he nuzzled into her neck, a perverse parody of a lover. Lust burned brightly in his yellow eyes, and Hermione was trapped in his superhuman grip.

"Get-off-her!" He shouted, charging towards them.

He had forgotten about the others, and was harshly reminded as a fist connected with his stomach, doubling him over. Another fist landed on his nose, and Ron felt a sharp crack, and a thick coppery taste coating his tongue as blood filled his mouth.

"Leave him alone!" Hermione screamed.

Ron spat out blood, silently willing her to hold on. If ever he needed her to act aloof towards him, it was now. If Greyback knew she cared, the things he could do to both of them to break her...He was dragged to his feet, and roughly thrown down next to Harry. Greyback's attention had been drawn away from Hermione, and while Ron was relieved at that, he knew that they were no better off. Greyback hadn't lived this long evading the Aurors by being stupid. Through gobbets of blood, he did his best to lie as convincingly as Harry. He was scared shitless for his friend, but he couldn't show it. It was bad enough he had had to admit he wa a Weasley; if he acted worried, they might connect the dots.

With dread, he realized that there was going to be no escape. Rescue was a hopeless prospect, and hadn't even entered into his head. They were going to be taken straight to the heart of the enemy camp, and Ron squeezed his eyes shut, almost positive that he was going to have to watch that bastard kill Harry. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe they would kill him first. He looked over at Harry and Hermione, being tied up next to him. He hoped so. Because as mad as the locket had driven him, he knew his sanity wouldn't hold out if they went first.

_Hermione reached a hand up to wipe away the blood trickling down her chin, before realizing that it wasn't hers. The panic over what was about to happen was rising up inside of her, intensified by Ron's feelings. She watched the three of them being led away, noting how young and frail they looked, a precarious resting place for the world that was weighing down on their shoulders. She walked beside Ron as he strained to get closer to the other two, all three of them gravitating towards the others without realizing it. Everything had seemed so hopeless then. She had thought they were going to die. She hadn't realized that it was going to get worse. Ron was still trying to think of a way to get them out of it, but no matter what move he thought to make, it always ended with them in check. As they drew closer to Malfoy Manor, everything in Hermione's body screamed at her to turn and run; she had already lived through this once, barely, so why should she have to do it again? One look at Ron's face told her she couldn't leave. Even if this was just a memory, and he didn't know she was here, she couldn't let him go through it alone._

Malfoy Manor was dark, expensive, and had all of the warmth of a morgue. Ron found it fitting, considering who lived there, and could easily believe that this was where Malfoy had been spawned. Draco himself surprised him, though. When Bellatrix had called him over to look at Harry, Ron had been sure the game was up. Ferret Face was going to sell them out with that slimy, smug smirk he always wore when he had the upper hand, and that would be the end. But Malfoy, looking less than his prattish self as usual, had stammered around avoiding the question. It confused the hell out of Ron. He knew Malfoy hated Harry, so what was the deal? Then he began to get irritated; if he wasn't going to tell them, they why couldn't he just lie? WHat was all of that 'it might be him' shite? The answer hit Ron with a sudden clarity. He had never really respected Draco, but those numbers took a sharp dive into the negative. It wasn't that he had wanted to help Harry. It was that there was no one else to take the blame. Malfoy had always been a sick bastard, but he had also always been able to shuffle the responsibility off onto someone else. So it wasn't so much that he actually cared what was happening. He just didn't have the stomach to do it himself, just like when it came down to killing Dumbledore.

But Bellatrix wouldn't be put off. Ron's stomach dropped as she figured out what Hermione had done, and he lurched against the ropes tying his hands behind him when they pulled Hermione away. No, no, Fuck no! They couldn't take her! Greyback was already sniffing around, practically slobbering over her. Ron saw the way he touched her, and was sickened. Hermione's voice was fast and high, and he willed her to hold on, until they could think of a way to save her. Then he realized what Bellatrix meant to do; she was about to start questioning them for real, but she had picked Hermione as her target. Bellatrix. Bellatrix had Hermione. The insane bitch that had tortured Neville's parent's into madness, leaving behind husks of themselves that couldn't even function outside of St. Mungo's.

The thought of Hermione, who had always been so mentally alive and full of fire, losing that...losing _herself,_ had him lunging across the room, begging for them to take him instead. What did he matter? Hermione was going to change the world, just like Harry: Ron was never meant for anything like that, but if he could give them a chance, then he didn't care. He was almost sure they would take him. After all, the Malfoys and Weasleys had never gotten along, and he was a blood traitor. But they only hit him to try to get him to be quiet, and drug Hermione farther into the middle of the room. Ron didn't stop fighting, even as they wrestled him down to the dungeon along with Harry. It was even darker down here, and so cold that a thin film of moisture covered the stone walls. There were other's down here as well, but Ron barely had time to register that before the first, shrill scream echoed down from the rooms above.

Ron's mind filled with holiday visits to gloomy wards, and crumpled chewing gum wrappers, right before he shattered.

With a scream of rage and fear, he leapt at the walls, clawing at the rough stone hard enough that his nails tore, blood beading up at his fingertips, and deep, jagged cuts forming across his knuckles as he punched uselessly. He would kill them. He would kill every last one of them, and burn this place down over their bodies. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione! Her name filled his head, bursting out in hoarse screams as he uselessly searched for a way out. Hot tears coursed down his face, and his body shook with his sobs, sending tremors up and down his arms. It couldn't end like this. Everything was stripped away in this moment. Every petty fight, every stupid insecurity that had held him back. They weren't done! They still had so many things to work out, so many years ahead of them that could be good. He wasn't losing that. He wasn't losing her. He wasn't going to let her lose herself.

He didn't care what it took, as long as he could get to her. Hands numb and bleeding, he tried to Apparate, not giving a damn that, without a wand, he could Splinch himself so badly that they would never find all of the pieces. It wouldn't matter, because right now, his heart was being Splinched in the exact same way.

_Reeling so hard that she couldn't stand, Hermione slid down a wall, landing on her knees. Oh God, this was so much worse than she had thought. She could hear her own screams, and it brought back the searing pain as if it was happening all over again. And then there was Ron. His reactions shook her to the core; Ron, who had been the one to keep his head enough at twelve to beat a chess match set up by Professor McGonagall, was falling apart right before her eyes. Ron had always been so good about keeping it together in these kinds of situations, and to see him reduced to this scared her. She had remembered hearing his voice; using it to cling to reality when she wanted nothing more than to slip away._

_His rage and his pain was overwhelming, sweeping over her in choking waves. Combined with her own memories which had been sparked by her screams, Hermione found she was losing her hold on what was the past and what was the present. She tried to use Ron as an anchor, but the sheer, mindless panic in his eyes, the raw terror of losing her, only served to make things worse. Her thought began to slide in a downward spiral, Ron's chants of her name comforting and terrifying at the same time. The places on her body burned in remembrance of what had been done to her, and her muscles ached and spasmed as if she was enduring the curse all over again. Someone needed to end this. She wanted to stop hurting. She wanted Ron to stop hurting. She tried to open her mouth to tell him that everything was going to be alright, but then she couldn't remember why that was so. Had she died? Had Bellatrix finally killed her, or was she mad from the curse? Hermione's mind was a vortex of darkness, and she was unable to bring herself back out. Everything was too real for her; both Ron's pain, and her own._

" _Stop! Stop it! MAKE IT STOP!" She shrieked, to no avail._

_As her terror peaked, a flash of red cut through the darkness, and she felt as if this had happened before._

" _Ron?"_


	38. Chapter 38

**A.N. I really should have something for this part, but I'm too tired to type. Standard cautions and disclaimers apply, as do all previous A.N.s.**

***Triumphal fanfare* This update marks the end of the books! From the next update on, it'll be purely me. We're coming up on the end of the main fic, with one shots in this universe set to follow. Is everyone ready?**

Far away from the sound of anguished screaming and the scent of blood and fear, Ursula watched with mounting concern as her patients began to moan and writhe upon the bed. She had been warned, of course, that there had been a severely traumatic event during the course of the war. In the past twenty minutes, she had observed signs of restlessness; twitching muscles, and faces being pulled into deep frowns. Like tremors preceding an earthquake, she knew something big was about to hit. They had already reacted horribly while reliving the memory of a normal teenage situation; how would they handle something far, far worse?

Shifting slightly to find a more comfortable position, she glanced over the diagnostics hovering in place. Once again, the colors were rapidly shifting towards the red. When she had taken a short break for dinner, she had left instructions not to be disturbed the rest of the night, ignoring the concerned looks from her staff. They were always worried about her during observation sessions, afraid she wasn't eating right or getting enough sleep. Maybe they were right; but she refused not to be present during key moments, and anyway, she had taken a nap earlier today, knowing full well that she would need it.

Ron let out a low groan, that ended in a high-pitched whimper. Hermione had begun to breathe rapidly, her body spasming every so often. Ursula adjusted her glasses as she watched them; by far, these were the two most expressive subjects she had ever seen. She dictated a note to her hovering quill; perhaps the willingness to participate and resolve problems was a key factor? Most of the people that came through here did so with high degrees of reluctance. This couple seemed to welcome experiencing each other on such a level, so that might explain why they felt the others' emotions so strongly.

Strongly, she soon found, was an understatement. within the span of a few short minutes, both of them were thrashing around so hard that the bed shook, the headboard leaving a dent in the wall, flakes of paint floating to the ground. The angles in which Hermione's body was contorting was becoming alarming, as was the way Ron was clawing at the air, his face twisted in panic as he sobbed. Ursula shuddered. He looked as if he had been buried alive, and was trying to claw his way out. With alarming speed, their vital monitors rocketed into the danger zone. The most worrisome being their heart rates; if something wasn't done soon, they might both go into cardiac arrest.

Seeing no sign that this would abate by itself, Ursula thought quickly, all of her mental energy focused on the question of what would be the best course of action. The purely reactionary side of her said to pull them out, right away. She didn't. Fortunately, she had run extensive tests on this process, and knew that people always experienced a jolt when they resurfaced. A jolt that right now, could very easily prove fatal to both of them. Biting her lip, her eyes were drawn to her medical bag. Try as she might, she could see no other way. She had never expected to actually have to use this; after all, there was still the chance that they might come out of it on their own...for the sake of gathering more data, she really shouldn't get involved unless she was absolutely sure she had to.

Over on the bed, Hermione let out a shrill scream, and Ron's hands, which had lowered to his stomach, tore the hem of his shirt in response, as tears soaked the pillow at the sides of his head.

Screw research. There was no way in hell that she was going to let any harm come to her patients just to further her career.

The thought hadn't even finished crossing her mind before she was reaching into her bag, and pulling out the plum colored patch that resembled the ones that Hermione and Ron were wearing. She activated the sticking charm, and raised it to her temple. If her hands shook, it was fine; there was no one there to see it. Sitting back down in her chair, she steeled herself for what was about to come. Her wand hesitated for the briefest of seconds before it touched the patch; after all, what she was about to do was highly dangerous.

But only for her.

Her wand hit the floor, and her other hand, which had unconsciously tightened around the pendant she always wore, fell slack.

"...Ursula? Ursula! Damnit girl, you wake up right _now!"_

Thickly, Ursula tried to swim to the surface of her mind; before she could answer, she felt a stinging slap across her face. Her head snapped to the side, and when she rolled it back, she found herself staring into angry, flashing eyes, surrounded by hundreds of tiny braids.

"Dorris? What are you doing here?" She slurred, wondering why her best friend was here at this hour.

"Saving your ass, apparently. I don't suppose I even need to ask what you were thinking?" Dorris asked in exasperation, crouching next to Ursula.

At the reminder or Ron and Hermione, Ursula tried to lurch to her feet, only to be pushed back.

"Let me go! I need to-"

"Sit back down? Yes. Anyway, they're fine, I've already made sure they're stabilized. I knew I wouldn't be able to make you hold still if I didn't."

In spite of the other woman's grumbling, Ursula knew she didn't mean it. There was a deep well of compassion underneath that tough Slytherin exterior.

"Are you sure? I thought it had worked, but I didn't get a chance to..."

"I told you, they're _fine._ But I'd like to hear how you ended up on the floor, although I could guess."

Like a chastened child, Ursula knelt with her eyes cast down. "It wasn't as bad as it looked, and I assure you, it was absolutely necessary. You know I wouldn't do that unless I had to."

"I can't believe you. Do you know how dangerous it is for someone with your empathic abilities-" Dorris began harshly, the green flecks in her eyes sparkling as they always did when she felt strongly.

"I'm well aware of the risks, thank you," Ursula snapped, her voice chilly. This was neither the time nor the place to be lectured.

Dorris threw her hands up, the chunky gold band on her middle finger glittering in the light. "Alright, I'll save it for now. But we _will_ be talking about it later."

Ursula had no doubts that that was true. She might have the Ravenclaw brains, but she could never seem to stand up to the Slytherin cunning. Fighting off a wave of dizziness, she stood and staggered over to the bed. The couple was resting comfortably, with minimal signs of their earlier distress. Having them in her head had made her feel as if her skull was about to be split in two, but it had obviously done the trick. They had managed to center themselves with her help, and should be able to maintain it for the rest of the session.

"Good. aside from being a trifle pale, they appear to be fine."

"Pale?" Dorris snorted, "How can you tell?"

Ursula rolled her eyes, but didn't comment. Instead, she asked, "How did you know to come, anyway?"

Dorris adopted an innocent expression, which set off alarm bells. "Nigel."

The world tilted, and her stomach slid right along with it. Not wasting time to excuse herself, she bolted to the adjoining bathroom, and was promptly sick. Sliding back into the room on shaky legs, she glared at the smug expression that she was met with.

"Mhmm. Know the risks, alright. I could've told you that would happen, moving around so much. Now, sit down before you fall down; I've already picked you up once today, and I'm not of a mind to do it again."

Muttering under her breath about not recalling _asking_ for help, she nonetheless lowered herself into her chair, casting another reassuring look at the pair on the bed. Such resilience! This was her most interesting case yet, and she couldn't help admiring them on a personal level, as well.

"If you can get your brain to quit drooling over your latest problem for a few minutes, perhaps we might finish our discussion?"

Ursula set her bag back within easy reach, and pretended to peruse its contents. "Were we discussing something?"

Dorris tilted her head back in exasperation. "The small matter of what I'm doing here, instead of sitting at home with my feet up, delving into the alarmingly increasing pile of books on my table."

"Alright, why _are_ you here?" Ursula sighed.

"Nigel thought you were overdoing it again. He was worried, and asked me to check," Dorris said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

"A bit late for that to be something that concerns him. Frankly, I don't see how he could possibly have noticed."

"He's always cared. He just didn't know how to show it the way you wanted him to. But he's never stopped, and I'm thinking you haven't, either." She gave a pointed look at Ursula's hand, which had reached for her pendant.

"I'm not talking about this. Not here. It's unprofessional." Ursula said tightly, dropping her hand.

Dorris shook her head in disappointment. "Always too busy messing about in other people's heads to do some cleaning in your own."

"An interesting topic for another day!" Ursula answered, injecting a note of brightness into her voice. "And now you can run along and report back, and then get to that reading you wanted to do."

Ursula gazed down at the couple, both of them nicely stabilized and beginning to regain color. Now that they were no longer in danger, her curiosity had resurfaced with a vengeance. There were so many possibilities for learning here! So many people that she could potentially help with her discoveries!

"Are they really _that_ engrossing?"

"You have no idea," she answered, barely aware that her friend was still there.

""Then maybe I should see what the appeal is for myself."

Ursula whirled around, to see Dorris conjure up a comfy looking chair for herself, where she promptly sat, a smug look upon her face.

"You can't observe during a session!" She hissed, "They aren't your patients! It's unethical!"

"As unethical as performing a risky procedure that might leave your patients vulnerable if they need medical care while you're unconscious?" Dorris asked, her voice dripping with sweetness.

"I-that's not...blast it. You snake."

Dorris smirked, knowing she had won. "Birdbrain," she replied affably, returning the affectionate taunt from their childhood.

Sighing in defeat, Ursula leaned back in her own seat, her attention quickly returning to Ron and Hermione. Those two had faced such adversity in their short lifetimes; things that would have broken most other people. How, out of all that devastation, had they been able to form a relationship, and actually make it work? Because of her self injection, she had been able to experience the feelings those two had for one another, as well as the pain they had been going through. It had nearly split her head in half. She wondered how far along they were now, and if, now that the terror had passed, they were learning new things about each other. She had read articles about them, stating that their relationship wouldn't last, that is didn't have staying power. Silently, she recalled what she had felt from them.

Speaking both personally and professionally, she foresaw the need for retractions.

From the bed, both let out small, sighs, and Ursula noticed that their hands had joined once again. However, that no longer seemed to be enough. Twisting around, they managed to end up curled around each other in a tangle of limbs, Hermione almost completely engulfed by Ron's lanky form.

"Well, isn't that just as cute as hell," Dorris breathed, stunned.

Ursula grinned. Now that they were moving out of the dark period, things were about to get interesting on an entirely different level.


	39. Chapter 39

At the sound of her voice, Ron raised his head in confusion. Hermione was right under him, so how how could it be coming from over there? Something was off. The Hermione beneath him was frozen in place, but before he could panic too badly about it, he saw that everyone else in the room was, as well. Frowning, he noticed some of the walls shimmering, and nearly had a heart attack when Hermione, _his_ Hermione, stepped through, dressed in the same clothes she had been wearing when they had been put in here. Her hair was at its absolute bushiest, and her eyes were swollen and red from crying. She was gorgeous. He wanted nothing more than to run to her, to hold her, to feel that she was real. And yet...and yet he couldn't leave her lying here on the floor, either.

"Ron?" She asked in a quavering voice, "Is that really you?"

He nodded, licking his dry, cracked lips. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. But why are you... _how_ are you..."

"She's not," came a voice that made both of them start, "Or, rather, neither of you are. I'm using myself as a bridge between you. I'm here because both of you had started to exhibit alarming symptoms, and I was afraid there would be too much damage if I tried to wake you. I need for you both to calm down; you _must_ remember that all of this has already happened, and try to distance yourself from it."

"Wait, are we alright out there? What's going on?" Hermione asked, her voice raised at the blonde woman.

"Nothing that can't be fixed in here, right now," Ursula soothed, "Just like before, you need to reassure the other that you are alright. I can't hold this for very long though, so you need to hurry."

Ron squinted at her, wondering if she had always looked so pale, or if she looked that way because everything around them was hazy and in various states of transparency. "Is this alright? I mean, us being here, in your..." He gestured about, not sure what to call it.

Ursula smiled tightly. "I admit it's not entirely comfortable, but that's not the issue. Go ahead and focus on yourselves." As if to give them the privacy they needed, she turned her back on them.

If Ron had been able to think clearly, he would have realized that that probably didn't mean much; however, he was still disoriented enough from the link with Hermione and trying to wrap his head around everything that was going on to think about it. Still hunched over the frozen body of the younger version of Hermione, he looked over at his Hermione, who kept glancing at him, then quickly away. What was going on with her back...wherever they were? He didn't feel that bad, at least not physically. Mentally and emotionally, he was a steaming pile of shite, but physically, he wasn't too bad. But did that mean anything here? and how was he supposed to make her feel better? What if it didn't work? Merlin, he couldn't handle watching two of her dying at the same time...he just couldn't!

"Hermione?" He asked, feeling his voice crack; he was at a complete loss. There were so many things going on, and his mind was struggling with which knot to untangle first.

Hermione was holding herself tightly, as if she were unbearably cold, and when she answered, her eyes were trained on some point just over his shoulder.

"Ron? Could you come over here?"

His body lurched forward, but he couldn't rise to his feet; he had just watched himself leave Hermione, and the damage it had caused. He had watched her being tortured nearly out of her mind. The dark, deep guilt was back, weighing him down...as much as he wanted to go to her, he couldn't leave her.

"No, I...I can't. Can you...?"

Hermione shook her head tightly, her eyes squeezing shut. "No! No, I-I can't, I can hardly bear to even look at-" She choked out.

Ron wanted to smack himself. Of course she couldn't come over here! What the hell had he been thinking to even ask her that? "Fuck, Hermione! I didn't-of course I wouldn't want you to-"

"I know! I know. But if you could just..."

"Hermione. I _can't."_ He said in a low voice, hoping she understood.

Her eyes flickered open, met his briefly, and then settled to where his hands had tried to cradle the other Hermione's head. "Oh, Ron..." She said softly.

And in those two words, he knew she did understand. There was no exasperation, no irritation; sadness, yes, but the kind of sadness that came from a shared pain.

"I know you feel like you need to..." She began, closing her eyes once more. Her voice was shaking, and her next words came out in a sob. "But Ron, I need you."

Like a magnet spinning north, he was on his feet and moving. Those words had a power beyond magic in them; all she had to do was say those three words, and he wouldn't just walk through walls, but mountains to get to her. He faltered only once, stumbling as he looked back. It was only for a moment, though. As much as he hated to do it, there was nothing he could do for that Hermione. He had to leave her behind, to save what he had now. It was hard, but he couldn't help Hermione by trying to go back; he could only move forward. With each step, he was moving a little faster, and before he knew it, she had moved to meet him halfway, the two of them crashing into each other like an ocean wave that had been briefly parted.

Locked together, it was hard to tell which one of them was trembling more, and if that had anything to do with the way they were slightly swaying. Ron found that he couldn't seem to get close enough, even as he buried his face in her hair. She wasn't quite solid, but he could feel her more than anything he had been able to in her memories. It felt as if it had been years since he had last seen her, and although he had, in effect, spent those years watching her grow up, he had missed her. Not only that, but here was the assurance he needed that everything turned out alright. The girl on the floor would eventually become the woman in his arms, and they would both heal together.

She was clinging to him tightly, with her face buried in his chest; it was only from the muffled vibrations that he became aware that she was trying to say something. Gently, he shifted her so he could hear what she was saying.

"What was that? I couldn't quite make it out."

She turned her face up, nearly knocking his chin with the top of her head.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" She asked, pain warring with sympathy in her voice.

"Tell you what?" He said, confused by what she could mean.

"How bad that this-all of this was! I saw what that _thing_ did to you, what it _said,_ Ron! How could you stand to have all of that in your head?"

His gaze slid away from hers, the heat of shame flooding his ears. "I didn't though, did I?" He asked bitterly.

"And I understood why-or thought I did. And you know that I forgave you for it ages ago without knowing, but now-"

"But now it still doesn't make a difference, because it isn't an excuse!"

Hermione glared at him, and he blinked. "Of course it's not! But just because it isn't an excuse doesn't mean that understanding why doesn't help! If I had known what was going on at the time, maybe I could have-"

"Let's...let's not talk about that right now, yeah? Can we just-I don't know. I just need...I just need to feel that you're alright-that all of this," he used one hand to gesture around them, "Is really over." He knew they needed to talk about it, and they would, later; but he couldn't do it here. it was too close.

Hermione seemed to feel the same way, because the energy that she had briefly displayed left her, and she leaned against him once more.

"It's over. All of it. Every last, horrible thing," she whispered fiercely, "It's all behind us! And once we get back, we're going to stop at that takeaway that has the shrimp curry we both like, and we'll go home and talk, and-and later, _much_ later, we'll go over to the Burrow, and watch your mum make a fuss over Victoire, and then you can hide and roll your eyes with my father while Mum and I go over the wedding details, and you'll see that-that everything-"

He had relaxed at her words, picturing it in his mind; a perfectly normal, average day. No one trying to kill them. No evil darkness hanging over their heads, and no fight so bad that he thought they might never get together. They had made it through hell already, and now they were working on making their future the best it could possibly be. They were nearly through the worst that the past had to offer; all he had to do was focus on the fact that better things were coming, and they never had to go back to this.

"Yeah, and then you can wear that set of Cannons knickers I got you, and-"

"Ron!" Hermione choked out a laugh, smacking him half-heartedly on the arm.

He grinned, feeling calmer. There, that was better. He had needed to hear her laughing. There hadn't been enough of that in recent memories, and he wanted to be sure he could still get that reaction from her, if he could still make her feel better even if it was just a stupid joke. Over the top of Hermione's head, he watched as Ursula staggered, her body twisting long enough for him to see her grimace before she righted herself. He had forgotten that she was holding them together right now, and it must be painful. After all, he knew what it was like to have things in your head that didn't belong...

"Hermione? Are you feeling alright now?"

"I think so. I just needed-its so hard to watch, and it was getting difficult to remember that these are just memories. What about you? Are you alright, or do you need to stay like this for awhile?"

Honestly he could happily stay like this for the next several hours, but he didn't like the way that Ursula was swaying, especially since she was the one in charge of their bodies right now.

"We should probably go now, if you can," he sighed.

Hermione jerked a little, clearly not expecting that. "Why? We can stay like this, I don't mind!"

"Yeah, but I think it's not such a great idea for her, you know? It looks like it hurts."

She turned in the direction he had nodded. "Oh. Oh! I see what you mean. You're right. I suppose we had better start the memories back up. Just...just one more minute, and we'll go."

Ron brought his hands up to her cheeks, and leaned down enough for their foreheads to touch. "I don't want to leave you, you know that, right?"

Her arms tightened around him briefly. "I know. But the sooner we go, the sooner it will be over."

He kissed her, slowly, refusing to rush the moment. "I love you," he whispered, their lips still close enough to touch.

"I love you too. So, so much."

It was a wrench to let her back away, their hands sliding down each others arms with each step, until only their fingers were touching.

"We're ready now," Ron called out, knowing that if they didn't do this now, it would just get harder to do it the longer they waited.

Ursula turned to them, her professional smile looking strained, at odds with the beads of sweat at her hairline. "Good. You've managed to center yourselves, then? I don't want to break the connection until you're both perfectly calm."

"We're alright now. We just needed to see..." Hermione twirled her hands together, Realizing her explanation was redundant.

"Of course, that's only natural under the circumstances. If you're sure that you're ready, I'll let things resume once you return to your positions."

Ron gave Hermione a final smile, and started to walk away.

"Ron!"

He swung around, just in time to catch her as she threw herself at him, pulling him down into a searing kiss. He moaned happily at her forcefulness, not caring that they were being watched. Hermione was the first to move away, with a small smile.

"Just to remind you that there are better things coming up." She blushed as she recalled that they weren't alone, and turned on her heel to dart away.

Ron couldn't help grinning after her, pleased by the spontaneous display. He risked a glance at Ursula, who raised an amused eyebrow, and he shrugged. After all, they had been walked in on doing worse. He lost the smile though, as he moved back to Hermione's body lying on the floor. The _memory_ of Hermione's body lying on the floor, he corrected himself. There was a small flash of light, and what he thought was a pained cry; he looked up to see if she was alright, but she was already gone, and the world around him was becoming more solid.

Hermione opened her eyes, moaning as the pain that was coursing throughout her body refused to be ignored. Nearly as loud and insistent was Ron, whom she could hear quite clearly, although he must be some considerable distance away. She struggled to a sitting position, her scattered thoughts barely allowing her the ability to focus. What was she doing again? A harsh slap stung her cheek, as someone screamed in her face. Harry and Ron...she was doing this for Harry and Ron...she had to...she had to or else...bad...

The questions started again, and it was all she could do to answer them coherently. she wasn't sure what she was saying anymore, or even if it made sense. It must have been right, because Bellatrix was screeching at her about the sword again, and if Hermione hadn't been in utter agony, she would have felt a smug sense of satisfaction at causing Bellatrix such distress.

_Ron nearly choked. Practically on the brink of death, and Hermione was acting as if the most important thing was getting one up on that bitch. If would almost be funny, if he didn't feel like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He forced himself to focus on the fact that he had just seen Hermione, and they were going to be alright. They had plans for later. Good plans. Safe plans. "Curry. The Burrow. Wedding plans." He repeated to himself. Hermione screamed again._

" _Curry, The Burrow, Wedding plans," he gritted out through his clenched jaws, wincing as Bellatrix's wand lashed out again._

" _Curry, The Burrow, Wedding plans!" He shouted, drowning out more of Hermione's screams, closing his eyes briefly to picture her as she had looked before the memories started again. He had to stay in control; he didn't think that Ursula could bring them together again. Probably had been too much for her just that once as it was._

Hermione felt like a doll that had had most of its stuffing removed. Her limbs were slow and sluggish to respond, and although she had managed to regain a standing position, she didn't know how much longer she could maintain it. All she could do was shudder and list feebly to the side as Bellatrix told Greyback he could have her. She prayed that she would be unconscious before the pain got worse. A familiar howl rang out, and with effort, she made her eyes focus on the door which had just burst open. A furious Ron had just charged through it, with Harry a few paces behind him. Hermione felt a flare of relief; she wasn't alone anymore. Then fear welled up to replace it, for their presence meant that they were once more in danger. Her mouth opened to cry out for them to get back, but her air was cut off as an arm locked around her neck, and the cold press of metal dented the skin at her throat. Bellatrix's grip was tight enough to cut off her oxygen supply part way, and that in combination with every thing she had been through, made her blackout.

There was shouting all around her, and the sound of a loud crash and footsteps running all about the room; two arms wrapped themselves around her, pulling her out from under twisted metal and shards of crystal. A voice muttered above her, and she thought it might be saying her name, but she wasn't sure. What was her...? Hermione. That was it. She wanted to turn her head, but her body wouldn't obey her commands; it felt all prickly and fuzzy, like a television when it wasn't getting a clear signal. Which was how it seemed to be in her head. One minute her thinking was clear, and the next, she was drifting away, and she was afraid that if she did, she wouldn't make it back. During a clear moment, she recalled that Bellatrix had given her to Greyback, and that was probably who was holding her. Terrified, she forced her muscles to work, but barely managed to produce a small, gurgling sound in her throat, instead of the scream she had been intending.

Above her, the person took a sharp intake of breath, and then swore fervently. That wasn't Greyback. Those particular words, said with those exact inflections, were as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. A sort of peace settled over her. Ron had come for her.

"Hermione? Are you-can you talk? Shite, please say something! Or at least move a little to let me know you can hear me. This isn't how-you can't-fuck, Hermione! This isn't supposed to happen until you're ancient and drooling, surrounded by thousands of books and-well, and people who...care about you. Can't you use that damned stubbornness of yours for something _good_ for a change?"

She felt him give a small shake, like he was trying to wake her, his voice choking on angry sounding sobs. Her pinky twitched, a faint resemblance to the comforting pat she had intended. He thought she was dying. She thought he might be right. Something inside her didn't feel quite right, and she wasn't sure if the next time she faded out would be the last. She wished she had told him sooner that she had forgiven him. She wished she could tell him lots of things. She wished...she wished things weren't so bad that she could feel his tears falling down onto her face.

There was a shout, and her heart gave another jolt; Harry! What was going to happen to Harry? Ron would do anything for him, but both of them were liable to go off half-cocked without her there to-a sharp, searing pain coincided with a shout from Harry, and one of Ron's arms jerked out from under her.

"Thank Merlin; hold on, Hermione!" Ron said, getting a better grip on her.

She felt herself begin to twist, and knew he was Apparating. She wanted to tell him that she couldn't; something was wrong. But the thought slipped away before she had enough time to complete it, and her mind teetered on a gaping, black chasm...

_Ron moaned at the scene; Fleur had told him later that Apparating with Hermione in that condition had been extremely dangerous, but there hadn't been any choice. He had been afraid she was going to die anyway, and it was a miracle he hadn't Splinched them both. It hadn't helped that he had felt guilty about leaving Harry, even though Harry had told him to, and was right behind him. But Harry had been able to stand on his own two feet and was capable of Apparating himself, while Hermione was unconscious, and he had felt blood soaking through her clothes._

She woke up screaming.

Her whole body felt like it was turning inside out, rebelling against her. The pain was too much; she was too full, and she had to get rid of it. With each scream, it felt as if some sort of poisonous cloud was leaving her mind. The pain lessened, although it didn't go away completely. But it was bearable now; a background noise instead of her entire world. Voices were shouting around her, but she was too tired to make out the words. She made a brief attempt to stay awake to find out what was going on, but she was too physically and mentally overtaxed to even open her eyes. Curiously, she felt her body moving on its own, as if she was separated from it somehow. Words came to her that she couldn't understand, although she felt herself react to them. Well, at least some part of her seemed to know what it was doing, and she was so tired...she let herself float, lost amongst the comforting clouds.

_Ron released a snort. He had been out of his mind with worry at that point, horrified at what the treatment was doing to her, and then worried that her mind would stay lost forever. It was odd that she hardly remembered any of it herself, or how she had managed to make it out to Dobby's funeral, even though when she heard he had died later, it was like she was hearing it for the first time._

The next time she woke, it was quiet; Her head was pounding, her mouth was dry, and there was a curious sort of numbness in her limbs. But her thoughts were clear, and she had regained some sort of control over herself, as evidenced by the way she could clench her hand into a fist. Someone was breathing deeply; looking down the length of her body, she saw that she was lying in a bed with a heavy comforter over her body. Ron was in a chair next to her, leaning his upper body on the bed, where he had fallen asleep with his head next to her hip. The position looked highly uncomfortable, and she knew he would be feeling it when he woke up. She yawned. How could she still be tired? Lazily, she realized that they must have given her some type of potion. Horrible things had happened, but it seemed distant from her, almost as if it had happened to someone else. Whatever she had been given was dulling the mental pain as well as the physical.

Taking in her surroundings, she saw that she was in a small bedroom, and in the dark, lit only by a candle beside her, she could make out the shadows of a few pieces of furniture; another bed, a closet, and the table on which the candle rested. Along with it stood a pitcher and a glass, and her throat ached at the sight; she moved to stretch out her arm, but it was just out of her reach. Her movement must have been felt by Ron, because he jolted awake with a loud snort, raising his wand and looking about the room wildly. He seemed confused for a moment at the lack of danger, then noticed that she was watching him. A small noise of delight escaped his throat, before a look of worry crossed his face, and he leaned over her to stare at her intently. Judging from the bags under his eyes, he hadn't been asleep for long; he was still in the clothes he had been wearing at the Manor, there was a layer of light reddish stubble on his face, and one side of his hair was matted down from where he had been lying on it. She thought, perhaps, that this was the best sight to wake up to.

"Hermione! You woke up! Do-do you know who I am?" He asked hesitantly, his forehead creasing, and the knuckles on the hand holding his wand tightened.

She opened her mouth, and wheezed out an answer, sounding older than Muriel. "R-Ron."

A fraction of the tension left his muscles, and he sighed. "Yeah, it's me. How do you feel? I know that's a stupid question, but-I mean-oh shite, can you tell if there's anything wrong?"

"Throat. Thirsty."

"Oh! Yeah, Fleur left some water. Here, let me-"

He nearly tripped over his chair to get to the pitcher, and spilled a few drops as he poured it into the glass. Hermione struggled to sit up, but was still feeling weak. Without having to be asked, Ron gently slid a hand behind her neck, and helped prop her up. He brought the glass to her lips, and tilted it for her. The cold water stung, and she choked; Ron started to pull it away, but she raised her hand and blocked him, signalling she wanted to try again. She was more careful this time, taking tiny sips. Her throat still felt strange, and she thought she might have strained her vocal cords.

Ron placed the empty glass back on the table, and lowered her back to the pillow, thoughtfully pulling her hair away from her neck. "Are you sure that you're alright? I mean, I know you're not _alright,_ but...you know. I was just-you were...and then-" He closed his eyes, and took a steadying breath. "I'm gonna go get Fleur; she said to tell her as soon as you woke up. I'll be right back!"

He moved to the door quickly, and Hermione was suddenly afraid. She didn't want to be alone. She made an effort to get up, but fell backwards. "Wait!"

Ron stopped, and came back to the bed, helping her settle back into a more comfortable position. "What is it? Is there something wrong? You should let me get Fleur so she can check on you!" He said nervously, glancing at the door.

She shook her head, slightly embarrassed. "No," she whispered, since it was easier on her throat, "Just...please don't leave yet. I don't even know what's going on. How long have I been asleep?"

His hand came up to run through his hair, and his eyes had a haggard, haunted look. "For hours. Fleur said if- _when_ you woke up, it might not be for a long time. So I've been waiting to see-to make sure..."

"It was close, wasn't it?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

"Too close." He growled, leaning over her. "Don't _ever_ do that again."

His face was quite ferocious, but Hermione saw the fear in his eyes, and heard the tremor in his voice. Weakly, she raised her hand to brush the fringe from his eyes, smoothing her fingers over his forehead as he pressed into her briefly, his eyelids drooping shut.

"That's why you asked if I knew who you were. Why you...looked so afraid. You thought...like Neville's parents." She said, her voice fading in and out.

Ron nodded, his lips pursed in a straight line. "Yeah. We weren't sure. Fleur said there was no way to tell, without a Healer."

A thought crossed her mind, and it scared her. "Do you think...I still could?"

His head jerked, and one of his hands came up to grip hers tightly. "No! No, Bill and Fleur both said that if you were gonna be like that, we'd know right away. You-there might be some other kind of damage we don't know about, but not that. If it wasn't such a shite thing to do, I'd Apparate to Hogwarts and ask Neville myself."

She brushed her thumb over his knuckles. "When am I...ever going to get it through your head...that you can't Apparate in Hogwarts?"

Giving the ghost of a smile, he squeezed her hand, and let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Yeah, that's the Hermione I know. If you can quote from that bloody book, then you're going to be fine." His voice was determined, as if he was saying it as much to convince himself as he was saying it to convince her.

Her answer was interrupted by a spasm of pain along her spine, and she couldn't help letting out a small cry. Ron's eyes widened, and he launched himself backwards.

"I'm going to get Fleur! Hold on!"

The pain passed for the moment, but it had reminded her of something. "Ron!"

His hand was on the door, but he stopped, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he would be rushing out the second she let him. "Hermione, I should really-"

"What about Harry?"

When his response was to wince and turn away, she felt her heart stop; with a lurching motion, she sat up, ready to swing her legs from the bed. Harry couldn't be dead! He just-he just couldn't! They were so close to ending all of this; They couldn't have come so far, just to lose him now!

"How? Why didn't you tell me?"

His head snapped up, and he held out a hand as if it would keep her in place. "No! Harry's not-Harry's asleep in the other room. He made it out, Hermione."

She fell back into the pillows, but could tell he wasn't including everything. "Then did someone else...?"

The muscles of his throat and along his jaw bunched, and he turned to the door. "Dobby." He answered flatly. "He saved us. He didn't make it. You don't remember...anything about that? Or when we buried him?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she shook her head; Dobby had been one of the sweetest creatures she had ever met, and his devotion to Harry had been amazing. She had always hoped that someday, he would get to see his fellow house elves enjoy the same freedom he had, and now he never would.

"Harry's not taking it well, is he?" She coughed, her throat protesting at being used.

"No. He's not. And I don't blame him. I'll be right back with Fleur; try not to move too much until she can look at you, please?"

He slid out the door without waiting for her answer, and she would almost swear that he had sounded like he was about to cry.

_He had been. Dobby's death had hit him in a way he hadn't expected. He had always liked the funny little elf; and even though he hadn't been as...enthusiastic as Hermione, he had hated the way he had been treated by the Malfoys. But he hadn't fully taken things in, or seen the bigger picture. The reasons why Dobby had felt so grateful to Harry, and why he would do anything for him, hadn't hit home until he had seen that stick thin little body in Harry's arms. The wrongness of the whole thing had been a cold slap in the face, and it had caused a major shift in his way of thinking._

Hermione heard his footsteps moving down the hall, followed by the sound of a fist on wood, and muffled voices. Two sets of footsteps were returning; Ron's, along with a lighter, quicker set. Fleur entered the room first, carrying her wand and a small bag. She was wearing a silky looking blue dressing gown, and her hair fell in a wavy waterfall around her shoulders. She was gorgeous as usual, but her face was all businesslike concern.

"'ermione? Ron told me you were awake! No, don't get up," she said, her accent sounding thicker from sleep and worry, "You must rest as much as possible. Is there any pain? Numbness?"

Hermione nodded. "Both. My arms and legs tingle like they're asleep, but then I get these sharp, stabbing pains."

Fleur bit her lip. "I see."

"What? What do you see? What's wrong with her?" Ron asked rapidly, looming over Fleur, who rounded on him with a scowl.

"Did I _say_ there was somezing wrong with her? Nothing more wrong than one could expect, after her ordeal! Now, if you are going to get in my way like you did earlier-"

Ron raised his hands, and ducked his head. "Sorry! It was just the way you said it!"

"Hm." Fleur sniffed, turning her back on him and advancing towards the bed.

She set the bag and her wand on the table, and began to rummage around. "I think I can give you somezing for the pain. Ron says that you are thinking clearly, even if you seem tired. I imagine you would like something to help with that throat, no?"

"Yes, please," Hermione whispered, trying to hide a twinge of pain. Fleur glanced sharply at her, but didn't comment.

"How bad is it?" Hermione pressed, not wanting to be coddled.

Fleur hesitated. "Bad enough, but not as bad as it could have been. The effects will improve with time, but...I am afraid they may never go away completely."

Ron looked stricken, and slightly guilty; Hermione had braced herself for much worse. Of course, she still had potions in her system and was about to receive more, so she might not be so relaxed about things once those wore off, and she experienced the pain at its full force.

Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the potions she had already been given, or else it was the mind's way of protecting itself from shock; either way, she pushed it aside to be dealt with later, in private. As it was, it took almost all of her full concentration to choke down the multiple potions Fleur was pressing on her; did she really need so many? She must, because when she tried to refuse one, Fleur gave her a stern look, and held the bottle against her lips.

"I need to look at the rest of your wounds, to see how they are healing," Fleur finally said, motioning to Hermione's body, still under the blankets.

It was then that Hermione became aware that she was wearing only a thin nightgown that must belong to Fleur; Her arms were exposed, and she suspected it didn't cover very much of her legs. Someone had removed her bra, but left her knickers; bandages covered a large portion of her torso.

"Ron, step outside," Fleur commanded her brother-in-law, unphased by the stubborn cast of his jaw.

"Fine. But I'm coming back in as soon as you're done," he said, looking back over his shoulder several times as he left the room.

"Stubborn man," Fleur muttered, helping Hermione sit up, "He has 'ardly left your side this whole time. Only to help bury the house elf."

"Dobby."

Fleur nodded, with a heavy sigh. "Now. Since we are alone, how do you _really_ feel?"

Hermione was almost too distracted by thoughts of Ron alternating between her bedside and a small grave to answer. "I think...worse without potions."

A bandage was peeled back, the wound beneath it assessed. "As I told Ron, the pain is good. It is the numbness that is worrying. I still think we should bring in a Healer-"

Hermione shook her head so hard her thoughts rattled.

"But I am surrounded by stubborn people," Fleur finished, moving to another bandage. "You are going to have to be very careful for quite some time. The Cruciatus caused enough damage, but there was also blood loss, and you are, to be frank, alarmingly malnourished. It didn't help matters that you wouldn't stay in bed earlier, although I suppose the potions are at least partially to blame for that."

Nothing she didn't already know, in other words.

"How bad...was it really? Ron won't...say."

Fleur didn't speak for so long that Hermione almost thought that she wouldn't; when she did, she was very quiet. "You almost died. I do not think your body could have taken one more curse."

Hermione swallowed; part of her had been hoping that Ron's worry had made him exaggerate.

"And my...mind?"

"I did not believe we could bring you back, to tell the truth. And for a short time, I thought Ron might lose his right along with you." She said, her tone dark. "He told me that you would hate that; that it would be just the same as killing you. If you hadn't found your way back to us, I am afraid he would have gone after Bellatrix himself."

Ron had been right, Hermione thought. Because she feared that more than she did the thought of dying. She knew she should have been thankful just to be alive, but if she had ended up like the Longbottoms...no. It would have been, as Ron said, just the same as being killed. Her next question felt petty in comparison.

"Scars?"

Fleur looked more hopeful about this. "You were cut badly, but it seems she was focusing her magic in the Cruciatus. Whoever...else hurt you, they did naturally. There will be some scarring, but it will be under your clothes, and mostly only noticeable in certain lights and angles. Without magic...well. We shall be thankful we don't have to find out, oui?"

Hermione felt foolish for feeling so grateful, when she knew that there was nothing wrong with a few scars. She couldn't help it, though; she could deal with what Fleur had described, and while she would probably be uncomfortable with them for awhile, it was at least a small comfort to know that she wouldn't be obviously disfigured to the casual observer.

"Other damage, I can't say for certain," Fleur went on, "There may be side effects you don't notice for a very long time...or at all, depending on your choices."

Although Fleur had phrased it delicately, the words had the effect of a slap; Hermione realized what she meant. Children. She was telling her she might not be able to have children. She had never really-no, that's a lie; she might not have imagined the specifics all that much, but the fact that she would eventually have them, or at least have the choice to have them or not, had been something she had taken for granted.

_And that subject had been the source of a huge row, later. So huge, that he had actually thought she might leave him over it. Looking back, he thought that it might have been so big because she had never actually dealt with it herself first. It wasn't a fight he looked forward to reliving, but it was better than the past few memories he had seen._

"But that is something to think about later. Right now, you must concentrate on getting enough food and rest. There will be time to think beyond that once you have recovered more."

Fleur had barely tucked the covers back around her when the door cracked open. "Can I come in now?"

Hermione was happy for the distraction; Ron was comforting, and having him in here could help with distracting herself from thinking of other things. She nodded at Fleur, who called for him to come in and shut the door.

"How is she?" He asked Fleur, then immediately turned to Hermione, looking her over like he was afraid something had gone wrong while he was out. "How are you? She didn't hurt you, did she?"

The older woman rounded on him, jabbing his chest with her wand. "Of course I did not hurt her!" She said loudly, disregarding the rest of the household that was asleep.

"You did before!" Ron accused, backing up a step so she would quit stabbing him.

"And I told you, that I did what I had to do to help her!"

"Please...don't fight." Hermione said from the bed, exhausted from listening to them, and the potions that were traveling through her system.

Instantly, Ron shoved past Fleur to get to the side of the bed, scrapping the chair as he drew it closer to sit down. "Sorry. Are you sure you're alright, though?" He turned his head to plead with Fleur. "Can't you give her anymore for the pain?"

She shook her head firmly. "No. It is too dangerous to mask it completely; right now it's the only way we have to tell how much damage there is, and we wouldn't know if it suddenly got worse."

Ron didn't look too happy about that, so Hermione took his hand, which had been resting on the bed, and squeezed it. The potions were making things a little hazy, but she hoped he understood. He looked surprised, but he took her hand, and settled into the chair, ignoring Fleur's snort.

"And now that you've seen that she is fine, you can go and let her sleep. You can help tomorrow by making sure she gets enough to ea-"

"I'm not leaving," Ron said, in a tone so firm it made rocks look like feather pillows.

"Yes, you are!" Fleur snarled, obviously at the end of her patience where Ron was concerned. "Hermione needs rest, Ron, and so do you! Now, you can either walk out of here on your own, or I'll-"

"You'll what?" Ron snapped, eyes flashing, "Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. I'm. Not. _Leaving_ her."

They way he emphasised the word 'leaving' wasn't lost on her, nor, it appeared, on Fleur. "Hermione will be fine, Ron. But you have to let her sleep."

"She can sleep! I'm just-I'll just be here if she needs something."

"Alone? If your mother found out that I let you-hmm." Fleur cut herself off, with a small, grim smile. "Alright. I suppose there's no harm in you sleeping in the other bed, given you've been sharing a tent this entire time. Wake me if she needs anything. Is that alright, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, fighting back tears she knew they wouldn't understand, and only mistake for pain. And while there would be plenty of that while she was healing, these were tears of a different sort. Because just a few minutes ago, when Ron had said he wasn't leaving her...she had believed him. The faith that she had thought she had lost was back; amidst all of the world falling apart around her, she had found this measure of comfort to hold onto.

"Alright, then. But be sure she sleeps!" Fleur commanded, gathering her things. Once she was gone, Ron looked back at Hermione, his face slightly flushed, and his expression shy.

"Sorry, Hermione. I didn't even ask, but maybe you'd rather someone else? Luna's here, or Harry."

He started to stand up, but she wouldn't let go of his hand.

"I don't want anyone else, Ron. Just you."

And she didn't. She wasn't close enough to Luna, and while she loved Harry dearly, it would be too awkward, feeling guilty about _him_ feeling guilty about what had happened, and neither of them would rest. But with Ron...she could sleep and feel safe. She wasn't foolish enough to think that he could protect her from anything that might happen; if the Death Eaters managed to find them, it would take them all to get out alive. But she also knew that Ron wouldn't let anything happen without a fight, and she needed that sense of security, after all that had happened. At her answer, Ron had let out a startled gasp, and his eyes had widened in surprise. The flush on his cheeks had deepened to a fiery scarlet, but he didn't look away.

"As long as that's what you want." He said softly.

_He had been fairly gobsmacked to hear her say that. While she had started to let him do small things for her again, he hadn't expected her to let him be there for her in that way. Like a big tit, he had almost cried about it; he had needed to be close to her, to be able to see and know that she was alive. Not only did he get to do that, but she actually wanted him, out of anyone else she could pick._

Something was traded in the look they shared that hadn't been fully present since the earliest days in the tent. It seemed to be too much for Ron, because he broke eye contact first, releasing her hand slowly.

"Then I guess I'll just kip over there, alright? Unless you need me in the chair. Because I can do that too. No problem."

Again, Hermione pulled him back as he began to move away, too relaxed by the potions to be more embarrassed about what she was going to ask. "Not there. Here."

"In the chair?" He asked, starting to sink back down, "Alright, then. I'll try not to fall on you this time-"

"Not there. _Here."_ She patted the bed, wiggling over to the side so he would get the point. The bed was small, but still large enough for two; especially two as thin and underfed as they currently were.

Ron stared at the bed, then at her, both hesitant and hopeful, like a puppy invited up onto the good sofa. "But...are you really sure..."

"We've done it before," she said, referring to their time spent at Grimmauld Place.

"Yeah, but that was, well, a _before_ sort of thing, and I didn't think you would want to-"

"I do."

"Oh. Right. Then I'll just...lie down, then?"

For an answer, she pushed one of the pillows over enough for him to rest his head on. He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, before bringing his legs up to stretch out on the mattress. With a small jerk, he sat halfway back up from where he had started to lean against the headboard.

"Wait, are you sure this won't hurt you?"

Honestly, she knew it was going to. She also knew she was going to hurt regardless of where he slept. But after everything she had just gone through, she would much rather wake up in pain and know that it was over and she was safe, rather than waking up in pain and thinking that she was alone.

"S'fine," she sighed, snuggling against him, hiding a wince as she twisted her body too fast.

Carefully, they arranged their limbs in some semblance of a mutually comfortable position. As they lay there, Hermione felt Ron begin to relax, and his hand, which had come to rest on the back of her head, began to stroke it, his long fingers working through a few knots in her hair. He was warm and solid, the rise and fall of his chest under her cheek a soothing motion. It wouldn't last forever, she knew, but for right now, she felt at peace. Sleep danced on the edges of her consciousness, but she remembered that there was something important that she needed to say.

"Ron."

"Hmmn?"

"In first year, you helped Harry save me from the troll, and you sacrificed yourself on the chessboard. In second year," she felt his body tense up underneath her, but continued, "You stood up to Malfoy when he called me a Mudblood, and you went into the Forest even though you're afraid of spiders."

"Hermione, you don't have to do this-" Ron wiggled beneath her in discomfort.

"Just listen. In third-"

"But Hermione, your throat-"

"Please, Ron." She waited for him to settle before continuing, "In third year, you...you were more sensitive about some things than I was, and you did everything you could to help Buckbeak. You forgave me when a lot of people wouldn't, and you stood up to someone you thought was a murderer to protect Harry. In fourth year, well. You were a bit of a prat. But only a bit, and the rest of the time, you put your feelings aside and helped Harry, and you were the thing he would miss the most."

She had to pause, because so much talking was making her throat whistle; Ron wasn't saying anything, but his entire body was quivering, and she wasn't sure if that was from anger or trying not to cry.

"Fifth year...fifth year was good. You stood up for Harry when nearly everyone was against him, and you fought at the Ministry. And things between us...they were good too. Good enough that-well. It was a good year. Sixth year was...not a good year. At least not for the most part. But you fought the Death Eaters the night they attacked, and you comforted me at Dumbledore's funeral. This past year, you were the one I could count on when I was hurting over my parents, and you were always thinking of ways to keep me safe. You-"

"I left you. When things were bad, I left you." Ron said harshly, his voice thick with tears and regret.

Hermione said nothing for several long moments, allowing both of them to think about what he had just said.

"You left...and you came back. And more than being sorry, you _showed it,_ and did better. You pulled us out of our rut, and...when things got very bad...you...you offered to take my place."

"Still doesn't change what I did." He said, his body like an iron bar.

"No, it doesn't. But the bad things you've done don't change the good things, either," she said simply, that one fact crystal clear in her increasingly drowsy mind. "And that's why I forgive you."

Ron exhaled a ragged breath, and her head dipped with his chest. His hand had slid to her shoulder, and was gripping her hard. Which was fine, because she was experiencing a period of numbness between the pains, and this way she could at least feel him.

"Hermione, you don't have to-you don't have to do that, just because I...shite. I didn't do it so you'd..."

Her hand, which had been curled around a fold in his jumper, reached across to take hold of his free one. "I know. S'not why I am. I want to, and...it's time."

He hugged her to himself, and muttered into her hair, "I won't make you regret it. And some of those times when I was so bloody stupid, it was only-"

"Ron, we don't have to talk about it...let's just move on. I-I want things to be better between us. Like they were...but better."

He hesitated a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be brilliant."

Getting that off of her chest was like removing a weight; they were safe, she would have time to heal, and, what felt to be most important at the moment, things were right between her and Ron. She felt her hair dampening from his tears, and she wanted to say something to make him feel better. But she had been fighting the potions to say what she had, and now they were getting the best of her. All she could do was tighten her grip on him, as her eyelids slid closed, and she drifted off.

_Although he appreciated the fact that she was willing to put everything behind them, he wished she would have let him talk. He hadn't been entirely sure what he was going to say, but he had wanted to explain things, so she would understand him. He had needed closure, and he hadn't realized until now how much it had bothered him that he didn't get it. Not that he blamed her. She was trying to make it easier on both of them. But he had lost the chance to bring the subject up, and it had sort of set the pattern where he didn't feel comfortable bringing things up after a row. If it was over, there was no point in hashing it out, was there? He wasn't so sure anymore. Wouldn't it be worth it, to make sure they were both on the same page? Sometimes, he needed to hear it. Come to think of it, Hermione usually was the one to be all for talking a problem to death, so he had to wonder why they were out of sync when it came to this. A reason niggled at the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite grasp it yet._

Two days later, and Hermione was outside, unknowingly sitting on the same rock that Ron had often sat on during his time away. Of course, it had changed so much that it could hardly be called a rock. After a small argument on whether or not she was well enough to venture outside, Ron had backed down, asking her to at least set things up so she could be comfortable. She had accepted his offer, since she could never be sure when the pain was going to strike. The potions kept it under control, and she was doing her best to make sure Harry didn't notice, but Ron seemed attuned to every change that passed over her, and she needed a place she didn't feel as if she had to hide it.

Which was why she was currently curled up next to Ron on a rock that had been softened to the consistency of a marshmallow by innumerable Cushioning Charms, wrapped in magically heated blankets, staring out at the ocean. It was just the two of them, since Griphook had been in a suspicious mood and had wanted to talk to Harry alone today. Bill was helping Dean look for his family, and Fleur was helping Luna deal with the news about her father. Hermione wished she could help, but she wasn't sure there was anything she could say that would make the other girl feel better.

It might sound like she and Ron were relaxing, while the others were left to deal with the harder things, but that was far from the case. Because right now, she was having to deal with an obstinate Ron, who was having doubts about their plan to break into Gringotts.

"You don't have to do this, Hermione. You shouldn't _have_ to do it." Ron said, fussing over the mounds of pillows he had Transfigured from stones to place behind her back.

She gently pushed his hands away, preferring to have his arm around her shoulders. "Of course I have to do this! There's no other way this will work; our odds are bad enough as it is."

He plopped back against the pillows, his arm curving around her carefully, knowing that she was periodically oversensitized to pressure, for now. He scowled out of the corner of his eye. "Don't tell me that you're alright with this. Harry might not have thought about it, but I saw the way you flinched when they suggested that you Polyjuice yourself as _her._ You know I've heard your nightmares."

She shivered, and it wasn't from the wind that was sweeping over them. The day they had arrived here, she had managed to make it through on shock and pain potions. But by the second day, both the pain and the thoughts were harder to control. The numbness still persisted, with occasional bolts of sharp pain. Her muscles would seize up, and she wouldn't be able to move. As bad as that was, she would gladly take that over the nightmares. The first night, she had been so exhausted that her sleep was deep enough to be fairly untroubled; the second night, it hit her full force. Ron had reluctantly gone to share a spot on the floor with Harry and Dean it the other room, and Luna had joined Hermione, taking the other bed. If Luna hadn't been there, she would have woken the entire house with her screams.

Maybe they wouldn't be so bad if they were actual memories. They were so real, that she would wake herself up, thinking it was still happening. Worst were the ones that slipped in something that _didn't_ happen, such as Ron or Harry dying, and she couldn't tell which was true. The second night, she had almost been afraid to go to sleep, when Ron had marched into the room, crawled onto the bed, and spooned up behind her. Luna had sat up, looked over at them with a pleased expression, and before nodding and rolling over, saying, "That's right. Good."

"No, it's not particularly something I _want_ to do," she sighed, "But can you think of another way? We have to get that Horcrux; it's the only way to end this."

"I know. I've tried at least twenty other scenarios, and none of 'em end well. I just...wish you didn't have to. I just want all this to be over, so you don't have to think about it anymore."

Deciding she wouldn't bring up the fact that she was going to be thinking about it for a long, long time, Hermione wordlessly slid her arm across his chest in a loose hug. His left arm tightened around her, and his right hand moved to lace their fingers together, a habit they had developed when they were alone. Ron seemed to need to touch her to reassure himself that she was really there, and while his touches weren't exactly sexual, they weren't fully innocent, either. A hand on her hip while she was sleeping; the way his lips would briefly make contact with the back of her neck when she was propped up against him...not quite a kiss, but so close to it that the lines almost blurred.

He had also started to talk more about the future, once the Horcruxes and Voldemort were destroyed for good. Nothing specific was mentioned, but she couldn't help but notice how frequently he used the word 'we.' The two of them were headed for something together, and it was now almost impossible to ignore. There was an offer in his tone, a promise in his touch. The choice was up to her now, and it was intoxicating and frightening. All she had to do was say the word, and she was almost completely sure that her relationship with Ron could finally become everything she had wanted it to be. Several times, she had opened her mouth to bring it up. But she couldn't quite let herself. She knew that in one way, it was foolish to hesitate; with the way things were going, who knew how much time they had left? It could all too easily be taken from them.

And that, she supposed, was part of the reason. As cautious as she was, there was almost no way she could convince herself that what Ron felt for her was platonic friendship. But would she be able to see that clearly later, when she was feeling hurt or upset about something? Might she not wonder if there was an element of pity involved, or near-death desperation? Those things did happen, after all. And even if she managed to tell herself she was being stupid at those times, what about Ron? It was exactly the type of thing he was likely to think, that she was only with him out of pity, or because she didn't want to die alone. There had been so many misunderstandings between them in the past, and she hated the idea of adding another one. Her other reason was one she had thought of before, and might seem slightly more selfish. When they finally...addressed this thing between them, she wanted to be able to focus all of her attention on that. After waiting for years, she was determined to enjoy it to the fullest of her abilities, and there was no way that could happen right now.

She knew she hadn't always been entirely sensitive to Ron's feelings in the past, and she didn't want to go into this having him feel as if he was coming in second place, because so much of her attention was going to be on the Horcruxes. His too, for that matter. And to be completely honest, she wanted to come first, too. The moments they had now were snatched and rushed, and there was always people around. It was so frustrating! She knew she should probably ignore those thoughts and just plunge ahead, but there just seemed to be something holding her back, and until she figured out what it was, she couldn't say anything. At least, not right out.

"Once we're back in school-"

Ron laughed, an odd sound that she was glad to hear. "Back? Hermione, in case you haven't noticed, we missed our last year. There's no force on earth that can get me to go back now! If the first years were small before, I'd be afraid I'd step on one now, and never know it."

"That's no excuse not to finish your education!" She huffed, feeling the subject getting away from her.

"Sounds like between you and Mum, I won't have much choice. But believe me, if I get a better option, don't expect to see me on the Express come the first of September. But what were you saying about us being back?"

She paused, because she had almost forgotten herself. "I was going to say, it would be nice if, when we go back, we did...this...more often."

The smirk on his face slid sideways, to replaced by something more tentative. "Did...what, exactly? Hogwarts is sort of lacking in the ocean department."

"It has a lake, though. And I meant...this. You. Me. It's nice to get away from everything for a bit, isn't it?"

He tipped his head to see her face better, and she held her breath at how close he was. "Even Harry?"

"Well, naturally Harry will be with us sometimes-"

"That's good; the bloke pines for me, you know."

"And sometimes, he won't be."

Ron pulled her closer to him, and she could feel his heart speed up underneath her arm. Part of her desperately wanted him to say something; part of her felt that it still wasn't quite the right time yet.

"I think-I think that sounds perfect. I'd like that."

His voice sounded deeper, and she gave a little shiver. It wouldn't be long, she knew. This feeling in her chest couldn't be contained forever, and when she finally let it loose...she hoped he was ready.

_He didn't know yet if it was something she had ended up worrying about, but he knew he had himself. It had felt too good to be true, and in the aftermath of everything that was lost, the depression he had dealt with had tried to convince him that he would lose her, too. One of the reasons why he hadn't made any sort of move while they were at Shell Cottage had been because he had had the uneasy feeling it would be taking advantage of her. She had been through hell, she wasn't even close to being fully recovered, and it seemed wrong to start something that might only be gratitude on her part. He had been helping her a lot, and what if she had thought that-that she owed him, or that he thought she owed him? He hadn't known how to put that into words, thinking it better to wait. And, like her, once they took that step forward, he had wanted to focus on that. How could he do that to Harry, after walking out on him like that though? He had been a complete arse, and he knew himself well enough to know he would have grumbled about having to pay more attention to the mission than Hermione. The three of them had finally found their balance again, and he didn't want to be the one to disrupt it._

_So he had tried to get his feelings across in his actions, knowing that had a limited amount of time before they would be off doing something stupidly dangerous. And he had wanted to make every moment count, without pushing her. And for all his efforts, he had nearly lost her anyway. He took his last look at the pair of them cuddled on the rock, as a mist rolled in off of the ocean, thick, white, and blinding. As it began to clear, he found himself once more within the walls of Hogwarts, the scene of some of the best and worst moments of his life. They were in the Room of Requirement, surrounded by old classmates and part of his family. Harry had just left the room with Luna to go look at Ravenclaw's statue, and he and Hermione were fending off the hundreds of questions that were coming at them from all directions._

_Ron was caught between watching as closely as he could, and turning away at the sight of Fred, who only had a handful of hours left to live, and George, who would probably never smile quite the same way he was smiling now._

Hermione was getting a headache, unused to the noise and press of so many people. She looked over at Ron, who was between the twins, each of them with an arm slung around his shoulders, both of them wearing wide grins as Ron rolled his eyes and struggled to break free. He had been almost lighthearted since they had gotten here, and she would think that he was fine, except for the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He pushed away from Fred and George, slapping their hands away as they ruffled his hair, the fact that they had missed him obvious in their beaming expressions.

"Break out the fancy togs, Hermione! Friday night, we dance!" Fred called to her.

She watched, puzzled, as Ron punched him in the arm, leaving Fred rubbing his bicep and cackling. Ron was muttering under his breath as he joined her, but she didn't catch what he was saying. She did, however, notice how his eyes strayed to the door. Harry hadn't even been gone ten minutes, but they were already on edge over it.

"Why does he always think he has to do it alone? This is a bloody big castle, and we're running out of time. It would go faster if everyone was looking."

"Harry just doesn't want to put anyone in danger-"

"I think that's a little late for everyone here, yeah? They haven't known anything _but_ danger for months now."

She had to concede the point. "Yes, but not because of anything he asked them to do. Besides, I'm more concerned about what to do with it once we find it; we still haven't destroyed the cup, and how are we supposed to, without the sword?"

"So all we need to do is find about four you-know-what's, and something with the right kind of magic to destroy them. That'll be about as easy as pulling Bas-"

He froze, his eyes going wide before he spun around and gripped her by the arms, and began to babble excitedly. "Hermione, I've just had an idea so brilliant, that if it works they'll be calling me the brightest wizard of my age. C'mon, let's go; I know where we need to go to solve at least half of our problems."

Lurching off of her feet as he tugged her along, she glanced back to see if anyone would say anything, but most of the attention was on Fred and George, who were cutting up. The others probably needed the boost in morale, and it would definitely be better if they could sneak away without any questions.

"Where are we going?"

"The bathroom, of course!" Ron replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ron? Hermione? Where are you going?" Ginny called.

"Just to the bathrooms really quick!" Ron assured her, not pausing.

What on earth? Had some fumes leaked into the room without them realizing it? That made no sense! She stopped at the door, the motion pulling him back. He turned, and must have seen the look on her face.

"Can you have a little faith? Or at least pretend?"

Well, of he was going to break out the puppy eyes, then she might as well at least see what his plan was.

"Alright, I'll come."

He grinned at her, ducking out first, leaving her to follow. She felt a twinge in her legs, and gritted her teeth; now was not the time for her body to give out on her! Thankfully, it passed, and soon she was trotting down the hall, trying to keep up with him. Both seemed to hold their breath every time they came to a corner, but their luck held, and they managed to make it to their destination without being spotted. She frowned as they entered Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, wondering why Ron thought it was so important to come here.

"Now will you tell me what we're doing here? What if Harry comes back while we're gone?"

Ron shrugged, but the look of excitement didn't dim one bit. "We won't be gone that long, and it isn't like he doesn't have a room full of other people until we get there. Honestly Hermione, I'm surprised you haven't figured it out before; you were the one who told us what we needed, after all."

Unless I mentioned that we needed toilets, I don't see-"

"Basilisk fangs, Hermione!" Ron waved his arms expansively. "You said that they could destroy a Horcrux. And where do we know of that's loaded with them?"

With dawning comprehension, she turned between him and the central group of sinks. "You mean-"

"The Chamber!" He agreed, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Ron, that's absolutely brilliant!" She nearly screamed, elated at the thought that they might actually have a chance, after all.

His face flushed, and he gave a small cough. "Well, maybe not _brilliant..."_

Yes, it is," she said seriously, "I was so busy thinking of ways to get the sword back, that it never even occurred to me that we didn't need it. You thought of it almost right away." She meant it, too; she had come up with one or two ideas that might have worked if they had had more time, but Ron had cut straight to the solution.

"You would've thought of it eventually."

Hermione snorted, striding to the sinks. "We don't have that long. Now, I didn't go with you and Harry, so you'll have to show me how this works."

Shocked, Ron stared at the sinks, and his shoulders began to droop. "Damn. I forgot, Harry had to use Parseltongue. I guess it wasn't such a bright idea after all."

Biting back her own disappointment, she placed a hand on his arm. "It's still a good idea. We'll just have to wait for Harry, is all. But we would still be worrying about not having the sword if you hadn't thought of this."

At her words, his shoulders straightened, and he glared at the sinks as if they had deeply offended him. "Hold on, maybe we can still get in."

She was about to ask what he meant, but, with a look of pure concentration, he began to make a strangled whistling sound. He paused, but nothing happened, and he shook his head.

"No, that's not it. It was more like..."

He tried again, and then again, and although Hermione could detect no difference, he was rewarded with a creaking noise, as the sinks began to move. Both looked back towards the door, as if the movement might have summoned one of the Carrows, or Snape himself. Silence.

"You did it! You really did it!"

He wore a triumphant smile as he started to wedge himself into the opening. "I'll slide down first; it'll at least give you something soft to land on."

She peered over his shoulder, trying to make out the way down. "Are you sure? It doesn't seem very safe."

Ron inched forward, and glanced back over at her. "Safer than the alternative, I'd say. At least this time the bloody thing is dead."

Nervously, she watched as he disappeared out of sight, mildly relieved once she heard the grunt as he hit bottom. Clutching her beaded bag, she sat down and pushed herself forward, swallowing a scream as she picked up speed. Her eyes were clenched shut in preparation of hitting the stone floor, but her landing, as Ron promised, was soft; He had squatted down to catch her, having already lit the tip of his wand.

"You alright?" He asked, helping her to her feet.

She nodded, sneezing from the dust that she had inhaled, wrinkling her nose at the musty, fetid odor lingering in the air. It smelled of decay, and she hoped they wouldn't have to linger down here. Lighting her own wand, she picked her way through the rubble behind Ron, who seemed to have trouble deciding which direction to take.

"Sorry, it looks different from the way it did back then. I suppose since I'm taller..." He crouched low, and brightened. "There! It's this way!"

Five years hadn't been kind to the Basilisk; in a drier climate, it surely would have been nothing more than a skeleton by now, but the Chamber had had an almost mummifying effect. The lips had mostly peeled away to reveal the large, yellow fangs, but bits of rotted skin hung around them in tatters. Seeing her disgust, Ron handed her his wand.

"Here, if you hold the light so I can see what I'm doing, I'll pull 'em out."

"Ron, be careful!" She said urgently, "They're still poisonous!"

Ron eyed the fangs, testing to see which one had the most give. "I realize that, Hermione. Sort of the point, innit? Besides, I've been poisoned once, so I'm in no great hurry to experience it again. Charlie told us about having to remove fangs if one went bad on a dragon, so maybe it'll work the same."

Biting back a retort that it was different for a trained specialist working on a dragon than an amateur handling the remains of a Basilisk, she held her breath as he gripped one near the base, and began to push back and forth with his weight. The fang worked its way loose with a nasty, crackling pop, and Ron tossed it to the floor to begin on the next one.

Shifted the wands, looking nervously into the darker corners. "What are you doing? We have one, so we should get back to Harry."

He tossed another one down by the first. "Well, I figure since we don't know who's going to be the one to find the rest of the Horcruxes, we should have enough to hand around. And what if this thing's been dead for so long, that it takes more than one to do the job? Dunno 'bout you, but I'm not coming back down here if I can help it."

Well, if he put it that way. As she watched him work, Hermione turned over the fact that Ron had been stepping up like this more and more, not only voicing his ideas, but doing so with more confidence. He took the lead without seeming to realize it, and she was both sad and proud to realize that Ron was no longer a boy. In the years they had spent together, he had been tried and tested, and while he had stumbled and fallen from time to time, he had always gotten up and pushed forward. The results were...rather amazing. She gave a sharp shake of her head. Now was not the time to be drooling over Ron; they needed to be alert to any danger, to practice constant vig-

"Hermione?"

Ron asked, now standing next to a good sized pile of fangs. He seemed to be thinking about something, and had luckily missed her staring.

"What is it? Can we go now?"

He came back from wherever he had wandered off in his thoughts, and focused on her. "I want to try something first. Before we go running back and telling Harry we've figured out a way to destroy the Horcruxes, maybe we should try it on the cup. Besides, it's sort of stupid to keep carrying it around where You-Know-Who can get his hands on it."

She was momentarily distracted by the way he had referred to Voldemort, then realized that the Taboo was still in place. "I suppose you're right. And this way, no one else will see it. Let me get it out of my bag."

She knelt down on the floor, and tossed Ron his wand as she used hers to search through the beaded bag. Her hand wrapped around the cold metal, and as she pulled it out, Ron crouched in front of her, holding out a fang.

"Harry and me have already had the pleasure, so I figured you'd like to get a good stab in."

His words were light, but there was a question in his eyes. She knew if she said no, he would do it for her. While she appreciated it, she was also annoyed at herself. Why was she so nervous about a lifeless piece of metal?

"You figured right," she answered, taking the fang in one hand, while holding the cup in the other. Before she could set it on the floor to stab it, a wave of uncertainty hit her. She felt like a small child again, unsure of herself, wondering if she was truly as useless as the other children said. Why did she think she could do this? She should leave it for Ron-or better, to tell Ron they were both incapable, and that they should wait for Harry.

"Hermione...Hermione!"

Like looking through murky water, she met his eyes; why did she feel so strange?

"Hermione, you can do this. You're the brightest witch of our age, remember?"

His words were an anchor, and she snapped out of her stupor. Of course she could do this! She had been doing the impossible for years, and doing it well. She wasn't about to let something as trivial as a cup stand in her way.

Decisively, she slammed it down on the ground, and raised the fang over her head. A stab of pain went through her, spreading along her nerves; one of the aftershocks of the Cruciatus. Ignoring it, she brought the fang down, the jolt from the impact jarring her arm. The metal hissed and bent, glowing hot, and then going cold. She stared at Ron over the remains, both of them holding their breath. Slowly, smiles began to form, and their nervous, relieved laughter began to mingle together.

"We did it!" She said, almost giddy. "We actually did it!"

"Just a few more, and this'll all be over!" Ron agreed, pushing himself to his feet. "Now, we just have to get to Harry. He's probably having a fit by now."

Hermione sobered, closing her bag as Ron tucked the cup under his jacket. "You're right, we need to hurry. We still don't know if he was able to find the diadem."

Ron had more faith, saying brightly as he Transfigured a piece of debris into a broom, "Sure he has. If there was some mad way to find it, Luna will have sussed it."

Hoping he was right, she began to help him gather up the fangs, careful not to cut herself. One on the top of her pile started to slide off, and she was too slow to save it. A large, pale hand shoved it back in place, and she looked up into Ron's bright eyes, which were sparkling with their success.

"You ready to end this?" He asked, still holding the fangs in place.

"More than ready."

"Then let's get to Harry before we have a repeat of fifth year."

_Ron had barely breathed the entire time he had been watching. He definitely hadn't seen himself the way Hermione had. He had only been doing what he thought needed to be done; it hadn't felt special, or important. He certainly hadn't felt particularly mature. Inept and unprepared were closer to the truth, as far as he saw things. But from this perspective, he could see a change in himself. He was becoming more comfortable with taking the lead, instead of letting his self-doubts hold him back. He could have just as easily waited for Harry, but he hadn't. He had believed that he had the right solution, and he had followed through with it. He had done that a few times before, but at this point, it had started to feel more...natural? Like he wasn't going to cock things up just because it was his idea. And Hermione's reaction, well, it never failed to surprise him that she was the most impressed with him when he was just being himself, which was point was backed up when they found Harry._

They caught sight of Harry as they rounded a corner, along with members of Ron's family that hadn't been there earlier. The clock was ticking down, and it looked like everyone was gathering for the showdown that had been nearly eighteen years in the making.

"Hold on to your head, Hermione; he's got that look again." Ron muttered as Harry came towards them, his eyebrows hanging like stormclouds.

Harry did look as if he was going to give them a piece of his mind, but his irritation melted as they explained where they had been; in the retelling, it struck her again just how brilliant Ron had actually been, and she didn't bother to try to keep the admiration out of her voice. Even as the world was darkening around them, Ron could still find ways to amaze her.

_Ron felt his own heart speed up in response to hers, and also at her thoughts. Hermione didn't give praise lightly, so to have it directed at him so openly, and with no qualifying remarks, practically had him skipping along the halls. After the locket had been destroyed and he had started to make more decisive efforts, instead of telling himself that what he did didn't matter, his confidence had started to increase. As it did, he found that his actions were more likely to result in the praise and admiration he had always thought he wanted. He also found that it didn't matter quite as much, at least, not with people in general. But there was a small group of people whose opinions mattered to him, and Hermione was most definitely leading the pack. Even now, when he had done something he knew he had done well, and he was satisfied with himself, it gave him a thrill to hear her say so._

Hermione's mind was going in several directions at once; where was the best spot to start looking for the diadem? Should they ask for help? Would Voldemort come straight here, or would he send Death Eaters first? There were so many things to cover, and not nearly enough time to plan! Obviously, they needed to prioritize; but should it be finding the diadem first, or to put up protective spells and possibly find someone to stand guard while they-

Her head whipped around so hard that her neck popped as she listened to the words coming out of Ron's mouth; concern for the house elves, while she and Harry were thinking along different tracks entirely. She, the person who had spent years complaining about their oppression, had forgotten them. Ron not only remembered, but he didn't even want to use them in a way to benefit the war. He only wanted to save them. The love she had already felt for him bubbled up and overflowed, and there were no words to express it. But that was alright, because the time for words was over. It was time to follow where her heart was leading, and it lead her, at a run, straight into Ron's arms.

Her arms locked around his neck for leverage, and her lips crashed against his so hard that she felt their teeth click. For one brief, paralyzing second, she thought she had made a mistake; then she was engulfed by a pair of long arms wrapping around her, and he responded to her kiss with equal ferocity. Her feet were no longer touching the floor, which only added to the feeling of flying. At this moment, every sense was thoroughly consumed by Ron, and she wanted nothing more than for this moment to last. Unfortunately, the dull murmuring sound in the background increased enough to be recognized as Harry shouting, and it was enough to cause their kiss to end. Reluctantly, she slid down to stand on her own, and her heart warmed at the fact that Ron, instead of being embarrassed and pulling away and trying to downplay it, kept his arm around her, and responded to Harry as if what had happened was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it was. If felt that way, for her. Maybe their timing wasn't perfect in regards to the situation, but in all the ways she had imagined their first kiss (and there had been many), none had felt as satisfying as the way things had finally played out. After so long inching forward and edging around the issue, it had been a release to plunge ahead without overthinking it.

The real world, however, wasn't going to be accommodating in the matter of time. There were so many things they needed to say, so many things she wanted to make clear. And it would be much easier without Harry ogling them in exasperation. It felt a little colder when Ron removed his arm as they started to gather up the fangs, but the warmth returned when he turned to her before they followed Harry out of the room.

"Later, after this is over...do you think we could?" He asked, suddenly shy for someone who had just been locked in an embrace worthy of a cheap romance novel cover.

"Yes. Yes, we definitely can." She answered, not even caring what the question was. Whatever it was, she wanted to find out.

And, as she got a better grip on her own stack of fangs, she thought that she was fully prepared to stab every Horcrux that stood in the way of that herself.

_The strength of her love for him made him dizzy; he had always wondered if it had felt the same for her, and now he knew, with knee-liquefying certainty, that it had. He knew Hermione loved him, naturally, and even though he sometimes wondered why, he didn't really doubt it anymore. Hell, he never would've risked asking her to marry him if he did! He had just sort of, well, always thought he loved her more. Not in a competitive way, or that she didn't...hell, what was he trying to say? It was just that, he supposed, when you love someone, it's hard to see how they can feel the same way for you, since you don't see yourself the same way. But to have the very thoughts and emotions he had felt for her directed back at him was almost overwhelming._

_That had been one of the best moments in his life, and it was depressingly ironic that it was followed by two of his worst._

Hermione was shaking so hard that she was having trouble holding onto her wand. All three of them had very nearly been killed by the Fiendfyre, and her hair was still crackling and giving off a sickly smell. Ron hadn't fared any better; his eyes were startlingly white, in contrast with the black mask of soot completely coating his face. Their clothes were burnt around the edges, and she could feel some places where it had gotten through to her skin. Before she even had time to fully catch her breath, There was a whirlwind of action around her, with Curses flying through the air. Death Eaters popped up like hooded mushrooms, and amongst them, Hermione Recognized Fred and Percy, dueling a pair themselves. There wasn't much time to pay attention, because she realized that she needed to move or risk becoming a sitting target.

It was hard to think clearly in all the confusion, and she couldn't say later what exactly caused the explosion; one moment she was fighting for her life, and the next, it felt like the castle was collapsing on them, as chunks of stone flew past her head, along with the distressing sight of a lifeless body. Something almost struck her, but Ron and Harry had pulled her down. Head spinning, she froze at the sound of Percy's wail, and Ron's strangled cry. She turned to discover what had happened, only to freeze at the sight of Fred, slumped on the floor, his eyes glassy. Her stomach heaved, even as her mind tried to deny what she was seeing. This was a joke. Obviously, it couldn't be anything else. This was the tackiest, most disgusting joke Fred had ever pulled, and she was sure she wasn't going to be the only one yelling at him about it later. A numbness unlike the one related to the aftereffects of the Cruciatus crept over her, and she couldn't process why Percy and Ron were still crying. A rustling sound distracted her, and, almost dreamily, she looked behind her. And screamed. A giant, deadly looking spider was crawling into the hole that had just been made, coming straight at them. Harry and Ron both fired spells at it, but more were coming. She felt Ron grab her arm, and Harry push her from behind, and her legs finally began to move. A high, keening sound came from beside her, and she looked sharply over at Ron, who had wet, sooty tear tracks running down his face, which had contorted into a mask of grief. Snapping out of her shock, she pulled him behind a nearby tapestry so they could get their bearings.

Ron whirled on her, his voice frantic. "What are you doing? We have to get out there! I'm gonna kill every last one of them myself!"

His eyes were wild, and so dilated that the irises had almost disappeared. What she saw, or rather, didn't see in them, terrified her. As he turned to leave, she wrapped her arms around him, and braced herself against his weight. There was no way she was going to let him out like that; Fred's lifeless face drifted before her, and and morphed into Ron's. There was no way she could face that, no way she could hold herself together to help move his body out of the way, and continue to fight. What needed to be done was dangerous enough already, without him throwing himself away.

"Gerrof me! I have to-"

"If you think I'm letting go of you, you're bloody well mistaken," she snarled, before calling for Harry.

_Ron was leaning against a wall, trying not to be sick. He didn't remember this part at all. He knew he had been a little unhinged (who the fuck wouldn't be, after watching their brother die), and up until this point in Hermione's memories of that night, he had been doing his best to keep from watching when it happened. He hadn't had much luck with that, and it was like losing Fred all over again. Shite, he was gonna need therapy for this therapy session. Blearily, he wondered how she had managed to hold him back. He had been a mass of grief and rage, and she hadn't been much heavier than a sack of feathers at the time. If she hadn't , though, he knew he'd be dead right now. He had been beyond rational thought, and there was no way he could have survived a simple duel, much less the madness that was going on outside._

_Somehow, he had managed to pull himself together long enough for them to fight their way to the Shack, and back to the castle again. He knew he had nearly taken Hermione's head off when she had volunteered to go herself, and it wasn't because he hadn't thought she was capable. It was only by that point, it was so much easier to risk himself, than losing someone else that he loved. Once back, Harry had managed to slip away in the confusion,while he and Hermione had been distracted not only by his family, but by the bodies of Lupin and Tonks. There may have been a lull in the battle, but it had been filled by grief. He didn't know how long he would have hovered around Fred, if Hermione hadn't spoken to him._

After comforting Ginny the best she could in this situation, Hermione had stepped off to the side, feeling awkwardly out of place. The Weasleys should have a private moment, but she wasn't sure where to go. She found herself staring at Lupin and Tonks, and thinking of a baby miles away, who would never know his parents. Much like Harry, really. She frowned. Where was Harry, anyway? A cold, sinking feeling pooled in her stomach. Ron had moved a few paces away from his family, and was staring blankly into space. Waving her hand, she managed to catch his eye, without drawing anyone else's attention. He walked over to her, moving stiffly, like an old man.

"Yeah?" He asked, his voice still choked from crying.

"Have you seen Harry?" She whispered, her eyes darting around in hopes she was wrong. "I can't remember the last time I saw him!"

Ron frowned, as he too, began to look around, twisting slowly, then spinning in a few fast circles.

"Shite! He gave us the slip! And he has the fucking Cloak, too, so it's gonna be nearly impossible to follow him. C'mon, at least we know where he's probably going."

He turned and began to dash for the door, but Hermione snagged him by his robes. "Wait!"

"Hermione, we have to hurry. We don't know how long hes been gone, or-"

She quickly pulled him to a far corner, where they wouldn't be overheard. "Ron, we can't go after him, as much as I hate to say it. How could we find him, without possibly risking his position? At this point, we might just make the situation worse."

He reached up with both hands, rubbing his head as though it was paining him greatly. "Alright, so what do we do? I can't...I can't stay in here for much longer."

A flash of movement from the doorway caught her attention. "Then let's help Neville for now, while we try to figure something out."

They caught up to Neville, who heard them coming behind him, and stopped to turn around. "Ron, Hermione! I'm glad to see you two. Sorry we had to leave you earlier, but things were pretty hectic."

Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "Just glad you were there in the first place, mate. It was a close call, and we never really got to thank you properly."

Neville shrugged modestly. "I just wish we could've done more." He glanced down the hall with a sigh, his eyes darkening before he pushed his thoughts away. "Anyway, did Harry make it back yet?"

"You've seen Harry?" Hermione asked, more sharply than she had intended.

He blinked at her in surprise. "Yeah, awhile ago now. He said he had something he had to do, and to kill the snake if I got a chance, and you two were busy."

The knuckles of the hand Ron had on Neville's shoulder turned white as his grip tightened. "He told you about the snake?"

"Yeah, he did. Why, is there something wrong?"

Ron and Hermione shared a look filled with horror and dread. Something was terribly wrong. Harry had been against telling anyone anything, and now he had vanished without a word to them, while telling Neville about the last Horcrux? Sounds of a commotion could be heard coming from outside, and, as one, the two of them ran for the front doors, with Neville at their heels. They were slowed down by the crowd of people already there, but a loud, piercing scream from Professor McGonagall had them pushing their way through. As they saw what had caused her to react in such a way, Hermione wished she could go back into the castle, and pretend it wasn't happening. Hagrid was lumbering slowly towards them, large, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. In his arms was a tiny looking body, almost invisible, except for a heart-shatteringly familiar shock of black hair. A scream was ripped from her own throat, echoed by Ron. The world spun, and she stumbled backwards into him, barely noticing when he braced her.

Voldemort was speaking, but she honestly didn't hear the words. Harry was dead. Really dead. Not, we-almost-died-but-we-managed-to-make-it-out-in-the-end, but really, truly, dead. A part of her curled up and died along with him. How could he be dead? She had thought...she had thought that the three of them were going to come out of this! After everything, didn't they deserve that? Didn't they? And now Harry was gone. The closest thing she had to family, and he was lost to her. She wanted to howl, she wanted to cry; she wanted to raise her wand, and strike Voldemort where he stood. Distantly, over the blood drumming in her ears, she made out the words Ron was muttering.

"No. No. Nonononono. This isn't real. It can't be."

Hermione twisted to look at him, and he looked down at her with large, lost eyes, his face so pale it looked as if he had no blood left in his body. "I can't lose two of them." He whispered brokenly.

She wrapped her arms around him, her tears stinging her eyes. She had lost one brother, and Ron had lost two. How were they to bear it? They held each other, shaking, as Neville stepped forward to confront Voldemort.

_Although he knew Harry was alive, it still hit him like a blow to watch. Even if they weren't related, Harry had become like another brother to him; almost as inseparable as Fred and George. Losing so much all at once had nearly crushed him. Elation flowed through him as Hermione realized that Harry was alive, and hope spread like Fiendfyre through the group, as the second round of fighting began. Screams and bright, flashing lights. Pounding heartbeats at near misses. The sick wrench of the stomach as bodies were recognized. The gripping terror as, along with Ginny and Luna, Hermione faced Bellatrix for the final time, thinking that she was going to die after all. He felt her awe when his mother stepped forward, and with all the rage of a mother lioness, destroyed the witch responsible for so much death and pain. Hermione had always respected his mum, but it increased dramatically in that moment, as she was filled with the desire to follow the example of drawing strength from her love of those important to her._

_The fight between Harry and Voldemort had been difficult to watch again, in part because he was fruitlessly trying to restrain Hermione, because she kept trying to think of ways to help. He knew he had been the same way, but stepping in at that point would've only gotten them killed. The end had been rather anticlimactic, with the body of Tom Riddle looking like nothing more than an old man, instead of the monster he had been in life. Together they ran to Harry, needing to touch him, to make sure he was real. Even though they had reached him first, it seemed like the entire school had felt the same way, and soon a press of bodies were all around them, smothering them in their effort to get to Harry. They had ducked out, backing out of the room until he could get away. They were still in a sort of shock, as they sat down, and the fact that it was over wasn't fully sinking in yet._

"Do you think we should have waited? He might get worried if he can't find us," Hermione asked, craning her neck to see if she could spot Harry.

From his spot beside her, Ron snorted. "We aren't that hard to find, and I'm more worried about him getting smothered in that group. Reckon we oughtta toss him a ball of Gillyweed?"

Both of them laughed weakly, trying to come to grips with the reality of the situation. Exhaustion made her feel heavy, and she leaned against Ron, who slumped into her as well.

"I know there are things we should probably be doing to help, but all I want to do is fall in bed and sleep for a solid week," she admitted tiredly.

"I'm not sure if I want to sleep at all."

Hermione turned her head quickly, but although his voice shook, he continued to stare stoically at the floor.

A thousand responses ran through her head, but she discarded them all. They were too trite, to false. They may have won today, but they had lost so much, as well. And while they would all be haunted by those deaths to some extent, the blow had changed Ron's family forever. There would always be one Weasley less than there should be, and she knew it was going to be difficult for Ron to come to terms with. So instead of giving him empty words that she knew he would just brush off with a sarcastic remark, she wrapped her arms around his and gave it a squeeze of silent support. She felt him shudder a little, but anything that he might have said had been interrupted by the sound of Harry's disembodied voice, and they were off once more.

_Somehow, he had managed to function, and things hadn't really hit him until later, after people had settled in for the night. The adults had stayed down in the Great Hall, making arrangements for the dead, and what to do about the Ministry and Hogwarts. Some had gone home, wanting to be alone together with their families, while others had retreated to the dorms and other empty rooms. Harry had crashed straight into his bed, and he and Hermione had separated in the Common Room, both wanting to have a wash._

Soapy water stung the cuts and abrasions covering her body, but Hermione continued to scrub, wondering if she was ever going to feel clean. Smoke and blood still filled her nostrils, and although she had been in the shower nearly an hour, it didn't show signs of fading. Then again, much of it could be just in her head. She set the sponge down on the tiny shelf, and leaned against the wall, letting the hot water pour over her. Harry was safe; it was still amazing to think that he had dueled Voldemort and won, but he had, and the dark cloud that had hung over him his entire life had finally lifted. She knew the guilt for those that had fallen today would start to set in tomorrow, but with herself, Ron, and Ginny, he would get through it in time. For now, she was just glad that he was able to sleep, safe for the first night in a long, long time.

It was Ron she was less sure about. He was going through the motions, but every now and again, she would notice the rims of his eyes turning pink, or a slight shake in his voice and hands. He was holding it all back, and she was worried what would happen when it finally got to be too much. Would she be able to help him, or would she only make it worse? Tears and shower water dripped from her eyelashes, and, looking down, she saw that her fingers were pruned. With a sigh, she shut off the water, and reached for the large, fluffy towel that was hanging outside her stall.

_Ron waited until she was decent before he turned around, hissing at the angry red marks scattered all over the visible skin. It looked worse than it was, but it was bad enough._

The room was silent except for the dripping of the water from the showerhead behind her, and she padded over to the sink, where her belongings were set out. A look in the mirror made her cringe, and she picked up her wand, knowing what she had to do. Even wet, she could feel the damage the FIendfyre had done to her hair, and knew there was no way to save it. Before she could change her mind, she used a severing spell, chopping it off in a neat line. Where once it had hit her nearly mid back, it now only hung between her chin and the tops of her shoulders, making her head feel oddly light. Her hair had never been close to what she would consider as her best feature, but she sniffled at the loss, remembering all the times her mother would brush it for her, gently working through the knots and snarls. Averting her eyes, she quickly applied Dittany to her injuries, before pulling on a comfy pair of joggers and a thin, longsleeved shirt, and then gathered up her things and headed to her dorm. Her old bed was just how she had left it, and she crawled in, moaning a little at the softness of the mattress under her aching body. It felt strange to be sleeping in here alone, and she pulled her blankets tighter, thinking about where her roommates were instead. Lavender Brown had very nearly died. Still might, in fact. If medical spells hadn't been started immediately after Hermione had blasted Greyback off of her, she would be lying cold and still in the Great Hall right now, with the others. As it was, they didn't know if the shock would kill her before the night was over. She had been rushed to St. Mungo's once she had been deemed (just barely) stable enough to be moved, and Padma and Parvati, both weeping, had gone along with her parents to stay with her. Hermione couldn't help but think of all the times in sixth year when she had hated the very sight of Lavender, and had wanted her to go away, to disappear. The thoughts sickened her now, and she realized she had never truly wanted that at all, not at that cost.

Restlessly, she rolled over on her side, wishing she could just fall asleep. She was tired enough. But her brain decided that now was the perfect time to ponder over everything that had happened tonight, and what would happen in the next few days. She tossed and turned, until, finally looking at her clock and seeing it was nearly three, she got up, and headed for the stairs. She had spent so long with Harry and Ron in the tent, and then Ron and Luna at Shell Cottage, that it shouldn't come as any surprise that she was having a hard time sleeping alone. And why should she? She doubted anyone else was. It didn't take long to reach the door to Harry and Ron's room, and she turned the knob quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone. It was dark, and there were several people snoring. Without pause, she headed for the one bed that was silent, and sipped between the curtains, crawling onto the bed.

Ron half sat up, reaching for his wand, then relaxed when he saw that it was her. "Hermione? What is it, did something happen?"

"I couldn't sleep. Is it...is it alright if I stay here?" It only now occurred to her that he might prefer to be alone, and she started to slide back, unsure.

His fingers wrapped around her wrist, tugging her up onto the bed. "Course it is. Why would you even ask?"

One arm snaked around his waist as he pulled her close to him, and she rested her head against his chest, inhaling the scent of soap and skin that seemed to push the burnt odor from her nostrils. He gave a hiss as she wedged her cold feet between his calves, but he didn't pull away.

"I just didn't want to be a bother."

Ron gently tilted her head up, even though it was too dark to see clearly. "It's not a bother to have you with me, Hermione."

Hermione took her arm away from his waist to raise her hand to his cheek, lightly stroking over the newly smooth skin. In response, she felt him press closer to her palm, and his fingers slid along her jaw, the tip of his thumb just brushing the edge of her bottom lip. Not pausing to think, she bent to drop a quick kiss on it, and she was close enough to feel his heart speed up, along with his sharp intake of breath.

"Hermione...Hermione, about what happened earlier. It-it wasn't a one time thing, was it? Because...I don't really think I could take it if it was." He said, his voice strained.

His body was tense and tight, and Hermione could feel him shaking, waiting for her answer. "It wasn't. At least, I don't want it to be. But what do you want, Ron?"

She felt his muscles relax as he gave a laugh. "Same thing I've wanted for years; you."

She couldn't help wiggling closer at his words, a thrill of happiness going through her. "Then you have me."

Briefly, his forehead touched hers, before she felt him angle his head more, and his lips ghosted against hers hesitantly, as if unsure of his welcome. Happy that he had taken the lead for once, Hermione slipped her hand around to the back of his head, pressing their lips together more firmly. It wasn't as fast or as frenzied as their first kiss; this was softer, with more careful exploration. An extra loud snore from Harry's bed made them jerk apart, before giggling awkwardly.

"I suppose we really should get some sleep," Hermione whispered reluctantly, trying not to sound too disappointed. Was it disrespectful, she wondered, to enjoy it so much, after everything that had happened today?

"I guess," Ron answered glumly, not making any more advances, but not letting go, either. "Not that I'll be able to. Hadn't even slept a wink before you got here." He added, more gently, "But you probably need your rest."

The warm, tingling sensations that their kissing had brought on faded a bit. "I hadn't slept, either. I keep thinking...what now? What will I do tomorrow? Where will I go? For nearly a year, I've had a, well, a purpose, a direction. Now that it's over, I don't know quite what I should do." She left out the part where she was worried about what to do about her parents. As much as she wanted to go to them, she wasn't sure she was able to do so, yet.

"What do you mean? You'll come to the Burrow, of course. There's gonna be lots of..." his voice cracked with pain, "Things to take care of, and you still need to get checked out at St. Mungo's. Even if you're stubborn and won't go, you still need at least a few weeks to rest."

Hermione was touched that he would think of that right now, but she didn't think she could accept his offer. His family needed time to grieve, and she would only be intruding on that painful process.

"Ron, that's very sweet of you, but...I really shouldn't. You're family needs to be together right now, and I'd only be in the way."

Ron made a frustrated noise. "What are you talking about? Do you really think my mum would let you and Harry-"

"Well, of course Harry will go with you! and he should; he's practically family, after all. But I'm-"

"Just as much a part of the family as Harry is!" Ron said heatedly.

Her resolve weakened. She didn't want to go home alone, but there was no one else she felt comfortable enough to stay with. She knew the Weasleys cared for her a great deal, but to take advantage-

"And maybe," Ron added in a smaller voice, "a little bit more, in some ways." He pulled her closer, until her head was tucked under his chin. His voice was shaky when next he spoke. "Hermione, please. I know the war is over, but everything else is pretty much shot to hell. I need...I need something good to hold onto, or else I think I'll go completely mental."

She hesitated briefly. There were probably still some things they should talk about, regarding their relationship, but now wasn't the time. Ron was in an emotionally vulnerable state, and she wasn't faring much better. She knew what she wanted, and was fairly confident he wanted the same; but it would be better all around if he said it in a situation that didn't hinge on her staying or not. She would go now, of course. Regardless of how things played out, Ron had, for the first time, said he needed her. Both of them needed the support right now, and who better than each other to share it with? They had all the time they needed now, and things were out in the open enough that they could talk about it later.

"Then I'll come, if you're sure-"

"I'm sure. Very sure." He sighed, and bent awkwardly to kiss the top of her head.

Against his chest, Hermione's lips curved into a slight smile. Things had ended today, in ways that were both wonderful and terrible. There was still so much they were going to have to deal with; so much healing to do. But somehow, for as long as it might take them, they were going to get through this. They were going to move forward, and they were going to do it together.

_Ron leaned against one of the bedposts as he watched them, still wondering, after all these years, how Hermione could have thought that she wouldn't be wanted at the Burrow. He hadn't been lying when he said that they all considered her part of the family. He might've left out the fact that most of them were actually fairly sure that she was going to be joining it officially later on, but even with that aside, they wouldn't have sent her away._

_Still, he had to admit that because of everything going on, they had gotten off to a slightly rocky start. It didn't help that they still hadn't learned more than the basics of talking to each other as a couple yet, which took some adjustments. Although, he thought, his eyes brightening, this was the start (aside from still dealing with his loss) some of the best moments in his life._

" _And from this point on, I don't have to turn my back!"_


	40. Chapter 40

A flash of familiar red hair out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and Hermione rolled to the side, confused. Abruptly, she sat up; The walls had become shimmery and nearly completely transparent, and she would swear that she could see Ron on the other side. Her head swung around, and she gasped when she saw the Ron from the past, frozen in place as he beat the walls. In fact, everyone else in the basement was frozen as well; Harry, Luna, Dean, and Mr. Ollivander. A quick look at the new Ron showed that he had moved, though not much. And, she thought, inspecting him carefully, he looked like he was wearing the same clothes he had worn to their session. Their session! Had something gone wrong? Nibbling at her lip, she wondered what to do. She hated to leave Ron like this. Really, if he had still been moving, she didn't think she could have. But she had to find out what was going on, so she pushed herself to her feet. Gently, she stroked Ron's cheek, practically feeling the dampness of his tears.

"I'll be right back, I promise," she said, and then turned quickly.

Her feet weren't quite steady, and she still wasn't sure she wasn't seeing things. As she got closer, she called out, "Ron?"

He jerked up, and she called again, "Ron, is that really you?"

His eyes were impossibly wide as he answered, his voice sounding rusty and thick with tears. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. But why are you... _how_ are you..."

"She's not," came a voice that made both of them start, "Or, rather, neither of you are. I'm using myself as a bridge between you. I'm here because both of you had started to exhibit alarming symptoms, and I was afraid there would be too much damage if I tried to wake you. I need for you both to calm down; you _must_ remember that all of this has already happened, and try to distance yourself from it."

"Wait, are we alright out there? What's going on?" Hermione asked, her voice raised at the blonde woman.

"Nothing that can't be fixed in here, right now," Ursula soothed, "Just like before, you need to reassure the other that you are alright. I can't hold this for very long though, so you need to hurry."

Hermione's thought's buzzed in her head; how was this even possible? That type of magic wasn't unheard of, but there were few enough cases that it hadn't been studied as thoroughly as it needed to be. More worrying, what was going on with their bodies? She didn't feel as if there was anything physically wrong with her, but then, in this scenario, she might not. Oh, Merlin, had she put Ron and herself into a dangerous situation? And how could they possibly fix it here? Not in-

Slowly, her mind finally registered what her eyes were seeing; Ron hadn't been alone on the floor. Confronted with the prone body of her past frozen on the floor, Hermione fought down the bile and nausea that was rising in her throat. Without the distraction of being in Ron's mind, her own memories were rushing back to her, and she began to tremble. Quickly, she looked away; their situation was bad enough without her going into panic mode. Alright, alright; she would be fine, if she just didn't look-

"Hermione?" Ron asked, a break in his voice that made it impossible for her not to look in his direction.

"Ron? Could you come over here?" She asked, trying not to cry. If she could just be close to him, and know that they were really alright, she was sure that they could fix whatever was wrong with them outside.

"No, I...I can't. Can you...?" He asked, his tone mournful.

Hermione shook her head tightly, her eyes squeezing shut. "No! No, I-I can't, I can hardly bear to even look at-" She choked out. The thought of being even closer to her past self repulsed her.

"Fuck, Hermione! I didn't-of course I wouldn't want you to-"

"I know! I know. But if you could just..."

"Hermione. I _can't."_ He said in a low, pleading voice.

Her eyes flickered open, met his briefly, and then settled to where his hands had tried to cradle the other Hermione's head. "Oh, Ron..." She said softly.

She understood from his voice, and the expression in his eyes. Even the way his body was protectively curved around hers spoke volumes. Ron wanted to come, but he couldn't leave her like that. Everything he had seen up to now had probably been ripping him to pieces inside, and knowing Ron, he was feeling pain, protectiveness, and a lot of misplaced guilt. She knew what he needed to hear for him to be able to let go.

"I know you feel like you need to..." She began, closing her eyes once more. Her voice was shaking, and her next words came out in a sob. "But Ron, _I_ need _you."_

Sure enough, she had hardly finished before he was moving towards her, and her body reacted by taking the few steps needed to close the distance between them. His arms were wrapped snuggly around her, and she knew that if they were outside, he would be crushing her ribs. Now, he felt as nearly insubstantial as seafoam; it wasn't enough to be satisfying, but it was enough to draw comfort from. She buried her face into his chest, desperate to remind herself that _this_ was Ron, and everything that she had been watching had happened long ago. But how long had he carried that burden by himself?

She asked out loud, her voice muffled, before he shifted to hear her.

"What was that? I couldn't quite make it out."

She turned her face up, nearly knocking his chin with the top of her head.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" She asked, pain warring with sympathy in her voice.

"Tell you what?"

"How bad that this-all of this was! I saw what that _thing_ did to you, what it _said,_ Ron! How could you stand to have all of that in your head?"

His gaze slid away from hers, and she could see the red flooding his ears. "I didn't though, did I?" He asked bitterly.

"And I understood why-or thought I did. And you know that I forgave you for it ages ago without knowing, but now-"

"But now it still doesn't make a difference, because it isn't an excuse!"

Hermione glared at him, and he blinked. "Of course it's not! But just because it isn't an excuse doesn't mean that understanding why doesn't help! If I had known what was going on at the time, maybe I could have-"

"Let's...let's not talk about that right now, yeah? Can we just-I don't know. I just need...I just need to feel that you're alright-that all of this," he used one hand to gesture around them, "Is really over."

She paused, still having so much she wanted to say. But Ron sounded absolutely drained, and she knew she was, as well; here, still inside the memories, wasn't the best place for this conversation to happen. Still, if they couldn't talk about it yet, she at least wanted to comfort him, as well as herself, by giving him something real to look forward to through the last of the dark memories.

"It's over. All of it. Every last, horrible thing," she whispered fiercely, "It's all behind us! And once we get back, we're going to stop at that takeaway that has the shrimp curry we both like, and we'll go home and talk, and-and later, _much_ later, we'll go over to the Burrow, and watch your mum make a fuss over Victoire, and then you can hide and roll your eyes with my father while Mum and I go over the wedding details, and you'll see that-that everything-"

"Yeah, and then you can wear that set of Cannons knickers I got you, and-"

"Ron!" Hermione choked out a laugh, smacking him half-heartedly on the arm. She knew he was being ridiculous to try to make her feel better, and she appreciated it; it lightened her heart to hear him teasing instead of crying.

"Hermione? Are you feeling alright now?"

"I think so. I just needed-its so hard to watch, and it was getting difficult to remember that these are just memories. What about you? Are you alright, or do you need to stay like this for awhile?"

She would happily stay like this if he wasn't. She was doing better now, but that didn't mean she was in any hurry to go back.

"We should probably go now, if you can," he sighed.

Hermione jerked a little, certainly not expecting that. "Why? We can stay like this, I don't mind!"

"Yeah, but I think it's not such a great idea for her, you know? It looks like it hurts."

She turned in the direction he had nodded. Merlin, she had completely forgotten! The poor woman looked like she was in pain, just as Ron said. Hermione wished she knew more about what she was doing; she was fairly sure, though, that it wasn't something that should be done often, or for very long.

"Oh. Oh! I see what you mean. You're right. I suppose we had better start the memories back up. Just...just one more minute, and we'll go."

Ron brought his hands up to her cheeks, and leaned down enough for their foreheads to touch. "I don't want to leave you, you know that, right?"

Her arms tightened around him briefly. "I know. But the sooner we go, the sooner it will be over."

He kissed her, slowly.

"I love you," he whispered a few heartbeats later, their lips still close enough to touch.

"I love you too. So, so much."

There was a large part of her that wanted to just go home already. But her innate stubbornness and curiosity won out; she wouldn't let this beat her, and she was sure that there was going to be more for her to learn.

"We're ready now," Ron called out, and she could hear her own reluctance mirrored in his voice.

Ursula turned to them, her professional smile looking strained, at odds with the beads of sweat at her hairline. "Good. You've managed to center yourselves, then? I don't want to break the connection until you're both perfectly calm."

"We're alright now. We just needed to see..." Hermione twirled her hands together, Realizing her explanation was redundant.

"Of course, that's only natural under the circumstances. If you're sure that you're ready, I'll let things resume once you return to your positions."

Ron gave Hermione a final smile, and started to walk away. She didn't want to leave things like that; soon there was going to be nothing she could do to make him feel better, and she wanted to give him something he could carry through the rest of this. She knew her earlier words had helped, but she also knew that for Ron, actions often spoke louder.

"Ron!"

He swung around, just in time to catch her as she threw herself at him, pulling him down into a searing kiss. He responded just as eagerly, and Hermione had to admit that she appreciated actions over words in some cases, herself.

"Just to remind you that there are better things coming up." She blushed as she recalled that they weren't alone, and turned on her heel to dart away.

She heard him laugh as she made her way back to the basement, and she concentrated on that sound, wanting the memory of it to linger in her ears, to help her get through this.

_As the memories started up again, Hermione braced herself for what she was about to see. It was going to be difficult, and she was trying to keep her meeting with Ron at the forefront of her mind to counteract it. They were nearly through with the worst parts, she reminded herself, and if she could live through them in the first place, she could make it through a memory. Luckily, by now, Harry had found a way out; Dobby, that wonderful elf, had come to the rescue._

Ron was practically chewing the inside of his cheek raw, as Harry asked Dobby if he could help. He knew he needed to snap out of it, so he didn't do something to screw up, but it was impossible to block the screams out, or to keep from imagining what they meant. And wondering if it would be worse if they stopped altogether...

He was able to think clearly enough to tell them where to take Luna, Dean, and Ollivander. Bill wouldn't mind, and he'd have the connections to help them. He was impatient to get out and help Hermione, but he knew he couldn't rush up there in a screaming rage and expect to do any good. He carefully kept himself from making eye contact with Harry, afraid of what he might see there. He was shifting rapidly from foot to foot, ready to make a run for it as soon as the door was open. Although he wasn't looking directly at Harry, he could feel how tightly wound he was, just by standing this close.

The promise of freedom was sweet, and Ron was tempted to grab Dobby by his floppy ears and plant a kiss right on his snout for getting them out of there. The moment was brief, however, because he recognized the person who was blocking their way. Scabbers.

_Wormtail._

Ron nearly growled the name in his mind, wishing with all his heart that he had a wand right now. Not only did Ron loathe Wormtail for what he represented, but there was still a thirteen year old boy within him stinging from the betrayal of a pet that he had done his best to defend. That fueled him, as he fought alongside Harry to overpower him, and he bared his teeth in triumph as he grabbed the wand.

_She felt Ron's confusion fade into sick realization as Wormtail's hand turned against him. She felt that it said something about both boys, that they hadn't hesitated to help. Not many would, in their place, and she wasn't so sure about herself._

Bright red. Deep plum. And finally, a sickening bluish black. As the life was choked out of Pettigrew, Ron felt his own throat close off in response. No matter how hard he and Harry tried, the hand just wouldn't come loose. And he did try. He tried much harder than he thought he would. Just moments ago, he was ready to curse the man himself, and now he was doing everything in his power to keep the bloody bastard alive. Part of was because, even if only for a moment, the person he must have been all those years ago broke free long enough to give Harry a chance. For that alone, they owed him to at least try. Part of it might have been a little nostalgic pitty; Scabbers had been a mangy old rat, but Ron couldn't seem to shake the habit of taking care of him, even after everything.

And another part, he had to admit to himself as he backed away, his eyes meeting those rapidly glazing over, was that he had to wonder if that was how he would have ended up, if he hadn't made it back to Harry and Hermione. They had both betrayed their friends, after all...he turned away quickly. Hermione needed him.

" _Now wait just a minute, Ronald Weasley!" Hermione shouted as she trotted alongside him, "Don't you dare even compare yourself to that creature! Leaving us was wrong, but you didn't go crawling to the enemy to sell us out! You never would have done that!"_

_She knew that that wasn't what he meant, that he meant it in a more general sense, but she didn't like the comparison, even in its broadest terms._

The smart thing would have been to form some sort of plan; Hermione would have had a plan. He would have had a plan, but the problem with both of those options was that Hermione was on the other side of that door, where Bellatrix had just offered to give Hermione to Greyback.

Plans be damned.

Like the Hogwarts Express barrelling through a brick wall, he crashed through the door, with Harry only a few steps behind him. Someone was screaming, and he recognized his own voice with a start, after hearing Hermione's for so long. Bellatrix turned on him, and later, he would wonder why he didn't curse her; possibly it was all those years of listening to Harry use Expelliarmus. It evened things up more (as much as that situation could be, which wasn't much) by giving Harry a wand. For a few, wild moments, Ron thought that they might be able to pull this off; Harry had just blasted the Malfoys and Greyback off their feet, taking their wands. Too bad they hadn't focused on their real threat, because in the next instant, Bellatrix showed them that she had them by the bollocks. His heart crawled up in his throat to strangle him when he saw her holding Hermione in place, his eyes drawn to the shining dagger at her neck. He froze, unable to move, as Bellatrix threatened to kill Hermione right there in front of him; for a moment, his whole world went black. Black, with several beads of red welling up in a line against pale white...

With a strangled noise, he dropped the wand, and held his hands up. Harry was doing the same, but Ron knew Bellatrix would as soon slit her throat as smile, so he knew it was probably a futile move on their part. Their chances of escape had dropped below zero, but even if they had only bought Hermione a few more minutes, he couldn't regret it. He tried to meet Hermione's eyes, and was alarmed to see that hers were out of focus, as if her mind was wandering. She was paler than he was, which was hard to do, and he saw several wet patches on her clothes that he knew were bloodstains. She looked in bad enough shape that if Bellatrix let go of her, he thought she would drop straight to the floor.

And, it turned out, he was right; a squeaking noise was all the warning he had, as the chandelier came crashing down, Bellatrix dropping Hermione and diving out of the way. He covered his hands to block out the flying shards of crystal, but he was already moving forward before he could even see where he was going. Hermione was lying like a ragdoll under the wreckage, horribly still; if she had been hit on the head, he was probably too late to help. With shaking hands, he tried to lift the metal carefully, heaving it aside once it was safely off of her. Curses and prayers flowed from his lips as he gathered her in his arms, hardly able to see her clearly through his tears. She was limp in his arms, and he didn't think she was breathing. So fucking close! So close, but he had failed. Failed her, failed her...It wasn't supposed to end this way, damn it!

"Bloody fucking hell!" He choked out, wanting to rage at the world, still unable to let her go. With everything else going on around him, it was practically a miracle he heard the small, gurgling sound coming from Hermione; there was still a chance! But she was so cold, and so limp...if something didn't change soon, she would-

"Hermione? Are you-can you talk? Shite, please say something! Or at least move a little to let me know you can hear me. This isn't how-you can't-fuck, Hermione! This isn't supposed to happen until you're ancient and drooling, surrounded by thousands of books and-well, and people who...care about you. Can't you use that damned stubbornness of yours for something _good_ for a change?"

She wasn't responding, and he didn't know what to do. He started to shake her a little to try to wake her, before realizing that he might do more damage that way. He thought her finger moved, but he wasn't sure. Before he could check, Harry shouted, and Ron looked up, barely catching Harry's next words.

"Ron! Catch, and _go!"_ He yelled, tossing a wand through the air.

Years of Quidditch paid off in good reflexes, and he didn't even have to think for his hand to snap out and catch hold of the spinning length of wood. "Thank Merlin; hold on, Hermione!" Ron said, getting a better grip on her. For a split second, he wondered if he should stay to help Harry. But Hermione needed to go _now,_ and Harry knew what he was doing; Ron had to trust that he was making the right choice. His concentration was focused entirely on getting Hermione to Shell Cottage, and with a loud crack, he Apparated, praying Harry was behind him.

_Hermione knew that he felt bad about leaving Harry, but there had been no choice. If they had stayed, they would have been a liability; she because she was unconscious, and Ron because keeping her safe in that condition would take all of his efforts. Harry was skilled, and stood a better chance fighting his way out alone, without the risk of them being taken hostage as she had been before. Ron had acted masterfully as well; it illustrated just how much he was cut out to be an Auror. He had even managed to Apparate the both of them without Splinching, even though he was scared to death that she was dying in his arms. As he had every right to be, she thought grimly._

His knees hit the sand hard, but Ron was already pushing himself up and running towards the cottage. Figures stood by the door, and Ron realized, with relief, that the wards were down for him already. He pushed his way inside, ignoring the babble of voices.

"You've got to help her!" He said frantically, his eyes landing on Fleur. He knew she had been studying healing spells and the like for just such an emergency.

"Ron! Where's Harry?" Bill grabbed his arm, but Ron shook it off.

"He's coming, but you have to help Hermione!" He looked back towards Fleur, who had opened her mouth. "Please! There-there's blood in her mouth, and I'm not sure where it's coming from!"

Sure enough, a trickle of blood was making its way between Hermione's lips. Fleur snapped into

action, clapping her hands briskly. "Bill, carry her into the larger guest room! Ron, fetch my-"

"I'll carry her!" Ron cut in, already moving down the hall. He trusted Bill, but he wasn't letting Hermione out of his sight.

"Bill, grab my bag!" Fleur shouted, following Ron.

At the doorway, she stepped past him, flicking her wand to turn on the lamps as bright as they would go. "Here, put her on the bed so I can look at 'er. Do you know what they did?"

Ron placed her on the bed gently, hovering over her as he answered Fleur. "Bellatrix. She used the Cruciatus on her." He heard Fleur gasp, but he didn't turn his eyes away from Hermione, whose chest was barely rising at all.

"How many times?"

He finally looked up at that, his expression haunted as he answered brokenly, "I lost count."

"Mon Dieu!" Fleur hissed under her breath, her expression grim.

"I-I don't know what else happened, but when we finally got to her...a bloody chandelure crashed right on top of her...it was-I don't-" He choked out, his mind spinning.

"I am not sure if I am skilled enough for this." Fleur said, almost to herself.

"You're going to fucking well have to be!" Ron growled, his eyes flashing. "We don't have time to get a proper Healer, and if you don't do something soon, we're going to lose her anyway!"

Fleur drew herself up with a glare. "I am aware of that! First I must determine what to treat first, or I risk harming her more! It's a miracle that she lived, being Apparated in this condition!"

The door opened, and Bill poked his head in. "Harry made it...with complications. Here's your bag. Is she...?"

Fleur took the small bag from his hands, and pushed him into the hall. "You take care of 'arry; I'll see to things in 'ere." Her accent was thicker now, showing she was under a great strain. Setting her shoulders, she crossed to room to the bedside table, and began to look through her bag, pulling out a large bottle.

"Ron," she said, her voice steadier than it had been, "You go, too. Hermione should have some privacy."

Did she honestly think he would leave Hermione now? After everything that happened, there was no fucking way he was letting her out of his sight; the only one who could convince him otherwise would be Hermione. And he certainly wasn't leaving after she had increased his feelings of guilt by telling him he might have accidentally killed her! He planted his feet, his jaw sliding out stubbornly.

"If I need to look away, I will. But I'm not leaving this room until I know she's alright."

"Ron-"

"And what if you need help? Stop wasting time fighting me on this, and do something!"

Normally, such an order and tone of voice would have earned him swift and painful retribution. This time, she muttered something he figured to be highly unflattering in French, and pulled out her wand, using it to scan Hermione's body. certain points glowed red, the largest and brightest over her ribcage. Fleur made a tsking sound, and a loud, wet pop came from Hermione's body, along with a shuddering breath.

"Hand me the bottle of Skelegrow. Her ribs were broken, and had punctured her lungs. I think I've fixed that, but I want to watch her for a few minutes, just in case."

Ron fumbled for the bottle she had pulled out earlier, passing it over to her.

"Prop her up by her shoulders; I need to get this inside. It should help with the rest of the bones she's cracked. I've stopped the bleeding, and I think this is all I should do...for now. Once I'm sure things are starting to heal properly, I'm going to have to deal with the damage from the Cruciatus."

His arm slid around her shoulders as Fleur poured some of the liquid down her throat, making sure she didn't have any difficulty swallowing. He noticed, with great joy, that the tinge of blue had left her lips, and her cheeks were showing a bit more color. She wasn't going to be joining the Triwizard Tournament anytime soon, but Ron was just happy that he could see her breathing. He looked up hopefully at Fleur, who didn't seem to share his outlook.

"And...she's going to be alright now, yeah? I mean, some rest, and some potions, but then-"

"That is still too early to say. The Cruciatus is...a 'orrible curse. Her body might survive, if the shock doesn't kill her. But her mind...Bill has told me that you have seen the results yourself."

He had been avoiding thinking about Neville's parents, and the reminder was like a lump of ice forming around his heart. As Fleur began to give Hermione another potion, he gently brushed some of the hair out of her face, still holding her in place. The thought of all the life being sucked out of her like that, of never hearing her spout off some mental facts that she dug out of one of her dry books, nearly crushed him.

"If that happens, it'll be just like she died," he said flatly.

Fleur paused in her movements. "Don't say that; she would at least-"

"At least, nothing! Hermione would hate that, Fleur. You don't get it. Hermione. she's-she's brilliant, she is. She's gonna do amazing things. And to take that away from her..." The anger bubbled up in him, hot and searing, to be replaced by a cold fury. "If they take that away from her, I swear I'll kill every one of them that was there."

_From the expression on his face, Hermione fully believed that he would have done exactly that. It reminded her, with a shudder, of the way he had looked when Fred had died, and when they thought Harry had as well. Ron loved intensely, and didn't handle loss well. She was afraid of what he might be driven to do in grief; if she hadn't stopped him after Fred, he most likely would have died. And no matter what happened to her in the future, she didn't want Ron throwing himself away because of that. He was going to have to learn to be more careful with himself._

"Don't be foolish, Ron. Hermione wouldn't thank you for getting yourself killed."

If Hermione was in a fit enough state to nag him about it, then he wouldn't have to, now would he? "How soon will you know?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Not for awhile. I'm not even sure an actual Healer would be able to tell for certain yet. With all of the potions in her system, she might even go through the motions of being normal, although she will mostly resemble someone walking in their sleep. That will last for the next hour or so. After that...I will need to do a test."

He didn't like the sound of that. There was something ominous about the way she said 'test.'

The door opened, and Bill stuck his head in, his face set in bleak lines. Ron half rose to his feet at the sight, mindful of moving Hermione too much.

Harry's here, outside. Ron, if you can, I think you should go to him. He...he's not doing so well."

"What? What happened? If he's hurt, why didn't you-"

"Not him. The elf. I'm not sure what happened, but when I found Harry, he was holding him in his arms, with a knife stuck through his chest."

"Dobby? But that's-Fleur, you can give him some Blood Replenishing-"

"It's too late, Ron. He's gone. Harry's digging the grave now."

He felt his body sag at the verbal blow his brother had just delivered. He had never even considered the possibility of Dobby dying. Dobby was...Dobby. He had always liked the funny little creature, with his passion for hideous socks and helping Harry. And now he was gone. He glanced down at Hermione. He had promised not to leave her, but he couldn't help thinking of S.P.E.W. This was something she would want him to help with.

"I can watch her now, Ron," Fleur said quietly, "I need to change her clothes and clean the wounds, anyway."

He nodded, finding it difficult to speak around the lump in his throat. "Call me if anything changes."

"Of course. Now go; help Harry."

He staggered out of the room, Still thinking about Dobby. Bill said something to him that he didn't hear, but he nodded and pretended he did anyway. Why did Dobby have to die? What had he ever done, besides try to help Harry? Well, that was a bloody stupid question. That's what had gotten him killed. Because he had been grateful to Harry, and felt like he owed him. Owed him for what? For not treating him like utter shite? That wasn't worth dying for. But with a dawning, sick sense of understanding, he realized that it was to Dobby. Ron knew he had had it bad with the Malfoys, but he had always sort of thought it was enough that he had gotten away. After all, not every family treated their elves badly. But that was all down to luck, wasn't it? Elves didn't get to choose. They just had to pray to whatever gods they believed in that they didn't get a master that beat them half to death. No one should have to be grateful to another person for not being abused. And elves might not be human, and they might really have some sort of...cultural? Need to help, but that shouldn't be used against them! Hermione had been right. Maybe not the way she had practically forced her hats on them, but she was right.

It really was barbaric.

_She didn't even care that he thought she was right. All that mattered was that Ron got it; it he truly got it. He wasn't begrudgingly going through the motions to shut her up, and he wasn't saying it to earn points. He genuinely, for the first time, saw everything in perspective, and had come to the right conclusion. Ron didn't learn by having it shoved down his throat-no one did, she had finally realized-he was perfectly able of coming around himself; Ron had a caring nature, and when you didn't force him, it showed itself naturally. His honest compassion was everything she had ever hoped for, and only confirmed what she already knew to be true; Ron was a good man._

Dean was standing by the door, waiting for him. "Luna is helping Ollivander. I reckon I'll come out and help you and Harry."

Ron, not trusting himself to speak, nodded. Dean seemed to understand; he nodded back, and opened the door. Ron glanced at him on the way out, wondering if he had aged as much as Dean had. Dean had creases around his eyes that didn't come from smiling, and Ron knew his old roommate had probably lived through his own sort of hell these last few months. For a fleeting moment, he remembered when there was nothing more serious than their discussions over which was the better sport; Quidditch or football. Dean must have caught his look, because he clapped him on the shoulder.

"A long way from Hogwarts, aren't we?"

Ron saw Harry just over the ridge, digging a shovel deep into the earth, a small form on the ground near him.

"Yeah. A long, long way."

Harry barely looked up as they joined him, and Ron could tell by the set of his jaw that there was a storm brewing. He was right on the edge, and Ron knew the best thing would be to help him with the minimum amount of talking, and then to let him be alone for awhile. Which worked out well, since he wasn't feeling to chatty himself. Dean seemed inclined to keep his gob shut as well, and the three of them set to work, digging a hole much bigger, strictly speaking, than it needed to be. Dean was Muggleborn, so he might not think anything of it, but Ron noticed that they weren't using magic. He thought he understood Harry's reason, or else he had come up with one of his own. Magic was too quick. A flick of the wrist, a second of concentration, and you could forget about whatever you were doing. Dobby deserved better than that-hell, Dobby deserved to be _alive,_ but the very least they could do was bury him with respect, and not treat it as an inconvenience.

Viciously, he stabbed the shovel into the ground, channeling all of his pent up emotions into the act. With the three of them, it didn't take very long, and soon they reached the point where they had to stop digging. Ron climbed out of the hole. taking a close look at Dobby for the first time. He looked so small, almost childlike. His tunic was covered in blood, and it seemed wrong to bury him like that, somehow. Dobby had always had an eye for style. That thought made him realize that Dobby's feet were bare; not even sent off with the socks he loved so much. Well, Ron could change what had happened, although he would if he could, and he couldn't thank Dobby for what he had done. He didn't have anything flashy, but what he did have, he owed Dobby, and more. Without thinking, he sat down and peeled off his trainers and socks, sliding them onto the cold, still feet that were almost as big as his. Dean placed a hat over the large, floppy ears, and Ron nearly jumped when Luna suggested they close his eyes. He hadn't heard her or the others come out, and when his eyes landed on Hermione swaying across the beach in a dressing gown, he looked wildly around for Fleur. Surely Hermione couldn't be better that quickly?

_Hermione was stunned. She had been in an extremely drugged state at this point, and had never noticed afterwards that the shoes Ron wore later were probably Bill's. So many people associated Ron with his louder traits; his stubbornness and temper. They often overlooked his generous spirit, mainly because he didn't draw attention to it._

Fleur caught his eye, and gave a tiny shake of the head, indicating the bottles sticking out of her apron. He didn't know whether that was good or bad; the potions were holding her together, at least long enough for her to be out there (that couldn't be good, but even if she'd been in a coma, the Hermione he knew was stubborn enough to make it to Dobby's funeral), but when would they know about her mind? Seeing that she was having a hard time staying upright, he put his arm around her, swallowing hard when she didn't seem to notice.

"She really shouldn't be out here, Ron." Bill murmured at his side. "But she put up quite a fuss when we were talking about it, and Fleur decided that the potions would hold out with calm movement, but she shouldn't be upset right now. Don't be surprised if she doesn't remember any of this."

_That, Hermione thought, was an understatement. Without magical medical care, she probably would have been dead already; certainly not walking about, albeit as shaky as a newborn lamb. But with magic that could instantly re-attach a limb as if it were an everyday occurrence, it shouldn't be surprising that they could at least get her body mobile for a short time. That didn't mean she was anywhere near healed; just that she was in sort of a protective cocoon, temporarily sheltered from the effects. From the little she had been told, the next step was...less pleasant._

Once Harry started to bury Dobby, Ron decided it was time to get Hermione back inside. If the potions wore off while she was upright and moving around, he was afraid she might damage something. Without drawing attention to it, he turned her towards the Cottage, thankful that her body didn't need more than a gentle nudge to get her going. Her eyes were glassy, and he found it hard to look at them; it was like she wasn't even in there, and it terrified him to think that might not change. She was still too pale, and he could feel her burning up beneath the sleeve of her dressing gown. He frowned. Shouldn't the potions have taken care of any fever?

"Ron, do you think you should...?" Bill asked, nodding in Harry's direction.

Ron glanced back, taking in the set of his friend's shoulders. "No. Leave him be, Bill. Harry always needs a bit of time to himself. If you push him right now, you'll only make things worse."

Bill looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded. "You know him best; I'll set up the Wards a little farther out, but he'll need to come in before dark."

If he doesn't, I'll talk to him," Ron promised, still bent on getting Hermione back inside.

His brother went off to work on the Wards, and was replaced by Luna, who took ahold of Hermione's other arm to steady her from that side. "That was kind of you. What you did for Dobby, I mean."

He thought of the bright-eyed elf, who would never squeal in delight over a pair of ugly socks, or paint another picture of Harry. Dobby, who would never have children or grandchildren of his own, who were born free. "It doesn't help much," he answered heavily.

"No, I expect it doesn't."

They got Hermione back to her room, and Ron noticed her eyelids were beginning to flutter, and she was making quiet moaning noises. "Luna, can you get Fleur? I think the pain potion is wearing off or something."

Luna left him to help Hermione onto the bed, and he tried to arrange her in a comfortable position, wondering why her muscles felt so tense. He was glad to see Fleur coming into the room, followed by Luna, who closed the door.

"She feels hot, and it looks like she's hurting," Ron said worriedly, hoping Fleur would hurry up and give Hermione the potion, instead of waving her wand over her and muttering to herself.

"You were right, the potions are wearing off. Now is a good time to see how bad the damage from the Cruciatus is."

"I'll put up a Silencing spell then, shall I?" Luna asked, raising an old wand she was borrowing from Fleur.

"Yes, I think that would be best. Ron, you really should leave now."

His head whipped back and forth between them. Why the hell did they need a Silencing spell? And why should he leave? Not that he was going to. "What? Why? What are you gonna do to her?"

Instead of answering, Fleur traced a complicated pattern in the air over Hermione, one he didn't recognize. Instantly, Hermione's body jerked, and she screamed, a long, drawn out sound that he had heard only too recently. With a howl of his own, he bent over her, trying to hold her still to keep her from hurting herself.

"What are you doing? Can't you see you're hurting her?" He yelled over his shoulder, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Ron, get back! The spell is to check her nerves, and will hopefully stop things from getting worse!"

"I'd say this is fucking worse! Now, stop it! You don't even sound sure it will work!" Ron shouted, not caring that he was crying now.

"It will work! I might not be an expert on the details, but this is the same spell a Healer would-"

"A Healer wouldn't be hurting her like this!" Ron stopped trying to hold on to a thrashing Hermione, and instead launched himself at Fleur, trying to take her wand away.

"Stop this, Ron! What are you trying to-"

"I'm not gonna let anyone hurt her anymore!"

He didn't have a plan, had no idea how he would stop the spell, or what he would do afterwards. All he knew was that her voice was clawing at his ears, and he had to make it end. He was so focused that he didn't notice Luna casting a Protego until he was knocked backwards onto the foot of the bed, stunned by the force.

"This is why I told you to leave!" Fleur snarled angrily, "You won't listen, and this is necessary-"

"The hell it is!" Ron shouted over Hermione, who had let out a particularly shrill scream.

"It really is the same spell the Healers use," Luna informed him, still standing across the room, her wand raised. "The Cruciatus floods the nervous system with dark magic, which the body absorbs even after it's over. This spell flushes it out."

"But the pain," he pleaded desperately wishing for another way.

"Is a good thing. If she wasn't able to feel...I wouldn't hold much hope for a recovery."

He squeezed his eyes shut as Hermione screamed again, the sound fading into a whimper. It wasn't fair! He had thought she would finally be safe, that he could keep her from being hurt again. He had failed her in Malfoy Manor; he had let them take her instead of him, and he hadn't gotten out of the basement in time. And now he was being told that the one thing that could be done to help her was going to hurt nearly as bad, and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.

"I just don't want her to hurt anymore," he whispered, tears leaking from under his eyelids.

"Living is pain, Ron. You can't keep it from her forever," Fleur said, her voice soft.

If he couldn't keep her from being hurt, then what the hell was he good for?

" _You're good for plenty, you prat!" Hermione cried. First and foremost, he was her best friend. He was someone she could trust with everything, and the person she knew would support her, no matter what. He was the one who brought her out of herself when she thought too much, who reminded her to take care of herself, and that there was more to life than just the serious issues. She knew Ron was speaking out of recent fear, and that he didn't think that she had to be protected from everything, or that she wasn't capable of doing it herself. Because, to be honest, even if you could, it was still nice when someone cared enough to step in for you. But she didn't want him to think that his role in her life was so one dimensional._

"Maybe you should step out until I am done. Luna can help me, if I need it."

He wanted to. He wanted to leave the room, the very cottage itself, and run down the beach until the sounds of her screams were drowned out by the roar of the waves. But as she let out another whimper, he knew he couldn't do that. She had already had to face so much alone, and while he couldn't do anything about this, he could at least be there for her.

"No. I meant it, Fleur. I won't leave her."

His sister-in-law gave a resigned sigh. "Fine. But you had better let me do what I must, or else I'll call for Bill to drag you out, whether you want to or not."

He nodded, and moved back to the side of the bed, pulling the chair close so he could be near her. Sweat was beading at her temples and upper lip, and her whole body was shaking so hard that he could hear her teeth clicking. Another wave of screams began, and he reached out, grabbing her nearest hand. Her fingers wrapped tightly enough around him that he thought the bones would break, but he didn't move away. He had though, back in that basement, that not being there while she was being tortured had been the worst thing possible. Now, he wasn't so sure. Seeing her in pain was doing him in, and all he could do was hold her hand and cry at the sight. He was afraid. More afraid than he had ever been. One way or another, he might lose her completely. Either her body wouldn't be able to take everything it had been put through, and she would die, or else her mind wouldn't make its way back, and she would end up like the Longbottoms.

For years, he had been struggling with his feelings for the girl in front of him. Confusion, frustration, longing, jealousy...what with one thing and another, he had done a good job of cocking things up. He found that it didn't matter anymore. As much as he wanted to be with her, he would give that all up if she just came out of this alright. He would be gutted, but as long as he could see her, alive and breathing, nattering on about some dusty law that only three other people had ever heard of, it would be all he needed. Maybe he wouldn't be the one to give her all the things he wanted to; maybe she would find that with someone else. He could accept that now. He could deal with not being in her life the way he wanted to be...as long as she was still around for him to be in it at all.

_Hermione leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him from behind, and crying into his back. It was strange and more than a little unsettling to see, from this perspective, what she had gone through, but that was overshadowed by Ron's feelings. She knew that she had been important to Ron for a long time, but this was the first time he had admitted to himself how much. He had loved her, yes; but knowing that he had put her before what he wanted for himself meant so much. It meant that she, as herself, was important to him. Not their relationship, or what he could get out of it, but her happiness and well-being, when he wouldn't be affected by it. It was something she had believed deep in her heart, but she wanted to take this moment for the future, to remember when she got frustrated with him and felt he was being selfish. Because this right here was what was important. He would have his moments of wanting to get his way, as everyone did, but when it came down to it, she was first in his heart._

It felt like hours before Hermione stopped shaking, and the screams faded to an occasional moan. In reality, it wasn't more than fifteen minutes. His fingers were white from lack of blood when he slid his hand from her grip to prop her up while Fleur gave her some pain potions (Not enough, he pointed out, but she insisted that they needed to know if she felt some pain, otherwise they might not know if there was something wrong internally until too late), and he felt more drained than if he had played five consecutive Quidditch matches. Watching as her breaths evened out, he slumped over the bed, hoping that the worst was over.

"She needs to rest now, as much as possible. She's going to be very sore, and I'm afraid that there will be some lasting damage."

His head shot up at Fleur's words, trying to read her expression as she gathered the potions back into her bag.

"What do you mean? How bad? And can you tell if she..." He trailed off, unsure how to say it.

"Fortunately, there don't seem to be any signs of paralysis. She may find it hard to move, and she might be numb, or feel sensations that she shouldn't. The worst of it should go away, in time, but never completely. In truth, that spell should have been performed immediately, but there was too much risk with her other injuries. As for her mind...I'm afraid we can't be sure until she wakes up."

"But she will wake up, won't she? Right now...she's just sleeping, isn't she? It's not-"

It's a natural sleep," Fleur assured him, clicking the bag closed. "Unless something drastic changes, it's just a matter of giving her time for her body to recover. Now. You should get some rest yourself, as well as some food. I'll set up a place for you to sleep in-"

"I'm staying here."

Fleur put her hands on her hips, looking as if she wanted to Hex him. "It may have escaped your notice, but you are in less than perfect condition yourself, Ron! You won't do her any good this way. Luna can keep an eye on her in here, and we'll tell you when she wakes up."

"That sounds a right good idea," Ron said with an agreeable nod. Fleur smiled slightly, then tensed as he continued, "Here's a better one. I stay here until she wakes up, and I can call _you_ if there's any problems."

"I'm sure Hermione would be fine with another girl instead-"

"Oh no, Hermione would much rather Ron be with her," Luna piped up, already moving for the door. "And that's where he belongs, isn't it? With her. Besides, I want to see how Mr. Ollivander is doing."

Ron gave her a grateful nod, noting, for the first time, how bad she looked. She had always been able to give him a run in the paleness department, but now, she looked sort of...faded, with dark purple smudges under her eyes. When he thought of her spending any amount of time in Malfoy's basement, he had to look away.

Fleur threw her hands in the air. "Alright! I'll bring you some food later. Tell me as soon as she wakes up, or if it looks like there is something wrong."

"Wait!" He yelped, as she stalked to the door, "How will I know if she's alright when she wakes up?"

"It shouldn't be too hard. See if she knows who she is, and who you are. She might not recall the most recent things that happened before she passed out, but she should have memories of everyday life. If she stares into space and doesn't respond...then you will know something is very wrong."

He looked down at Hermione, sorely tempted to wake her up now just to make sure she was going to be alright. He was just about to ask Fleur if that might be better, when he saw how tired she was, looking worn for the first time since he had known her.

"Fleur?"

She stopped, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes?"

"Thanks. For...everything. And I'm sorry I was such an arse earlier. I just-"

She chuckled softly. "You are just like your brother. So stubbornly dedicated to the ones you love. He told me his littlest brother was worse than he was; I should have believed him."

Ron blinked, struck by her words.

"But then, that is why I married him." She glanced at the bed with a small smile. "Hermione and I, we may be very different, but we have excellent taste in men, no?"

He stared after her until the door shut with a click, and then he turned back to Hermione. Her hair was a wild mass of tangles on the pillow around her head, and there was a little crease in between her eyes, like she was thinking even as she slept. He leaned forward, resting part way on the bed, comforted by the rise and fall of her chest. One of her hands was on top of the covers, and he took it in his, rubbing it gently with his thumb. So she needed to remember, did she?

"Once, there was a boy on a train. Well, there were two, but the one I'm talking about had dirt on his nose, and a mangy rat that was one step away from taxidermy. He was stuffing himself silly with sweets, minding his own business, when the door to the car flew open, and the strangest, most brilliant-not that he'd have known it at the time-girl stuck her head in, looking for a toad..."

_Hermione stood beside him and watched as he told her about their years together, touched by how honest he was (probably, in part, because she couldn't hear him), and how earnestly he was trying to do everything he could think might possibly help. He only paused long enough to eat some of the food that Bill brought, before continuing. He talked for hours, until he had finally fallen asleep, unable to fight off his exhaustion. She hated to see him hurting like this, and the sense of helplessness her was feeling. But she was drawn to his tenderness, and couldn't help picturing him as a father someday, sitting up with their children when they were sick. Ron was truly an amazing person; it was something she had known for years, but during the grind of day to day life, it was easy to ignore. Ron often put up a slightly prickly front to keep from being hurt; she needed to remember that underneath that layer was an extremely soft, loving center._

_He had shown her that side of himself quite often during their stay at Shell Cottage, seeing that she got enough rest, forcing her to eat enough food. When no one was looking, he would rub her aching muscles, and the displays of physical affection between them was reminiscent of their time at Grimmauld Place. Only this time, there seemed to be a deeper meaning behind it, and less uncertainty. She had had her reasons for not broaching the subject straight out, and she was curious to see why he hadn't, either._

The noise from inside the Cottage followed Ron as he quietly stepped out the kitchen door, and wandered down the small path, where he leaned against the stone wall. Everyone was still celebrating the announcement of Teddy's birth, and Ron found that he needed a few moments alone. Not that he wasn't excited as well, because he was; it was just that he found that after spending months on end, first with Harry and Hermione, then with Bill and Fleur, with just two people, it was hard to take crowds. Everything felt too loud, moved too fast. The small house had gotten hot with all of those bodies moving around, and it had been hard to breathe. The cold air felt nice against his face, and he could always cast a Warming Charm if he got too cold. He hadn't had very much time to himself (which was far from a complaint!) and he was using this time to think.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had thought the whole Gringotts situation over backwards and sideways, but that didn't really count. They were all thinking about that, for the better part of each day. Now, he let his mind wander to Hermione, which was just as complex of a subject but infinitely more enjoyable. Sometimes, he would just sit back and watch her breathe, filled with joy with every move she made, because it meant she was alive. Every time she batted his hands away, or told him not to fuss because she was perfectly capable of doing that herself, he would smile, because she was being Hermione, wonderful, maddening, with a spark in her eyes that said it was still her.

She wasn't fully healed. In some ways, even without being told, he knew she probably wouldn't be. And he hated the fact that she wouldn't, and that it would always remind her of what she had been through. It wasn't going to stop her, though. Hermione was still going to do whatever she set out to do, and he figured that would end up being something pretty big. He just wish that one of those things didn't happen to involve Polyjuicing herself as the bitch who had tortured her. He had tried to think of another way, or to at least get Hermione to consider something else. That had gone about as well as you'd expect, if you knew Hermione, and it wasn't worth pushing her into a fight over.

Aside from the very welcome miracle of her being alive and mentally intact, there was the fact that she had forgiven him. It was still hard for him to believe, but it had happened. Not only had she forgiven him, but she had said things that had made his heart soar higher than any broom could ever take him. He had stayed awake long after she had fallen asleep, still hung up on the difference between the way he saw himself, and how she saw him. Part of him had been afraid it was the pain potions talking, but she hadn't retracted any of it when she woke up, and had actually warmed up to him to an extent that had his heart pounding. Just like last summer, he had started touching her more, with the intent to be comforting. (He wouldn't mention the fact that he found it comforting himself.) He had hoped that it helped her, but he hadn't expected her to respond to it.

But she had. What had started out as comfort had taken on an air of...cuddling, and while it shocked the hell out of him, he was more than happy for things to go in that direction. The only problem was, he had found himself on more than one occasion coming damned close to kissing her, and he thought that she might not mind if he did. Oddly enough, he wasn't sure what to feel about that. Yeah, there was the small matter of having fantasized about it for years, and he definitely wanted it to happen. After all the shite they had they had gone through, he couldn't quite see how anything had been important enough to keep from telling her how he felt ages ago. It was sad, really, how it took nearly losing someone to pull your head out of your arse, and make everything suddenly so clear.

If they weren't in the middle of a bloody war, he would've told her the first night they were here. But there were a couple of things standing in his way now, and he didn't know how to go about getting around them. First of all, he knew how he felt, and, inspite of the usual nagging doubts that had always plagued him, he thought she might feel the same. But how could he be sure? He didn't want to take advantage of her while she wasn't feeling well; what if she thought he was taking care of her just to get something out of it? That would be a brilliant way to start things off.

As much as he'd like to ignore the next point, there was no getting around that, despite the fact that they were safe for now, they _were_ in the middle of a war, and things were about to get much worse. Already, he found himself getting impatient during their planning sessions, wishing that the two of them could slip off to her room for a cuddle while she rested. If things headed where he hoped they might, he knew he would want more of her attention than she could give right now. He had a lot of muck in his head to work through; years of one way of thinking wasn't going to change in just a few months. It wouldn't be on purpose, but those nasty thoughts would creep in every time she focused on the plan instead of him, and he'd wind up feeling jealous. Then he'd say something stupid, which would lead to a row they couldn't afford to have right now.

What they had...it had the potential to be really good. Brilliant. But it was gonna take a lot of effort and attention that they just didn't have right now. A year ago he would've sulked about that. He would have taken 'not now' to mean 'no.' Moving slow didn't mean they weren't going anywhere at all, and if he could put it off for stupid reasons, then he could wait when it actually mattered. Until then, he'd have to settle for not-so-subtle hints about what he wanted in his future, and hope that he was doing the right thing, for once.

"Ron? What are you doing out here?"

He turned around to see Hermione headed in his direction, her breath leaving little clouds in the air. She staggered a bit as she came close, and he reached out a hand to steady her, which she took with an inquisitive look.

"Is everything alright? When you didn't come back, I was worried."

"I'm fine; it was just getting kinda hot in there, and I wanted to cool off."

"Well, you'll certainly manage that!" She said with a shiver, "If you stay out here much longer, you'll freeze!"

"Nah, I'm still hot. See?" He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her to draw her under his robes. "There. Still cold?"

"No. Hm, better than a Warming Charm," she muttered, leaning into his chest. "But are you alright, really? You didn't stay very long. You're happy for Lupin and Tonks, aren't you?"

"'Course I am! I mean, I'm surprised, even though he already told us. It's just sort of strange to think about, those two as parents. I hope Tonks doesn't drop him or anything..."

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, giving his side a pinch, "Tonks will be a wonderful mum!"

"Ow! Watch it! I didn't say she wouldn't, did I? She's a brilliant Auror and she'll be just as good a mum; doesn't mean she'll stop tripping over her own shadow. It's just...there's so much going on, it's hard to imagine having a baby in the middle of all that."

Hermione craned her head back to look at him. "Do you think it was a mistake?"

"What? No!" He said quickly, then looked thoughtful. "The timing probably couldn't have been worse, but I reckon Lupin hasn't been this happy since Harry's parents died. Did you hear him laughing in there? He was almost a different person. How could I say that was a mistake?"

"But you think they should've waited."

"For a kid? Well, yeah. But it's not like you can just decide not to have one, and that be it, at least when you're married. No matter how, uh, careful you are. Having one is a pretty big deal all on it's own, and during a war...pretty hard to do both and get it right."

"So you would have waited until all this was over?"

He shifted, wondering where they were going with this subject. She seemed awfully interested in his views on kids, but it felt like it was about something deeper than that. Well, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon, he supposed. "If I had a choice, then yeah. It'd be safer, and easier to focus on that way," he said carefully. "but if it happened without trying, I'd be happy about it."

"I suppose that makes sense, at least at this point. This isn't going to last forever, so it wouldn't be like waiting for something with no end in sight. I think a lot of things will be possible when this is over, don't you?"

His mouth went dry, and he was highly aware of the small, absentminded patterns her fingers were tracing on the back of his jumper. "I think a lot of things are bloody well probable, not just possible," he blurted, his voice climbing into a register he hadn't hit in years.

"That would be good. Still, it's nice to see Lupin so happy. Harry, too. DId you see his face when Lupin told him he was a godfather?"

Ron laughed; he had never seen his friend look so much like a fish. "Sounds mental, doesn't it? Barely legal, and already a godfather!"

"More than barely, Ron. He'll be eighteen in about two months; he's been an adult by Wizarding standards for almost a year." Hermione pointed out.

He sighed heavily. Had it really been that long since that night they went to get him? In some ways it felt like just the other day; in other ways, it could have happened years ago. "A pretty fucked up year."

"In some ways," she agreed, then surprised him by giving him a squeeze, and looking up with a smile brighter than he had seen in a long time. "But it's had its good points, too."

He hugged her tighter, managing a nod. Merlin, this had better end soon, because he thought he saw how Lupin had ended up with a son earlier than he had planned.

_Hermione watched the couple standing in the moonlight, enjoying a brief moment of peace together. She had wondered if he had gotten her broad hints, and if she had been reading too much into his responses. She was pleased to find that they had both been on the same page, and she could see Ron's point with his reasoning. It hadn't been easy, that first year and a half after the war. And not just because of the losses, either. In some ways, she thought she was going to see that it had been harder for Ron, as he dealt with learning how to tell the difference between his own insecurities and what people really thought of him. It was the right choice for him to wait, although it had been hard. It was different, though, than the way they had waited in the past, for a perfect moment that would never come. This time there was not only a reason, but a reasonable time period and goal. In their own way, they had acknowledged that they were ready to move forward, once a specific situation had cleared up. For some couples that would mean finishing university, or moving closer together so long distance wouldn't be an issue. For them, it was a war. Still, they had both known that things were coming to a head, and one way or another, it would end soon. They just hadn't known then what that would cost...and how, in some ways, they would always be paying for it._

Ron couldn't help looking around the Room of Requirement as Harry talked, taking in the condition of everyone listening. None seemed quite as bad as Neville, but nearly everyone he could see had some kind of wound in various stages of healing. There was a part of him that was guilty, and a little angry, for not having been there. He knew that there was no way they could have stayed, that their mission was the only way any of this would end. Still, he hated that everyone else had to stay behind, going through hell. It was bad enough knowing Ginny had been here; as much as he wanted to see her and know she was alright for himself, he was glad she had been spared even a small amount of time.

As if she knew what he was thinking, his sister and the twins climbed through the entrance from the tunnel, and he wasn't sure whether to hug them or push them back out the way they had come. What the hell were they doing here? Well, Fred and George were involved with the Order, so it shouldn't be too surprising that they would show up-what was he saying? He knew Ginny; there was no way she'd have let them come without her. The only question was whether she had managed to convince them it was alright, or if she had blackmailed them. Ginny was disturbingly adept at getting her way. When they instantly started questioning Harry, he was tempted to make some crack about how it was good to see them, too, but then he saw the way Ginny was looking at Harry. Harry, although he didn't know it, was very lucky, and very, very fucked. It reminded him eerily of the way Hermione had looked at him the night he came back. He thought about warning Harry, then remembered the last time he had pushed his nose into Ginny's love life.

"Good luck with that, mate," he said under his breath, where no one heard him except for Hermione, who nodded her head, her lips twitching.

_She had recognized that look as well, and didn't know who she felt more sympathy for, Harry or Ginny. Like Ron, she had been glad that Ginny had at least gotten away for a few months, even though, knowing Ginny, she hadn't appreciated it._

Everyone was behind them, waiting for Harry to lead them; Ron couldn't understand why he didn't. He knew Harry had issues with how Dumbledore had handled things, and he did too, but Harry couldn't see that he was doing the same thing. Withholding information, trying to keep people safe. That hadn't turned out so well for Dumbledore, and Ron wasn't keen on Harry ending up the same way. Besides, why couldn't they help? It's not like they had to have Hermione give a lecture on what Horcruxes were and how to make them, for Merlin's sake.

_Hermione gave an indignant gasp. How rude!_

The others deserved to help. They had been fighting here for the better part of a year, and Ron knew how he'd felt if he had gone through all that, and then got pushed aside as if he wasn't good enough to contribute. And to be brutally honest, they didn't have much time. Voldemort wasn't going to give them a sporting head start to find that diadem, and they needed to use the resources they had. Luckily Harry saw reason, which saved them a huge fight, judging by the set of most people's jaws.

Harry seemed oblivious to the tone of Ginny's voice when she said that Luna would take him instead of Cho. "Hermione hasn't taught you anything about canaries, has she?" He asked her quietly.

"I don't need anyone to teach me; I do just fine in that department." Ginny assured him, giving him a one armed hug as she watched Harry leave.

People started in on the questions, then, one right after another. telling him how brave he and the others were, and how proud everyone was. He had spent most of his life craving that sort of attention, but now that he was getting it, he thought he could see what Harry meant. He hadn't-he had only only done what had been needed. Just like when he had pulled Harry out of the pond, it sounded a lot cooler than it was. But everyone here...they had done just as much as he had. Looking at the cuts and bruises, the limps and dark circles under eyes, he imagined what they had to go through. What if they had stayed? His eyes strayed over to Hermione, and he thought about what Neville had said about the Muggleborn students being tortured. He imagined watching that day after day, and felt himself become sick.

He didn't really know how to take the praise, so he did what he usually did in situations like this; he deflected it with some humor, and was thankful to notice that some of the attention was being taken by the twins' clowning. Soon, people were breaking into small groups to talk, and Ron started to relax, wondering if he should distract Ginny from pacing a trench in the floor.

He hadn't even taken a step before two arms were dropped over his shoulders, steering him to a corner. It was an old and familiar situation, and for once, he found it comforting rather than irritating. He hadn't seen them in months, and the disembodied voices from the radio hadn't given him a sense of how they really were. They were smiling, but there was a tightness around their eyes that he had only seen a handful of times before; Their robes looked like they had been worn several days in a row. What had they been up to? He knew they were involved with the Order, and the twins were always up for a risk.

"Well, Ron? Aren't you going to fall weeping on our shoulders, and tell us how much you've missed us all these months?" Fred asked.

Ron elbowed him gently, grinning as George messed his hair. "You should talk!" He raised his voice in a mimicking tone, "Just tell us what to do, Harry!"

George rolled his eyes. "Come on, we knew you were alright! Bill told us last time he was over. Well, he told us, but not Mum, or Dad since he'd never be able to keep it from her."

"What exactly did Bill say?" Ron asked, tensing up. They didn't know how bad he had fucked up, did they?

"Just enough that we knew you hadn't been picked up by Death Eaters," Fred answered, narrowing his eyes when Ron flinched.

"Would've been nice if we had been able to tell Mum; she was always tearing up, worrying about you."

"She was?" Ron blinked; he had spent so much time worrying about them, that he hadn't given much thought to them doing the same.

The twins looked at him like he was out of his mind. "Of course she did! Always talking about 'her poor Ronnie, her baby boy, off Merlin knows where!" George imitated, wringing his hands.

"Bloody hell, I thought she was going to cover your picture in black streamers and put it in your chair for Christmas dinner!" Fred added dryly.

Ron had to laugh at that; he had missed that about the twins, the way they could lighten the mood. For a long time he had been trying to hold things together, to be the one to crack the jokes, and it was nice to let them take over.

_Hermione nodded. Ron had been the one to keep morale up, and it must have been hard for him to have to be the positive one all the time. Neither she or Harry had made much of an effort in that department, and that had to have been emotionally exhausting. The twins loved to heckle Ron, but they were equally adept at pulling him out of a blue mood. Of course, they weren't fools, and were sometimes more observant than one would like._

"So, What did Bill leave out? Because that's a guilty expression if I ever saw one," George pointed out.

"What do you mean, guilty? I don't have anything to be guilty about!" Ron protested guiltily.

The twins exchanged a pitying look, shaking their heads. "We failed, George. I don't think Ron even picked up the basics of sneakiness."

"True. Ginny, now."

"Indeed."

"Alright, I cocked things up! Are you happy now?" He snapped, his cheeks burning.

Fred gave him a deadpan look. "Ron. We were the ones who built a career on cocking up, yeah? Besides, it's you. You made it right, whatever it was. That's what you've always done. You get mad, screw up, then you fix it. Don't reckon this was any different."

Ron shrugged uneasily, pretty sure that what he had done was worse than anything they were thinking of. And he wasn't too thrilled that he was so predictable in that area, but at least they had enough faith in him to take it for granted that he had eventually done the right thing.

"As much as we'd like to reminisce about memories from your third and fourth year, how about you telling us what's really going on? No one can hear us over here," George wheedled.

Ron shook his head. "You know I can't tell you that."

Their shoulders slumped. "He has such a nasty case of... _ethics."_ George said, and they both shuddered.

"Unlike our dear sister," Fred mused, glancing at Ginny once more."

"Very unlike Ginevra."

Raising his eyebrow, Ron glanced between his three siblings. There was obviously a story there. He could well imagine what Ginny had been like, cooped up away from everyone, not able to be a part.

"Well, if you can't tell us that," Fred said slyly, sidling back up to Ron and putting his arm around him, "How about a progress report? Has the elusive Hermione Granger finally succombed to the Weasley charm?"

"Yeah, should we tell Mum that she needs to start working on a new Christmas jumper? An H that doesn't stand for Harry."

Merlin, were they really going to do this now? "None of your damn business. Why would you even ask that right now?"

They stared at him disbelievingly, before George answered. "Are you serious? You've been gone for _months,_ and you still haven't hitched your bollocks up and told her? What did you do, use that book we gave you as a doorstop?"

"Things are complicated!" Ron hissed, his eyes darting around to make sure no one had heard.

"Things have been 'complicated' since your third year," Fred pointed out, "But you know what this means; I'm booking a reservation for dinner with Hermione after this is over, just like I promised."

"Oi, you leave her alone!"

"Don't worry, Ron; one date with Fred, and Hermione will realize what a real catch you are."

"Hey, that's an idea! Hermione's a logical girl; I can enumerate your many sterling qualities, and she's bound to see reason-"

"Let me consider your offer for a minute-no. Thanks, but I've got things in hand. You can go ahead and make reservations for us, though, if you'd like."

Fred grinned wolfishly. "Sorry, Ronniekins, but that isn't how a bet works! You were supposed to get things sorted before you came back, remember? Don't worry, though; I'll be sure to sell you. Girls like Hermione like lists and things, so maybe a graph, or some kind of pie chart with all of the reasons she should date your sorry arse. What do you think, George?"

"Oh, I think we can get her to date more than just his arse."

"Right! I'll just let her know about our plans, shall I?"

Ron watched, eyes bulging, as Fred craned his neck to look for Hermione, raising his voice to shout, "Break out the fancy togs, Hermione! Friday night, we dance!"

"Will you shut up! She's looking!" Ron growled, ducking out from their grip and punching Fred on his arm.

"Ah, Ron, it's good to have you back; we've missed our favorite little brother." George said, as they laughed, rubbing his hair into a mess.

"I'm you're only younger brother!" He retorted, still pleased.

"Eh, details. Doesn't change anything. Now get over there; I'll give you an extension on our bet, just to remind you what a selfless sibling I am."

Ron rolled his eyes as he started to walk over to Hermione. "We never had a bet, you wanker."

Behind him, he heard their laughter fade, as they whispered together.

"Well, he looks better. Enough joking, we need to get ahold of the order."

"Yeah, I know. We have time, though, since Harry isn't even back yet."

Ron shook his head; they might be matching boils on his arse sometimes, but they always did know how to shake him out of a funk. Feeling a bit more energized, he glanced at the door, wishing Harry wasn't so stubborn about keeping everything a secret, and hoping he got back soon.

"Why does he always think he has to do it alone? This is a bloody big castle, and we're running out of time. It would go faster if everyone was looking."

"Harry just doesn't want to put anyone in danger-"

"I think that's a little late for everyone here, yeah? They haven't known anything _but_ danger for months now."

"Yes, but not because of anything he asked them to do. Besides, I'm more concerned about what to do with it once we find it; we still haven't destroyed the cup, and how are we supposed to, without the sword?"

"So all we need to do is find about four you-know-what's, and something with the right kind of magic to destroy them. That'll be about as easy as pulling Bas-"

That was it! They were practically standing right over the answer! There was a stash of Basilisk fangs right here, and Voldemort had practically handed them over himself!

He froze, his eyes going wide before he spun around and gripped her by the arms, and began to babble excitedly. "Hermione, I've just had an idea so brilliant, that if it works they'll be calling me the brightest wizard of my age. C'mon, let's go; I know where we need to go to solve at least half of our problems."

He glanced around as he pulled her to the entrance, pleased to see no one was watching; Fred and George had got their message sent, and were busy entertaining everyone until it was time to act.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, clearly confused.

"The bathroom, of course!"

He thought they were going to make it, when Ginny called out; she must have been watching for Harry to get back.

"Ron? Hermione? Where are you going?"

"Just to the bathrooms real quick!" He answered, hoping she wouldn't think to ask why they couldn't use the ones the Room had provided, or why the two of them were going together.

There was some resistance from Hermione, and he looked back. He saw the look she was giving him, and frowned. Couldn't she just humor him, even if she didn't get it yet? He gave her the big, sad eyes that he only used for special occasions.

"Can you have a little faith? Or at least pretend?"

"Alright, I'll come," she said, with a reluctant sounding sigh.

He stepped out first, wanting to make sure the way was clear. Hermione was trying to hide it, but he could tell that she was having one of her painful moments. The fighting hadn't even started yet, and she was going to need to save her energy; it was best if he stayed ahead, so he could deal with anyone who showed up, while giving her time to react.

_Hermione was startled; she had, in fact been hurting, and the twinges slowed down her reaction time. Not by much, but they were in a situation where seconds could count. Ron had not only noticed, but had covered her momentary weakness without drawing attention to it._

He tried to be as quiet as he could, holding his breath at every shadow, ready to run into Filtch or Mrs. Norris around every corner. Somehow, their luck held out, and they made it without being spotted, and Ron had never been so happy to see a bathroom before. Even better, it looked like Myrtle wasn't around, which would make things easier, and certainly quieter.

"Now will you tell me what we're doing here? What if Harry comes back while we're gone?"

He turned around, surprised that she still didn't seem to realize what he had in mind, now that they were here. "We won't be gone that long, and it isn't like he doesn't have a room full of other people until we get there. Honestly Hermione, I'm surprised you haven't figured it out before; you were the one who told us what we needed, after all."

Unless I mentioned that we needed toilets, I don't see-"

"Basilisk fangs, Hermione!" Ron waved his arms expansively. "You said that they could destroy a Horcrux. And where do we know of that's loaded with them?"

Her face lit up with understanding, the way it did when she solved a particularly tricky problem. "You mean-"

"The Chamber!" He agreed.

"Ron, that's absolutely brilliant!" She nearly screamed, grabbing his arm.

His face flushed, and he gave a small cough. "Well, maybe not _brilliant..."_ He knew that now wasn't the time to be pleased about coming up with a good idea before Hermione, but he couldn't help it; she was finally looking at him the way he had always imagined her doing during a Quidditch game.

_She had, actually, looked at him exactly like that when he was playing; he had just been too busy at the time to see. She wished she had looked at him that way more often, because he shouldn't be so surprised when she thought he had a good idea. Ron thought differently than she did, and while that could sometimes be a source of frustration for both of them, she was constantly interested and inspired by his way of approaching things. Being around someone who thought exactly like you did might be more placid, but it was also boring. Ron not only challenged her, but a fresh viewpoint was often exactly what she needed to come up with ideas of her own._

Yes, it is," she said seriously, "I was so busy thinking of ways to get the sword back, that it never even occurred to me that we didn't need it. You thought of it almost right away."

"You would've thought of it eventually."

Hermione snorted, striding to the sinks. "We don't have that long. Now, I didn't go with you and Harry, so you'll have to show me how this works."

Shocked, Ron stared at the sinks, and his shoulders began to droop. "Damn. I forgot, Harry had to use Parseltongue. I guess it wasn't such a bright idea after all."

Brilliant. That was probably why Hermione hadn't even thought of it; her brain knew it was impossible before she did. This was why it was best for him to let the others do the thinking. As he mentally berated himself, he didn't even bother to look down when she touched his arm again.

"It's still a good idea. We'll just have to wait for Harry, is all. But we would still be worrying about not having the sword if you hadn't thought of this."

Yeah, it was best if they waited for Harry. Should've done that in the first place, really. It wasn't like he was cut out to-no. He stopped himself angrily in mid thought. This was where he always screwed up, second guessing himself and backing out when it looked like he had failed. They didn't have time to wait for Harry! And Hermione had said herself that this had been a good idea. If he could think that up, he could think of a way around this. He had been there when Harry had done it, hadn't he? Well, if a first year could do it, there was no reason he shouldn't be able to!

"Hold on, maybe we can still get in."

She was about to ask what he meant, but, with a look of pure concentration, he began to make a strangled whistling sound. He paused, but nothing happened, and he shook his head.

"No, that's not it. It was more like..."

He tried again, got it wrong, and tried once more. He was just growing frustrated with himself when he was rewarded with a creaking noise, as the sinks began to move. Both looked back towards the door, as if the movement might have summoned one of the Carrows, or Snape himself. Silence.

"You did it! You really did it!"

He wore a triumphant smile as he started to wedge himself into the opening. "I'll slide down first; it'll at least give you something soft to land on."

She peered over his shoulder, trying to make out the way down. "Are you sure? It doesn't seem very safe."

Ron inched forward, and glanced back over at her. "Safer than the alternative, I'd say. At least this time the bloody thing is dead."

It was a tight fit, and Ron wondered for a moment if they could get through; then he remembered that Lockhart had managed to get his fat head down there, so it shouldn't be a problem. He grunted with each bump, wryly thinking that he was getting too old for things like this. Maybe Hermione should stay back, because this wasn't going to be easy on her joints. Just as he was thinking of calling back to her, he heard her start down after him. Oh well, it wasn't like she would've listened anyway. Instead of getting out of the way, he lit his wand, and squatted down to catch her,, figuring he could at least soften her landing.

"You alright?" He asked, helping her to her feet.

She nodded, sneezing from the dust that she had inhaled, wrinkling her nose at the musty, fetid odor lingering in the air. He wasn't keen on the smell himself, but living in the boys' dorms for about six years had numbed him to that sort of thing. The problem he was having was figuring out which way to go; it would be useless if they kept going in circles. How could it be so difficult to find a giant, rotting lizard?

"Sorry, it looks different from the way it did back then. I suppose since I'm taller..." He crouched low, and brightened. "There! It's this way!"

Five years hadn't been kind to the Basilisk; in a drier climate, it surely would have been nothing more than a skeleton by now, but the Chamber had had an almost mummifying effect. The lips had mostly peeled away to reveal the large, yellow fangs, but bits of rotted skin hung around them in tatters. Seeing her disgust, Ron handed her his wand.

"Here, if you hold the light so I can see what I'm doing, I'll pull 'em out."

"Ron, be careful!" She said urgently, "They're still poisonous!"

Ron eyed the fangs, testing to see which one had the most give. "I realize that, Hermione. Sort of the point, innit? Besides, I've been poisoned once, so I'm in no great hurry to experience it again. Charlie told us about having to remove fangs if one went bad on a dragon, so maybe it'll work the same."

Thinking about what Charlie had told him, he avoided the lower portion of the fang, and gripped it just below the gumline. Or where the gumline had been, as marked by a few blackened tatters of flesh. He rocked his weight into it, gagging at the crunching and popping noises it made as it came loose. It came out easier than expected, and he tossed it behind him. One fang was good, but what if something happened to it? He didn't relish the idea of coming back.

. "What are you doing? We have one, so we should get back to Harry."

He tossed another one down by the first. "Well, I figure since we don't know who's going to be the one to find the rest of the Horcruxes, we should have enough to hand around. And what if this thing's been dead for so long, that it takes more than one to do the job? Dunno 'bout you, but I'm not coming back down here if I can help it."

He fell into a rhythm, quickly wrestling the fangs out of the large mouth, and forming a pile behind him. It might not be as fancy as the sword, but they would get the job done. Or would they? He doubted there had been much research on the subject. Who knew how long a Basilisk fang would be good for? Plenty of ingredients lost their power over time. What if it took more than one? Voldemort wasn't likely to wait around while they took turns stabbing his snake like a kebab.

"Hermione?"

"What is it? Can we go now?" She asked, sounding nervous.

"I want to try something first. Before we go running back and telling Harry we've figured out a way to destroy the Horcruxes, maybe we should try it on the cup. Besides, it's sort of stupid to keep carrying it around where You-Know-Who can get his hands on it."

"I suppose you're right. And this way, no one else will see it. Let me get it out of my bag."

She knelt down on the floor, and tossed Ron his wand as she used hers to search through the beaded bag. Her hand wrapped around the cold metal, and as she pulled it out, Ron crouched in front of her, holding out a fang. He was hesitant about this, afraid of what effect it would have on her. Surely since they hadn't been carrying it around long, it would be alright? He was tempted to do it himself, but wasn't sure he could get ahold of himself in time if it tried to take his mind. He had a better chance of watching from the outside, and striking if he thought that it was messing with Hermione. Besides, she was a part of this too, and she deserved a chance to strike back as much as they did.

"Harry and me have already had the pleasure, so I figured you'd like to get a good stab in."

"You figured right," she answered, taking the fang in one hand, while holding the cup in the other. Before she could set it on the floor to stab it, a wave of uncertainty hit her. She felt like a small child again, unsure of herself, wondering if she was truly as useless as the other children said. Why did she think she could do this? She should leave it for Ron-or better, to tell Ron they were both incapable, and that they should wait for Harry.

Almost instantly, he saw her eyes change, the light fading from them as she stared blindly ahead. He wanted to reach out and take the cup from her, but there was something cold blocking the way, and he was afraid of what would happen if he forced it. One of them had to stay on the outside, and pull the other out, just as Harry had for him. Hermione had to believe that she could do this, that she was enough; he recognized the doubts swirling in her eyes, and knew she had to truly believe it for herself for it to work.

"Hermione...Hermione!"

She looked up slowly, her expression glassy.

"Hermione, you can do this. You're the brightest witch of our age, remember?"

He tried to put all of his confidence in her into his words, hoping it would have the right effect. He knew she had it in her to do this; once Hermione put her mind to something, she could do just about anything. He must have gotten through, because her eyes sparked with determination, a look he had always seen before she had performed a tricky bit of magic.

_His confidence in her was an amazing thing to feel. He wasn't condescending, or trying to humor her; he genuinely believed she was capable of nearly everything she set out to do. It was something she had taken for granted when she was younger, but she appreciated it much more now that she was working in an environment of people who constantly needed proof of her abilities, and were insultingly surprised by her competence. Ron had given her the encouragement she had needed to save herself, instead of blindly forcing his way in to take control. She knew it wasn't always easy for him to set aside his protectiveness, but this proved he was capable of doing so._

Decisively, she slammed it down on the ground, and raised the fang over her head. A stab of pain went through her, spreading along her nerves; one of the aftershocks of the Cruciatus. Ignoring it, she brought the fang down, the jolt from the impact jarring her arm. The metal hissed and bent, glowing hot, and then going cold. She stared at Ron over the remains, both of them holding their breath. Slowly, smiles began to form, and their nervous, relieved laughter began to mingle together.

"We did it!" She said, almost giddy. "We actually did it!"

"Just a few more, and this'll all be over!" Ron agreed, pushing himself to his feet. "Now, we just have to get to Harry. He's probably having a fit by now."

Hermione sobered, closing her bag as Ron tucked the cup under his jacket. "You're right, we need to hurry. We still don't know if he was able to find the diadem."

Ron had more faith, saying brightly as he transfigured a piece of debris into a broom, "Sure he has. If there was some mad way to find it, Luna will have sussed it."

They began to gather up the fangs, and Ron reached out to steady her pile, which had started to tip. They had actually done it. They had gotten rid of another Horcrux! Harry should be figuring out where the diadem was, so that only left them with, what? Two left after that? They were so close! They might even finish this tonight! They had been fighting for so long, and now the end was in sight, opening up before them with a future he couldn't wait to get to. No more fear, no more pain. No more running. From anything. He looked down at Hermione, wondering if she could feel it, too.

"You ready to end this?" He asked, still holding the fangs in place.

"More than ready."

"Then let's get to Harry before we have a repeat of fifth year."

The first thing Ron noticed as they rounded the corner was that the rest of his family had shown up; he nearly tripped at the sight of Percy. Why was he here? And why did the rest of them look like they were fine with it? Obviously he had missed something. Right on the heels of that thought, he registered Harry's expression, chin thrust out and eyes radiating green fire.

"Hold on to your head, Hermione; he's got that look again." Ron muttered as Harry came towards them, his eyebrows hanging like stormclouds.

Ron braced himself for Harry's anger, but for once, he was actually listening first. Ron tried to help explain, but he kept getting distracted by Hermione. The way she said it made him sound as brilliant as she was. The expression on her face as she looked at him made him blush, and he suddenly remembered back in fifth year, and how he had wanted her to fuss over him the way he had seen other witches do with someone they fancied. He had tried for years to get her to look at him like that, and when she finally had...he hadn't really done anything at all. Alright, he had had a good idea, but he hadn't been making himself sick, pushing to be the best at something. When it came right down to it, he had just been doing wha had come naturally for him. And she liked that. She had been impressed by him...just being himself. And as much as he loved Quidditch, and as much as he liked actually being good at it, he thought he liked being appreciated for something that was a natural part of him, more than something he had had to work to become.

His feet barely felt like they touched the ground as he practically skipped down the hall, Running alongside Harry and Hermione.

A loud growl from his stomach distracted him from what Harry and Hermione were saying. The snack from Aberforth had worn off, and he could really use a sandwich or four before they started searching. Would the room be able to provide food, or maybe the house elves were still able to- he stopped. The house elves. Were they still here? Of course they were. With everything that had been going on here, he didn't think that Snape had been handing out socks as well. Which meant that they were going to be here during the fighting...and they were going to die. A vision of dozens of dead Dobbies lying scattered about the halls of Hogwarts filled his mind, and he knew he didn't have the stomach to see it. He tried to tell them what he was thinking, but for some reason, Harry thought he wanted them to fight. Why would he want that? That was how Dobby ended up with a knife buried in his chest.

He looked to see if Hermione agreed, and barely had time to brace himself as he saw her running in his direction, with no sign of slowing down. What? What?! Had he said something wrong? Was this going to be the Night of the Canaries, part two? Instead of sharp, hard beaks, a pair of soft lips was smashed against his, front teeth clicking. For one second he was frozen, standing there with an armful of Hermione Granger, and not knowing what to do. Years of dreaming hadn't been in vain though, and it was mere seconds before he was kissing her back, all of his pent up feelings flooding out. Words were a jumbled mess in his head; his heart was on fire and about to explode out of his chest. Her fingers were wrapped in the hair at the back of his neck, their bodies pressed tightly together as he swayed a little drunkenly.

_Hermione felt her own knees go weak at the shared sensation, dizzy with the onslaught of love that was washing over her. She had experienced so much of Ron's life, the highs and the lows, and it shook her to the bone to feel how happy he was just to have her in his arms. She wondered if she could ever feel the same, after this, knowing just how deeply he loved her, if she would ever be able to keep her heart from speeding up when he looked at her and she knew what he was feeling._

He wanted to stay like this forever, locked in this moment, listening to the soft gasps she made as their mouths moved together. But the annoying buzzing in his ears turned into the sound of Harry talking, and it struck Ron that they were very, very not alone, and they were giving Harry a show they should be charging him for. He had to laugh a little, at the expression on his friend's face, but he couldn't bring himself to be sorry. He had been waiting for this moment for so long that the wanting had become a part of him, and now that he had it he knew he wouldn't be able to let it go. Harry was just going to have to get used to it, or take his glasses off if he didn't want to see it. He still had an arm around Hermione, and he was ridiculously happy that she didn't show any sign of wanting to move away.

They couldn't stay like that forever, as much as he'd like to try. Harry was right, they had to get going. reluctantly he began to gather up fangs, catching her eye when Harry moved away.

"Later, after this is over...do you think we could?" He asked, hoping the answer was one he wanted to hear.

"Yes. Yes, we definitely can." She answered, and he noticed her lips were still slightly swollen from the force of their kisses.

He grinned, hefting his stack of fangs in his arms. Ending Voldemort, and kissing Hermione; this was gonna be the best day of his life.

_Hermione wished that was true. She wished he could have had this moment without the death and destruction that had followed. Had either of them truly gotten over it? They both still woke up some nights, screaming. Some nights they weren't even able to sleep at all, a memory triggered deep in their head and set on repeat. There had been healing, yes. The wounds were no longer bleeding, but there would always be raw spots, and aches that would flare up out of nowhere. As much as she loved their first kiss, she hated how it was always linked with what was about to follow._

Hands on his knees, Ron panted as as he glared at Malfoy and Goyle. He hadn't been kidding, earlier; he really would've spent an eternity as a ghost, strangling Harry repeatedly for getting them killed. Soot caked his face so thickly that he could feel it each time the muscles in his face flexed; he felt it making muddy little trails as the sweat rolled from his hairline. This would all be much easier if they didn't have to destroy Voldemort in fucking pieces. He was just about to suggest that they tie up Malfoy and Golye and leave them for someone else to deal with, when the spells from the battle reached them, and he was nearly thrown off his feet.

Unthinkingly he reached out and yanked Hermione down, holding his breath as a chunk of masonry narrowly missed her. screams erupted in the air, which became lit with red and green flashing lights. Amongst the dueling figures, Ron recognized Fred and Percy, and he did a doubletake. Earlier, in the back of his mind, he had figured Percy must have finally come to his senses, but it was still odd to see Fred looking at him so happily. Ron ducked as a curse passed over his head, darting glances at his brothers as he tried to fight his way closer, while at the same time making sure that Harry and Hermione were still with him. He nearly choked when Percy told Thicknesse that he was resigning; he hadn't heard Percy sound like that in years! Fred started to make a joke about it, but the sound of the world exploding cut him off.

Choking, Ron tried to blink the smoke out of his eyes, panicking at the hair-raising wail from Percy. Hell. Oh, hell, no. Had he been hurt? He hadn't even gotten a chance to make things up with him yet! As his blurry vision started to return to normal, he was relieved to see Percy still standing.

Until his eyes tracked down to see what Percy was staring at.

Buzzing filled Ron's ears as his eyes met those of his older brother's, shaking his head as the last reflection of light dimmed and died, that damned smirk still on his face. This wasn't-how could- this wasn't real! People were running around, yelling; he wanted to scream at them to shut up, to stop everything and change what had happened.

He heard himself telling Percy it was too late, but it didn't feel like his own voice. It sounded like he was listening to someone else over the wireless.

Hermione's scream roused him, and he swore loudly at the sight behind her; giant, fucking, spiders. With a yell, he hurled a spell alongside Harry, even though it wouldn't buy them much time. He grabbed her hand, knowing they had to move _now,_ pulling her along as he ran. A glance back nearly had him dry heaving, as he watched Percy and Harry fold Fred up like a collapsible table and carry him along. He wasn't sure where he was going, only that he had to get away, as fast as he could move.

Anger rose up within him, as hot and consuming as Fiendfyre, as he raged against Fred. What the hell had he been thinking? Why wasn't he with George? He'd be safe now if he had stayed behind, damn it! Why was he always having to poke his nose in, rushing into danger like it was a fucking game- a swirl of black cloth redirected his thoughts. This wasn't Fred's fault. This was all because of the Death Eaters! Look what they had done to Hogwarts, to his friends and family; what they were going to keep doing! Well, he wouldn't let them! He was gonna kill every last one of them, kill them so they couldn't take away anyone else he loved.

He looked around for a target, disoriented as he was jerked behind a tapestry. He glared blindly at Hermione, unable to figure out what she was doing.

Ron whirled on her, his voice frantic. "What are you doing? We have to get out there! I'm gonna kill every last one of them myself!"

Gripping his wand, he started to dart away, when he felt her arms wrap around him from behind. He tried to push away, but it was like having two thin bands of steel around his middle, dragging him back.

"Gerrof me! I have to-"

"If you think I'm letting go of you, you're bloody well mistaken," she snarled, before calling for Harry.

The sound of her cursing was enough to make him pause fractionally, but that was enough time for Harry to join them. He was still trying to get away from Hermione when Harry reached into Voldemort's mind, and thoughts of hunting down Death Eaters was momentarily replaced by worry for Harry. He was almost afraid that Harry was going to pass out, and when he looked into his friend's eyes, something he saw there made him very afraid. Forcing himself to calm down, he listened, and as the plan unfolded, he realized what had to be done. As much as he wanted to pick off the Death Eaters one by one, this was more important. Harry couldn't go, because that was what Voldemort wanted; it was the chessboard all over again.

His head whipped around as Hermione declared that she would be the one to go, and his snarled response was almost feral. There was no way in hell she was going! Not her, not Harry. He couldn't-he couldn't watch one of them die. Losing Fred had ripped apart something inside of him, and he knew he couldn't take another loss like that.

_Hermione cried from his other side, where she had been holding onto him as well. She had been so afraid, so afraid. If she hadn't been able to hold him in place, she knew he would have ended up getting himself killed. Ron...Ron didn't handle loss very well, as she had observed before, and the more he cared, the worse he reacted. It had been an amazing feat of self control for him to bury those feelings deep inside as they made their way to the Shack and back, but she could still feel it stirring inside of him, restless for release._

Snape was dead. Ron was still reeling from what he had seen in the Shack, as they made their way back into the castle. After years spent alternately fearing and hating the man, it was odd that watching him die hadn't brought him any joy. The old injustices still stung, and the insecurities that Snape had contributed to didn't suddenly lessen. All of that was still there, but Snape...wasn't.

A cluster of ginger hair stood out in the dim lighting, and Ron began to stumble towards his family, tears building behind his eyes. Bodies were lined up, and he tried not to recognize any of them as he passed. Don't look. Don't look. Don'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlook. But he did look; he couldn't help it. He tripped to a brief halt when he saw Lupin and Tonks lying side by side, their hands touching. Memories of Tonks clowning around Grimmauld Place, and how fucking _happy_ Lupin had looked at Shell Cottage flashed through his mind. He thought of Teddy, who would never get to know any of that. Another kid orphaned in a fucked up war, like some sort of passed down curse. It made him want to throw his head back and scream; scream, and never stop.

All other thoughts left his head once he was close enough to see Fred, or the parts of him that wasn't covered by his sobbing mum. He felt Bill wrap his arm around his shoulders, and he tried not to flinch away, remembering the last brother to do that. He was barely able to look at George, who was staring into space and rocking slightly, his lips forming words with no sound; maybe there didn't need to be sound for the person they were meant for to hear them. Percy...Percy looked absolutely shattered. Ron thought that he would feel more anger towards the brother that had abandoned them, but he didn't. Maybe because he had walked away at one point, too; he was just lucky enough to have made it back before something like this had happened. Percy was going to be miserable about this for the rest of his life...if he needed some kind of punishment, he already had it. Charlie was shaking, his face a deep red, and Ron knew there would be an explosion later. It always took Charlie awhile to work up to it, but it wouldn't be pretty once he let it out. He couldn't see Bill very well, since he was so close, but the one glimpse he got at his eyes was enough to let him know that his oldest brother thought he had failed. He knew that look well enough. He had seen it on his own face often enough after what Ginny went through second year. His mum was still crying as if she'd never stop, and Ron felt a surge of anger; one war had already taken away two of her brothers. Did she have to lose a son, too? He wondered if the irony that it had been a son named after a brother made it hurt any worse. Finally, he looked at his dad, who was kneeling quietly behind his mum. He hadn't been sure what he had expected, but for the first time, he saw his father as an old man.

Wait. Ginny. Where was-oh thank Merlin, Hermione was with her. For a moment, he had been afraid to ask where she was. It was good Hermione was helping her, because at the moment, he sure as hell couldn't. He wasn't even sure how he was holding himself together; maybe, like Charlie, it would all come bursting out later. He would almost welcome it. Anything would be better than this hollow numbness filling his chest. He didn't know how long he stood there, the sounds of his crying mixing and blending with that of his family. At one point, it all became too much, and he moved a few paces away, knowing he should stop looking at the body on the floor, but unable to keep his eyes from being drawn back. He kept waiting for Fred to pop up and say it was rude to stare at people while they were being dead.

_Hermione held him from behind, resting her head between his shoulders. Ron's grief had been heavy, and for months afterwards his temper would flare at seemingly random moments, and sometimes there would be periods of moody silences. It was all the more jarring, because often he could keep up an almost normal front, as he went about helping his family (and her) to deal with the aftermath. Even now, he still had days when the memories got too strong, and she had long ago realized that there was a hurt inside Ron-all of them-that was never going to completely heal._

He had hoped that talking to Hermione and Neville would distract him. Harry pulling one of his 'saving people alone' stunts was not the kind of distraction he was looking for. If there was just one thing he could pick about Harry that drove him mental, it would be his habit of making other people's choices for them, without giving them a chance to decide what they wanted to do. That was one of the reasons it had been so easy for him to believe that Harry had lied about putting his name in the Goblet. It would've been just like him to decide it was too dangerous to let anyone join him. Ron was more of a mind that if one was going to do something to get their neck broken, they both would; he might not like whatever they were doing, but he wanted to be there, damn it!

Looking into Hermione's eyes, he knew he wasn't just being pessimistic. She knew what Harry was doing just as well as he did, and what the outcome would be if they couldn't find a way to help him. The scream from outside froze the center of his bones; he was intimately aware of the sound of loss, and although he wasn't sure who he was hearing, in his heart he already knew what it meant. The muscles in his legs burned as he bolted for the door, his height allowing him to get there several strides ahead of Hermione and Neville. Hagrid was walking towards the castle, his great shoulders heaving as he cradled something in his arms. Ron could only make out a bit hanging from either side; a worn out trainer that he knew as well as his own, and which had been scattered across his room hundreds of time. And at the other end...

A shock of black hair, that one constantly out of place lock waving in the breeze.

Hermione was screaming, and he thought he was too, but he couldn't be sure. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't lose two brothers in one night! The universe wasn't that unfair, was it? He wasn't even aware of the words coming out of his mouth.

"No. No. Nonononono. This isn't real. It can't be."

He couldn't believe it was true. They had-they had always managed to win in the end, no matter what they had gone through. How could Harry die, just as it was finally ending? But he had. He had gone off without him, and now Ron was going to have to watch as he was lined up with the others like broken chess pieces. Next to Lupin, and Tonks, Colin, and...Fred. He looked down at Hermione, the only thing besides Harry he could come close to focusing on, because she knew that it was the same for her.

Chocolate Frogs on a train. Quidditch practice. staying up all night during summer vacations. There should have been more. There should have been double dates with Hermione and Ginny. There should have been kids to tell embarrassing stories to. There should have been everything, and now it was...gone.

"I can't lose two of them." He whispered brokenly.

Another large piece of his heart broke off inside of him, and Ron didn't think he was going to be able to put himself back together after this. Too many losses, too fast. He didn't want to watch this anymore, he thought numbly, as Neville began to speak to Voldemort. He was tired of watching people die, of trying as hard as he could to stop it, with all of his efforts turning out to be fucking useless. He was so, so tired...He wanted to lay down next to Fred, and sleep. Maybe that would be enough to make the pain go away.

Just as he thought that Neville was going to be another name added to the list, everything changed, moving at a pace that was difficult to keep up with. And to be honest, he didn't care that he didn't know half of what was going on, or why; all he knew was that Harry was alive! Harry was alive, and that meant that not everything was lost. Seconds ago he had felt as ancient as the stones of the castle; now energy was zinging through his veins, spurring him to hold on just a little longer.

_It was hard for Hermione to bring herself out of Ron's despair. Harry's death had nearly crushed both of them, but coming right on the heels of Fred dying had nearly pushed Ron too far. It wouldn't have surprised her if he had launched himself directly at Voldemort, not caring what the consequences would be. She had managed to hold him back earlier, but she wasn't sure she would have been able to do it a second time. Ron's bond with Harry was as strong as if they had been actual brothers, and the depths of his of his pain at losing him was only equaled by the joy he felt when he realized he wasn't dead._

_The second half of the battle had been more tense than the first, both sides desperate to gain an edge. It had been hard to keep track of everyone, and she felt Ron panic every time he lost sight of her or Harry. He held nothing back as he fired curses at every Death Eater that came within range; he took particularly vindictive pleasure at seeing Greyback go down, and Hermione knew he had several reasons to feel that way. There were a few tight moments before he was able to get through two masked figures in his way, and the shock of what he was seeing nearly made his wand drop. Hermione was afraid; if he hadn't kept moving, he would have been a perfect target, but Molly had just stepped in to fight Bellatrix, and Ron had been momentarily powerless to think straight._

His mum was dueling Bellatrix Lestrange. Of all the things in the world he could have imagined, that was something Ron had never believed he would see. He didn't know why, though. Mum had been in the first war, after all. She hadn't sat off to the side, making biscuits the whole time. Just because she didn't like to fight didn't mean she couldn't, and Ron knew there was no surer way to get her to raise her wand than to threaten the family. Most people only saw her in two modes; Domesticated Jumper Knitter, or Interfering Nag. There was more to her than that. A lot more.

He wanted to help, but held himself back. She had already made Hermione, Luna, and Ginny get out of the way, and she couldn't spare the distraction he knew he would be if he tried to step in. A seconds loss of attention would get her killed. But she didn't need help; Bellatrix might not know that expression, but he did, and anyone who stood in the way of it was going down. Even before the last curse hit, he knew who was going to win. Bellatrix was filled with hate; a person like that could never understand that love wasn't a soft emotion when it was threatened.

_Ron, Hermione thought, was very much like his mum. Both protected themselves from being hurt by a thin layer of bluster, and both could be sharp when someone pierced that layer. But heaven help the person who was hurting someone they cared about, because they would soon find themselves staring down the length of a wand, with a very angry Weasley at the end of it._

Harry's duel with Voldemort was just as hard to watch. Just like with his Mum, he knew stepping in would end up getting them all killed. In some ways, it was actually harder. He was used to his Mum standing her ground, used to her coming in and taking control of a situation. It was different with Harry. They had always done everything together. Ever since first year, Ron had done his best to stand with him, so he wouldn't have to do it alone. He knew he hadn't always been the best at that, but he had tried! And now Harry was having to do it alone, just like he always said. It felt wrong to stand on the sidelines, watching with everyone else. But this was Harry's fight. He knew that. And he believed in Harry-every word that Harry was saying told him that Harry knew he was going to win. Stepping in now would be like saying he didn't believe him. Twice, he had let his doubts win out over his trust in Harry. Twice he had walked away when his best friend had needed him. He wouldn't fail him a third time.

He just hadn't realized how much faith it took to stand still.

Luckily, he hadn't been forced to do it for very long; it may have felt like an eternity, but it was over faster than you would think something that important would take. Even as he was running towards Harry, he couldn't help but think that Voldemort, lying on the ground, stripped of all his power, looked like little more than the corpse of a crumpled old crow. He crashed into Harry, with Hermione only half a step behind him. There was hardly time to take a breath before what felt like the entire crowd joined them, pushing and shoving at a chance to get to Harry. He wished the three of them could get away, but he couldn't really blame them for wanting to see for themselves, either. Harry had defeated Voldemort twice, after all, so he was going to have to get used to the attention. More than that, though, was the fact that the people trying to get closest to him were the ones who had stood by him all these years; McGonagall, Hagrid...even his parents. He knew Harry would come to them when he could, and now that Voldemort was gone, they had all the time in the world.

Pulling Hermione out of the crowd, he wondered if it was a good idea to have quite so much time. Now that it was over and everything was slowing down, he had time to think, and he didn't like the subjects that pushed their way to the front of his mind. Where was Fred? How were they going to get him home? They couldn't-they couldn't leave him there. There was going to be a funeral. There were going to be _lots_ of funerals. How would they decide who went first? Hermione said she wanted to sleep, but how could he face the nightmares he was sure to have, if his imagination was this bad while he was awake? He almost regretted saying anything; he was trying not to break down in front of her, not yet ready to lose the one good thing he had going for him.

" _As if you could lose me for that!" Hermione snapped, knowing that this line of thought was responsible for a brief period of pulling away on Ron's part later. She had never, not once, thought his mourning was a sign of weakness. One of Ron's problems was that he always tried to be strong for everyone else, but would never come out and say when he needed help, too. It was endearing that he would do whatever he could to comfort his loved ones, but frustrating that he considered it a weakness when the tables were turned. She suspected he still did that, to a point. Now that she was seeing things from his point of view, she planned to look for the signs, and try to best figure out how to get him to voice his needs._

_She stood back as things sped up when Harry arrived, slowing back down again once he was on his way to bed, leaving the two of them alone again. They had tried to join the adults in the Great Hall, but they had been quickly sent away. Ron was embarrassed at how grateful he was, but Hermione understood. It wasn't that he didn't want to help, because he did. Right now, though, detailed decisions were beyond his ability. It was all he could do at the moment to grasp the fact that Fred was dead; there was no way he could sit down and discuss things like when the funeral would be, and whether there should be individual funerals at all, or one large memorial service._

Ron took the clothes that Hermione handed him from her beaded bag, and made his way slowly up the stairs. He was so filthy that he could barely stand the smell of himself, and wanted to scrub the reek of blood and death off of his body before he did anything else. Before he headed to the showers, he couldn't help peeking into their old dorm to check on Harry. Harry, he found, hadn't been as particular. Face down on the mattress, his feet hung over the edge, trainers still on. Leaning on the doorframe, he waited long enough to watch Harry's back rise and fall, taking comfort from each visible breath. He had nearly lost them both, Harry and Hermione, and he wondered how long it would be before he stopped having to randomly reassure himself that they were still with him.

Harry gave a very alive sounding snore, much like a large hog; Ron shook his head, backing out of the room. His footsteps echoed oddly in the halls, and Ron thought to himself that he had never felt the school so empty. He knew most people were sticking together downstairs, or else had gone home, and he wondered if the ones who were left had been told to leave Harry and them alone. That was fine with him, because they were the only ones he wanted to see, himself. He knew he should want to see his family, but he couldn't help wanting to put it off. Once he did, he would have to accept...things he wasn't ready to accept yet. Right now he could still hang onto moments of pretending to forget.

Habit led him to the last shower on the left, and he shucked out of his clothes, tossing them in a heap on the floor. They were probably too damaged to be saved. And if they weren't, he didn't want them anyway. He stepped into the spray of water, squinting his eyes against the droplets. For nearly ten minutes, he didn't do anything but let the water run over him, staring down at the blackish liquid swirling down the drain. Every so often, there would be a stream of red from an open cut, and he saw that it would never run clear unless he actually used some soap. He set about scrubbing himself, so disconnected that he didn't even feel the pain as he rubbed over cuts and scrapes, and spending several minutes trying to scrape away a large portion of dirt, only to realize that it was a bruise that wrapped part way around his ribs. He was so tired. Tired of...he didn't know. Right now he wasn't sad, or angry. There was nothing inside, nothing real that he could touch.

The knobs squeaked under his hands as he twisted them, first to scalding hot, then to freezing cold. He just wanted to feel something, anything, other than the numbness that was creeping over him. The steam from the shower felt suddenly thick enough to choke him, and with a small grunt of frustration, he cut the water off completely. He dressed quickly in the pajama trousers and thin shirt that Hermione had given him, not bothering to do anything about his injuries. They'd heal. Or not. Whatever. The inside of his mouth felt sour, so he went to brush his teeth, and noticed the thick layer of stubble in the mirror. He had never been one to try for facial hair, and while it had gotten out of control a few times while they were on the run, he had never had the chance to really look at himself when it was this bad.

Staring in the mirror, he ran a hand over it, not liking how it didn't feel like himself. He dug around for a razor, lifting it to his cheek. He had spent the better part of an hour trying to scrub away an invisible taint, trying to peel all the layers away until he felt like himself again. Very carefully, he pressed the blade to his skin, and scraped away the stiff ginger hairs. Slowly, methodically, he repeated the process, until there was only fresh pink skin remaining. He studied the mirror again. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

Not wanting to be in there any longer, he grabbed his wand and headed back to his room. Harry was still asleep, so Ron crawled into his own bed, shutting the curtains and lying back against the pillows. If he closed his eyes, it was almost like they had never left; the mattress felt the same under his body, and the sounds and smells were the same as they had always been. Only he had changed, but if he held still enough, he could pretend that away, too.

But only for so long. Sleep wouldn't come, and the more he tried not to think about what had happened, the more he remembered. The war itself might be over, but he had been stupid to think that things ended there. They weren't going to get on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow, and leave their problems behind, like they had been able to in some years. It felt strange to think that there were people out there celebrating. He wished he could, but what did he have to celebrate? Aside from Harry being alive, of course. But he didn't want to think of that, because then he had to think of how close Harry had come to actually dying, and the ones who actually had. He just wanted to think of something good! Something that wasn't twisted up with everything else.

The answer came to him almost immediately, as if it had been waiting for his attention. Hermione. She had kissed him! His fingers reached up to trace over his lips, hardly able to comprehend it. He had been hoping-hoping wasn't really a strong enough word-for something like that to happen. Not only had they finally kissed, but he thought that they were actually on the same page about where they wanted to go with this. And that was a good thing, wasn't it? Unless it hadn't meant to her what it did to him. Or if she decided to chuck him once she realized how messed up the inside of his head was. He was snapped out of this depressing train of thought by the sound of someone else in the room.

Ron half sat up, reaching for his wand, then relaxed when he saw that it was her. "Hermione? What is it, did something happen?"

"I couldn't sleep. Is it...is it alright if I stay here?"

His fingers wrapped around her wrist, tugging her up onto the bed. "Course it is. Why would you even ask?"

One arm snaked around his waist as he pulled her close to him, and he noticed her hair was shorter now. He gave a hiss as she wedged her cold feet between his calves, but he didn't pull away.

"I just didn't want to be a bother."

Ron gently tilted her head up, even though it was too dark to see clearly. "It's not a bother to have you with me, Hermione."

Her arm moved from his waist to her face, and he couldn't resist pushing against it, finding her touch comforting. Wanting to forget everything else, he let his hand slide along her jaw, delighting in the fact that she was warm and alive. The tip of his thumb met the softness of her lower lip, but before he could move on, she shifted to kiss it. The gesture was so powerfully intimate that it took his breath away, and he was filled with a desperate need to hear that this was real. He felt fit to burst between his pain and his love for her, and knew he couldn't bear to keep doing this if it wasn't going to last.

"Hermione...Hermione, about what happened earlier. It-it wasn't a one time thing, was it? Because...I don't really think I could take it if it was." He said, his voice strained.

"It wasn't. At least, I don't want it to be. But what do you want, Ron?"

What did he want? How could she possibly not know? "Same thing I've wanted for years; you."

"Then you have me."

At the feel of her wiggling closer, he couldn't stop himself; he wanted to try to recapture the moment they had shared , his forehead touched hers, before she felt him angle his head more, and his lips ghosted against hers hesitantly, as if unsure of his welcome. Happy that he had taken the lead for once, Hermione slipped her hand around to the back of his head, pressing their lips together more firmly. It wasn't as fast or as frenzied as their first kiss; this was softer, with more careful exploration. An extra loud snore from Harry's bed made them jerk apart, before giggling awkwardly.

"I suppose we really should get some sleep," Hermione whispered, and he was gratified that she sounded reluctant.

"I guess," he answered glumly, not making anymore advances, but not letting go, either. "Not that I'll be able to. Hadn't even slept a wink before you got here." He added, not wanting to be an added source of tiredness, "But you probably need your rest."

"I hadn't slept, either. I keep thinking...what now? What will I do tomorrow? Where will I go? For nearly a year, I've had a, well, a purpose, a direction. Now that it's over, I don't know quite what I should do."

"What do you mean? You'll come to the Burrow, of course. There's gonna be lots of..." his voice cracked with pain, "Things to take care of, and you still need to get checked out at St. Mungo's. Even if you're stubborn and won't go, you still need at least a few weeks to rest."

"Ron, that's very sweet of you, but...I really shouldn't. You're family needs to be together right now, and I'd only be in the way."

Ron made a frustrated noise. "What are you talking about? Do you really think my mum would let you and Harry-"

"Well, of course Harry will go with you! and he should; he's practically family, after all. But I'm-"

"Just as much a part of the family as Harry is!" Ron said heatedly.

She had to come! How else would he know she was safe? He found that he needed everyone to be at the Burrow, all in one place where he could make sure that they were still alright. He didn't want to lose her, now that they were finally together; there had been so much time lost already, and he didn't want them to be apart until they had to be. Maybe it was selfish, but he knew things were going to be hard; having her close helped to ease the ache in his heart, and he hoped she would let him do the same for her.

"And maybe," Ron added in a smaller voice, "a little bit more, in some ways." He pulled her closer, until her head was tucked under his chin. His voice was shaky when next he spoke. "Hermione, please. I know the war is over, but everything else is pretty much shot to hell. I need...I need something good to hold onto, or else I think I'll go completely mental."

"Then I'll come, if you're sure-"

"I'm sure. Very sure." He sighed, and bent awkwardly to kiss the top of her head.

The night had been filled with dark and ugly things. It had taken things from him that he would never get back again. He still wasn't sure how he was going to handle that, but he thought, as she snuggled closer to him, that maybe, just maybe, there would be a bit of sunlight when the morning finally came. He shifted to get more comfortable, making sure he didn't hurt her as he moved. If he held on, he thought that they might be alright.

_She had been afraid of pushing too far, too fast. Many families would prefer to be alone while they were grieving, and she had forgotten, or had never fully realized, that once the Weasleys took you in, you were a part of everything. And it had meant so much for her to hear that Ron had needed her, because she had truly wanted to be there for him. Which was why it had hurt later, when she had thought he was pulling away from her. She smiled wryly as she watched him wrap himself more tightly around her; how she had ever thought he would do that willingly was beyond her._

_It had taken a bit to get him set straight on several things, but once she had...she smiled._

" _Oh, Ron. We're so much better than alright."_


	41. Chapter 41

**A.N. Here we go! Things have been hectic, so please forgive any typos. I know I said Australia would be in this update, but I couldn't squeeze it in; it's in the very first part of the next update though! After that, there will probably be larger gaps in time, highlighting key moments without going into day by day detail. Some things will definitely be touched on, such as Hermione going back to Hogwarts, Ron helping George and starting Auror training, and moving in together and proposals; just no long, drawn out scenes of what they had for breakfast on the morning of January 21st, 2001.**

**(And for those thinking things seem to be going smoothly, and there's not much reason for therapy at this point, don't worry; it is intentional and will be addressed. For those that are thoroughly enjoying the fluff and are afraid of things becoming angstier than they have to be, you don't worry, either.)**

It was three days after the battle at Hogwarts.

Only one more night until Fred's funeral.

The air in the Burrow's sitting room was so heavy that you could have cut it; no one knew what to say, or where to look. Conversations were started, before stuttering to a halt. Short, jerky movements were made as people reached for things to distract themselves, before changing their minds. It was depressing, it was tense, and it was uncomfortable, and Hermione would have cheerfully stayed there for another eight hours if it meant that she didn't have to go up to bed.

The first night had lulled her into a false sense of security. It must have been a combination of exhaustion, sharing a bed with Ron, and a room with Harry. As much as she loved Ginny, she just wasn't the same as the boys, especially after months sharing a tent. With each night, the nightmares were getting worse, until she would wake up in a tangle of sweaty sheets, unable, for a few moments, to separate dreams from reality. Last night she had woke up Ginny as she started to scream, and was thankful that Ginny had had the presence of mind to cast a silencing spell, before she woke the whole house. Tonight she planned to cast one herself before going to bed, just in case. She wished she could go up to Ron's room and stay with him and Harry, but she knew that Molly would never allow it. And in the emotional state the older woman was in, Hermione wasn't about to push her. Ron's parents were both devastated, but his mum was handling it the worst; most of the time, she stayed in her room, and Hermione was sure she wasn't eating half of the trays that she and Fleur were sending in.

Not that the rest of the family was faring much better. The rims of their eyes had begun to permanently match their hair, and it wasn't unusual to hear muffled sobbing coming from some part of the house. Hermione was worried about all of them (including Harry, whose case of survivor's guilt was settling in), but most of all, she was worried about Ron. She was willing to admit that she might be unfairly biased when it came to him, possibly from long years of knowing him the best, or maybe because of the new aspect of their relationship. Whatever it was, it hurt her to see him hurting, and she wished she knew what to do for him.

While his eyes were as red as the others', she didn't think she had actually seen him cry. He had hardly said a word since they arrived at the Burrow, and right now, he was currently sitting beside her on the sofa, staring off into space, at something she couldn't see. On impulse, she reached for his hand, and gave it a squeeze. At her touch, he gave a sharp jerk, as if he had forgotten she was there. She almost thought she had done the wrong thing when he pulled his hand away, before she saw his shaky smile as he put his arm around her, pulling her in to lean against him. Given the circumstances, it probably wasn't entirely appropriate, but Hermione found that she didn't care overly much. For one thing, the contact made Ron appear more connected with everything around him, instead of drifting of into his own dark thoughts. And, selfishly, she was getting comfort from him, as well. Besides, it didn't look like anyone minded; it wasn't like they were snogging or anything, so where was the harm?

_It had been a pretty dismal time, Ron thought, as he stood off to one side. The media was constantly lurking around, trying to catch them whenever they left the Burrow to attend a funeral. He wasn't sure if it would've been better if Fred's had been earlier or not; getting it over with might have been nice, but it had also given them a few days to...not get used to it-he still wasn't, really-but to brace himself for it. He wasn't sure why they had picked that day; he just knew that there were so many, that most of the funerals had been drawn out, so everyone could go to the ones they needed to. His entire family had been lost in a sea of miserable shock. He had read once-or maybe Hermione had read it and told him-that sometimes people that lost a limb still felt it; that it hurt even though it wasn't there anymore, even if it felt like it still was. He reckoned that was what losing Fred was like._

_Hermione shouldn't have been worried so much. Everyone who had a significant other had gravitated closer together, even Harry and Ginny, who were still working out how to get back together. In fact, Ginny was on the other side of Hermione, running her fingers through Harry's hair while he sat on the floor, leaning against her leg._

She was so tired, and it was so comfortable, with his arm around her; she found her eyelids drifting closed, lulled by the reassuring beat of his heart echoing in the ear she had pressed into his chest. She was barely aware when his dad stuck his head in, on his way back to his room from fetching some tea.

"You kids should think about turning in; Hermione looks like she's about to fall asleep right there," he said quietly, his lips twisting in an attempted smile.

"Yeah, we should get some sleep," Bill agreed, helping a tired looking Fleur to her feet.

Percy started to say something to George, then bit his lip; he shot Charlie a pleading look, darting his eyes back to George.

Charlie put his hand on George's arm. "C'mon, George. Time to go up," he said, his voice taking on the gentleness he usually reserved for newly hatched dragons.

Blinking rapidly, George looked up with a small nod, allowing himself to be led to the stairs, with Percy following a few paces behind.

Hermione felt Ron shifting, and she dreaded the moment that she finally had to move. Wildly, she thought about challenging him to a game of chess, but the dark circles under his eyes made her bite back her words. He obviously needed what little rest he could get; tomorrow was going to be hard, and she didn't want to make it worse because of her selfishness.

_That was something that Ron just couldn't understand. Hermione would go toe to toe with you to try to drive home a point, and harp and nag at you endlessly until you came around to doing something her way. But for some reason, the moment she had a perfectly natural human need, she felt selfish. He knew her parents hadn't raised her to feel that way; they weren't as...loud as his family, but they were always affectionate towards her, and had never acted like it was a bother. When they were younger, both he and Harry had been exasperated with her loads of times, but that was only because of the methods she used to try to get them to do something. Neither one of them had ever begrudged her anything along the lines of a shoulder to lean on._

It didn't stop her from moving as slowly as possible, though; she made sure she was the last one up the stairs, Ron walking beside her after giving her a curious glance, which she pretended not to see. The stairs creaked loudly under her feet, unused to anything but the usual dash of Weasley feet pounding up and down them. Spotting Harry and Ginny standing in front of Ginny's door, sharing a hug, she stopped at the end of the hall to give them some privacy. She shot Ron a look, ready to keep him back if he decided to interfere, but relaxed when she saw that he didn't look upset. Concerned, maybe, but thankfully showing no signs of playing the protective older brother.

_Oh, he had been concerned, alright; but for both of them, not just Ginny. He knew they were trying to work things out, and he didn't want either one of them ending up hurt. He just wasn't going to be stupid enough to step into the middle of it, especially when he was still sorting his own love life out._

"I guess I'll head on up..." Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Deciding that Harry and Ginny didn't have a monopoly on hugging, she slid her arms around him, hoping to prolong the moment. "You should try to get some sleep," she agreed.

Above her, Ron snorted, even as he returned the embrace. "Not bloody likely. Doubt I'll sleep at all, the next couple of days."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could be there to help."

He gave her a squeeze. "Yeah, me too. Mum would have a fit, though."

Hermione didn't bother mentioning that his mum wouldn't even notice; there was no sense in pointing out she was hurting so badly that she had no time to think about if her children were behaving properly.

"Hermione? Are you coming to bed?" Ginny called from inside her room, Harry waving goodnight before he started up the next set of stairs.

"Damn it, I didn't interrupt them, did I?" Ron complained, before taking a step back.

She wasn't exactly pleased, either. "I'm coming, just a minute," she said over her shoulder, before turning back to Ron. "Please, at least try to get some sleep, or else you'll make yourself sick."

He sighed, then smiled wryly. "Alright, if you will, too. We're starting to have matching sets of luggage," he said, gesturing under his eyes.

"I will. Goodnight, Ron."

"G'night..."

He looked like we was going to lean in for a kiss, but he must have seen Ginny over her shoulder, because he changed his mind, and followed the path Harry had taken up the stairs. Hermione watched until he was out of sight, before joining Ginny in her room, where the other girl had already halfway changed into her pajamas. Ginny pulled back the thin quilt and sheet, crawling into the bed.

"Sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to get in the way of anything."

Hermione reached for her own nightclothes, noticing that Ginny was rather pale, her freckles standing out starkly in the lamplight.

"You didn't, really. Is everything alright with you and Harry?"

Ginny gave a sharp shrug. "Yes. No. Well, it will be, once we can...get through everything else."

Hermione realized that part of 'everything else' was her brother's death and funeral. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she wasn't sure what to say. Everything seemed horribly...inadequate. The same polite niceties that they had all been parroting the past few days, knowing that it meant absolutely nothing to those affected. Ginny must have seen the look on her face, for she shook her head jerkily, turning over on her side.

"Don't, Hermione. Please don't say anything. It just makes it worse, somehow."

Instead, Hermione reached over and placed her hand on Ginny's shoulder, knowing it was a small comfort, but it was from the heart. After a few moments, she turned out the lamp, and curled up in the bed beside Ginny's.

Both girls were so lost in their own thoughts, that they forgot to put up the Silencing spells...

Someone was following her. Hermione could hear the high, cackling laugh floating behind her, coming closer. She felt for her wand, but it was gone; she started to run, knowing she was dead if she was caught. She fled down twisting corridors that seemed to twist back on themselves, never gaining ground. It was hard to catch her breath, and she gave a short yelp as part of the ceiling caved in behind her, stone narrowly missing her head. Darting down another hall, she nearly stumbled over a heap of clothes in her path; righting herself, she let out a sob, recognizing the bodies of Harry and Ginny, piled together like two broken dolls. Without a closer look, she knew they were dead. The laughter behind her became louder, forcing her onward. Rounding a corner, she saw that part of the building had been destroyed. A large section of the walls had fallen inward, and propped against the rubble was someone with bright red hair, sightless eyes staring at her as blood dripped from their temple.

Ron.

A scream forced its way up in her chest, a wild, mindless howl of despair that felt like it would never end. It collided and mingled with the laughter, her end coming nearer and nearer, but she no longer cared. Everyone was gone, gone, go-

"Hermione! Hermione, wake up!"

Light flashed into her eyes as she slowly blinked them open, turning her head from side to side, trying to see where she was. Ron was half holding her, his face pale as he bent over her with a worried frown. It looked like she was in the hall by the stairs...along with what looked like his entire family, all of them craning their necks to look at her. Blushing with embarrassment, she focused on Ron.

"I...what happened?"

"What happened? You nearly broke your neck falling down the bloody stairs, that's what happened!" He barked, fear evident in his voice and the way he was gripping her.

"Ron!" Molly snapped, surprising both of them. "Hermione, dear, what happened?" She asked more softly, coming up the stairs she had been standing on below, Arthur beside her.

Hermione wanted to sink through the floorboards. Ginny was looking guilty, while Fleur seemed like she was trying not to say something; Harry looked almost as bad as Ron, and it wouldn't have surprised her if he was thinking up some way it was his fault.

"I'm sorry; I think it was just a nightmare," she muttered, knowing it was an understatement.

_Ron had never believed it had been a simple nightmare; none of theirs were, really. Not then. He had Harry had both been woken up by her screaming, and had nearly knocked each other over trying to get downstairs, only to see Ginny yanking Hermione back from falling down a flight herself. There was a sharp curve at that point, and Ron had been sick at the thought of what might have happened._

She began to relax a little at the feel of Ron's arms around her, as he murmured something she couldn't make out into her hair. His heart was beating fast, probably from fear-but it was beating, and all she wanted to do was let the sound lull her into the first peaceful sleep since they had left Hogwarts. His mother seemed to have other ideas.

"Alright, everyone get back to bed. Give the poor girl room to breathe!" Molly said, waving her hand. "Come along, dear. We'll get you back into bed, with some nice tea to help you sleep."

Mrs Weasley looked like she needed to be in bed herself; her eyes were nearly swollen shut, and she was trembling even as she helped Hermione to her feet. Hermione looked at Ron, who had stood up as well, and was still hovering over her, even as everyone else began to drift back to their rooms.

"Are you alright? You're not alright. Do you need me to sleep outside the door in case it happens again? Because-"

"Ron, go to bed. What Hermione needs is sleep; we all do." Mrs. Weasley interrupted, gently pushing him aside.

"But Mum, she nearly-"

"We'll put up Wards on the stairs like we did when all of you were little, so I promise she'll be safe. Ginny, would you please go fetch Hermione some tea? From the blue tin, please."

Gently propelled into the room, Hermione balked at the side of the bed. She knew that she was just going to end up having the same nightmare again, no matter how many cups of tea she drank. The only time she felt somewhat safe was when she was with Ron and Harry; she needed to know they were alright, and it was comforting to be cuddled by Ron. She loved Mrs. Weasley and she hated to cause trouble, especially now of all times, but she needed whatever happiness and reassurance she could get right now, and she wasn't going to sacrifice it for some sense of propriety. Snatching her wand off of the bedside table, she quickly stalked out of the room, ignoring the surprised cries from those behind her.

With an air of purpose, she marched up the stairs to Ron's room, several pairs of footsteps behind her. Unsurprisingly, Ron was the first one to reach her as she stood in his doorway.

"Hermione, what are you doing? You know I'd let you stay, but Mum'll go spare if-hey!" He yelped, as she pointed her wand, flipping his mattress off the bed.

With a wordless spell, the mattress began to stretch, spreading across the floor, bending around furniture until every square inch was covered. Another flick of her wand, and Ron's pillows and blankets multiplied, falling in a scattered heap. Hermione plucked up one of each, then promptly plopped to the ground, and proceeded to get comfortable.

"That is _brilliant._ " Ginny pronounced from beside Ron, shouldering him out of the way as she joined Hermione, grabbing her own blanket and pillow.

I suppose this makes up for all of the sleepovers I never had when I was young, Hermione thought, as Ginny curled up in front of her, Ron and Harry gaping at them both in disbelief.

"What on earth is going-no. Ginny, back to your room!" Mrs. Weasley puffed, having caught up with them. "Hermione, surely you realize that this isn't appropriate, for you to be sleeping in here-"

"I don't care!" Hermione cut in, her voice coming out more shrilly than she had intended. She clenched her fist around her wand, dropping her gaze to her rapidly whitening knuckles. "I'm sorry. Really. But I'm so tired, and I keep trying and trying, but the nightmares- _everything_ is getting worse, and maybe this _is_ inappropriate, but," she looked up then, her eyes pleading with his mother to understand, "But this is the only place I feel _safe!"_

At her admission, Ron and Harry both joined her and Ginny on the floor. "That's enough for me. Sorry, Mum, but either you let her stay here, or I'll just go down to Ginny's."

"It isn't like we didn't share a tent for months," Harry added, placing himself conveniently beside Ginny.

"But that was-I still think-"

"Molly," Arthur said quietly, placing his hand on his wife's shoulder, "Leave them be. They're all well over age, or mostly, and I for one wouldn't deny them the comfort. Besides," he continued, when she showed signs of protesting, "I really don't think we have to worry about anything while Ginny and Ron are sharing the room."

Both siblings turned a faint shade of green, staring at each other with alarmed disgust.

Mrs. Weasley slumped, clearly having reached the point where she couldn't fight anymore. Under normal circumstances she would never have given up so easily, but there was only so much she could handle right now.

"Alright," she sighed, rubbing her temples, "I can see when I'm outnumbered. Just...behave."

"After Dad's comment, there's not much of a chance we wouldn't," Ron muttered as his parents left.

The four of them arranged themselves carefully, with Hermione and Ginny in the middle, facing each other. Harry was behind Ginny, looking rather awkward and unsure until she yanked him down with a muttered, "Oh, honestly; we'll figure things out later. Stop thinking so much."

Ron, however, spooned up behind Hermione as naturally as you please, both sighing a little in contentment as he slid his arm around her waist. With her wand under her pillow within easy reach, and her back nestled tightly against Ron, Hermione felt calmer than she had in days. Some might find it silly that she was behaving in such a manner, or relying on Ron so much. They would say that she needed to be strong, and do it herself. But, quite frankly, she was too tired to do it herself, and she didn't really want to have to. And really, why should anyone have to get through this alone? It wasn't as if she wasn't planning on doing the same for him. And she hadn't been lying when she said that this was where she felt safest. She loved his family, and she knew that they cared for her. Harry, of course, was like a brother. With Ron, she knew that if anything happened during the night, his first reaction would be to make sure she was alright. She could trust Ron fully, and with the nightmares she had been having, that was something she needed badly right now. After everything, she needed something good to believe in...and if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that Ron fit that description for her perfectly.

_To say that he was staggered would be an understatement. How could she have so much faith in someone who didn't even know if he was doing the right thing? He had known that he hadn't always read her signals right, and he had been scared he would ruin everything in those first months. He had never really considered how much just being there and letting her know she had his support meant to her. There were times when he felt like he wasn't contributing much-not for lack of trying, just...Hermione always seemed to have it together for the most part. Maybe he was doing more than he thought. he'd like to think so, at least._

_The scene began to shift, and Ron found he was digging his nails into the palms of his hands at what he dreaded was coming next._

There were so many people, Hermione thought, as she sat next to Ron. She wondered how many of them had actually known Fred, then decided that it didn't really matter. They were here to honor him, and to support the family, and that was what counted. She shifted a little, still wondering if it was right for her to be sitting with the family. She hadn't planned on it, but when Ron had finally come down, he hadn't released the tight grip he had on her hand when she made to go sit farther back. His parents had seemed fine with it, and Harry was sitting beside Ginny, so she supposed it was alright. Not that she would move, even if it wasn't. Ron needed her there, so nothing would have budged her.

Against her will, her eyes fell on the glossy wood of the plain coffin, and fresh tears welled up in her eyes. This...this shouldn't be happening. Fred was supposed to be with George, both of them teasing her and Ron about finally getting together. He was supposed to dance with her at her wedding, wearing that smug smile as he rubbed it in that he always knew it would happen. He, along with George, was supposed to be the uncle that her children adored for giving them wildly inappropriate gifts, while she rolled her eyes and threatened to take them away, but actually let them keep. He wasn't supposed to be the piece that was missing; the darkness in eight sets of eyes.

_Pushing aside his own grief from watching his brother's funeral for a second time (an entirely fucked up and unfair situation, in his opinion), Ron was deeply touched by her thoughts about Fred. Outsiders might be surprised that it had hit her that hard, but they shouldn't be. Hermione had known them since she was eleven, had been sorted into the same House, and had spent months of vacation time with them. They clashed a few times over the rules at school, but outside of that, they had gotten along; including Ginny, the five of them had bonded rather well during the summer before fifth year when they had stayed at Grimmauld Place, and had had to work together to get any kind of information from the adults._

_Sometimes when he thought about Fred, he would get might sound stupid, since there were seven other people who had lost him too, but it was more like feeling lonely for the future he knew he had without Fred in it. And now he saw that...Hermione got it. It wasn't as strong for her as it was for him-couldn't be-but all of the things she was regretting Fred not being there for, were things he had mourned as well. Because Fred absolutely would've been taking the mickey out of him about now, both him and George driving him mad about how it took him long enough. Ron could picture him dancing with Hermione at their wedding, that smug smirk on his face. And an uncle...Merlin, he would've been terrific, even if Ron knew he probably would've given their kids something gross or troublesome that he'd be the one to end up dealing with. He laughed, even as tears ran down his face. It would've been worth it...He still had moments when Fred's absence would hit him hard, things that he should be there to share, but wasn't. It helped knowing that when he felt like that, Hermione would know what he meant._

She tensed when he stood, leaning forward automatically as Ron and the rest of his siblings went up to the coffin. A hand was placed on her arm, and she looked over to share a glance with Harry, who looked about as bad as she felt. She reached up to squeeze his hand, grateful for the solidarity; both of them were hurting, and both of them were doing their best to comfort their respective Weasley. At least she and Ron knew where they stood with each other; Harry and Ginny still had that to work out on top of everything else. The air froze in her lungs as Ron bent with the others to lift the coffin; his eyes were so distant and dull, she was afraid how much of Ron was being buried with Fred today. Not that his other siblings looked much better, but Ron hadn't lashed out yet. He'd barely cried, and that made Hermione nervous. It was only when Ron let his emotions out that he ever began to heal, and she was unsure whether or not he was bottling everything up on purpose just to get through today, or if this was going to be more...permanent.

Beside her, she felt Harry move to rise as the coffin was carried past, and she joined him, watching sadly as six bowed ginger heads marched slowly by. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley fell in behind them, and Hermione wasn't sure which one was holding the other up. A tug on her arm had her moving to follow, once she realized that they still had to make it through the actual burial. She chewed on her bottom lip as she moved through the crowd, wondering if Ron would be able to watch that. She had felt him flinch during this part of every funeral they had attended, and knew that this one would effect him so much worse.

It didn't take them long to reach the burial site, and Hermione quickly worked her way to the edge of the cluster of people, hanging back slightly from joining Ron. He and the others, except for George, had moved away slightly. As she watched him, her apprehension began to grow. Oh, surely not. She squinted her eyes at the flurries that were sputtering to life, melting almost as fast as they were created.

"Oh no," she murmured out loud without realizing it.

"What is it?" Harry asked, nudging her shoulder.

"Look at Ron! He's making it snow, Harry!"

Harry cursed. "Hermione, someone needs to go to him. He was barely able to make it, and he only managed that because he wanted to make sure everyone was thinking about Fred today. If people start to notice-Hermione, he won't forgive himself for that."

Darting looks around the mourners, she was relieved to find all their attention with the minister and Fred's remains. "Harry, you know I hate this about Fred, very much. But Ron is alive, and Ron is my priority right now."

Before he could answer, she had slipped away, avoiding drawing attention as she drew closer to Ron.

"Ron...Ron!" Hermione whispered, her voice slightly shrill with panic. He looked down at his side, where she was tugging on his arm.

"Wha-?"

"The snow!"

He stood still long enough to give her one brief, panicked look, before he turned, practically tearing his robes from her hand as he ran. She gasped in surprise, not expecting him to move that fast. Looking back, she saw that only Harry had seen, because everyone else was apparently focused on the fact that George had Apparated away right in front of them. He jerked his head after Ron, as if she needed him to tell her! As swiftly as she could in heels, she followed Ron, knowing she would never catch him before he reached the Burrow. At one point, one of her heels sank into the earth, and she stopped long enough to take both off. When she looked up, she saw that he had already made it inside, but she didn't slow down.

The Burrow was eerily silent as she entered, for once no magical domestic chores being performed, no voices shouting from room to room, or clattering feet on the stairs. lightly, she ascended the flights to Ron's room, barely hesitating before going in. It wasn't as if he would be in the middle of changing, and he didn't need to be alone right now. Peeking around the edge of his door, the sight of him stretched out on his bed, hands fisted in his sheets as his body shook, nearly broke her heart. His high, muffled screams could be heard even at this distance, and she was afraid if he kept doing that with his face buried in the pillow, he would pass out.

Wordlessly, she joined him on the bed, unable to think of anything to do besides stroking his back in small circles like her mother had done when she was small-like Ron had done last year to comfort her, she suddenly recalled. On one hand, he needed to let it all out; however, she also didn't want him to make himself sick. She decided it was best not to speak yet, until she knew better where his mood was likely to take him. Fortunately, his breathing started to even out, and he was shuddering less beneath her hand.

After a few minutes, he sat up, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. "I guess you're here to tell me I shouldn't have left like that," he said, not meeting her eyes.

She ignored the sting of his words; there was a time and place for being proper, but she had hoped she had grown enough to realize that grief came first. "Ron, I knew how hard it was just for you to come; I didn't expect you to hang about afterwards. Besides, I don't think anyone noticed. And George Apparated away not long after, so even if they had, that would have distracted them."

He looked up at her, his face creasing in worry. "He left? Does anyone know where he went? He shouldn't be-"

"Bill and Charlie went to look for him," she soothed, "And Percy and Ginny are helping your parents, and Harry is with them."

"And you drew the short end of the straw and got me," he said, his voice holding a bitter edge she hadn't heard in months.

She suspected he was trying to start a fight, but she wasn't going to let him. "No, I'm here because I wouldn't be anywhere else."

Ron paused, his expression softening.

"Ron, do you...do you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked hesitantly, thinking he might be ready to open up now.

But he merely shook his head, turning partially away, where she could only see part of his face. It was enough, though, to see the storm that was gathering there, and so when he bared his teeth and sent the belongings on his dresser to the floor with a resounding crash, she didn't even jump.

Objects were hurled at walls, smashing and splintering on impact. Mentally, Hermione cataloged a list of items that would need to be repaired later. On one level, the intensity of Ron's rage was frightening, because she couldn't be sure he wasn't doing the same thing to himself on the inside. Outwardly, she didn't even flinch; she wasn't worried for herself, because even as Ron ranted and cursed, nothing was ever thrown anywhere near her. Ron might not be fully in control of himself, but she knew he wouldn't allow himself to hurt her.

_Ron watched from the corner of the room, surprised that she could be so sure; if he had walked in on this without knowing himself, he wouldn't think his expression was one to inspire trust. He remembered that he had been careful enough to watch the general direction of his aim, but if a Death Eater had been in there instead of Hermione, he'd have torn them to pieces with his bare hands. No, he hadn't wanted to hurt her, but he had also been desperate, and a good verbal spar had been stupidly appealing._

"Well?" He snarled belligerently, "Aren't you going to tell me to stop? To tell me what an immature prat I'm being?"

Hermione knew for certain then that he was trying to start a fight on purpose, and she didn't blame him. How often had she done the same herself, to distract herself from her own pain? If things hadn't been so serious, she might have let him have his way, but burying himself in anger wasn't going to help him move on, and if the fight got out of control, how would she be able to help him?

Hermione shook her head, looking at him sadly. "I know what it's like to hurt so much, where you want to smash everything around you until it's just as broken as you are inside."

Instantly, he deflated, his eyes filling with shame. She hadn't intended that; he was feeling bad enough as it was, it didn't need to be worse because he felt guilty for letting out his emotions. Merlin, how was it she always knew what to say in theory, but became rubbish at it when it came time to put it into practice?

_She hadn't been, really. Even though his head had been in a bad place, he had known enough to see she wasn't trying to guilt trip him. The reminder had been enough of a shock to calm him down and to at least attempt to think straight._

Almost meekly, Ron sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. "Sorry."

The thought of trying to explain was almost immediately discarded; she wasn't doing so well herself yet, and she didn't fully trust herself to come up with the right words. Then again, she thought, why did they need words? Ron had helped her out immensely last summer with hardly any talking at all. Grasping that idea, she pushed herself back to lean against the headboard, ignoring the fact that her dress would be hopelessly wrinkled. Her heels dropped to the floor with a clatter as she kicked them off, stretching her arms out to Ron.

"Come over here. I can't make things right-Merlin knows I would if I could-but this helped me."

She felt she had done the right thing when Ron didn't even hesitate before kicking of his shoes to land beside hers, as he crawled up into her embrace, and she didn't even have time to feel embarrassed as his head landed on her chest. His hair was soft under her fingers, and she almost smiled when, after a few minutes of her gently scratching her nails along his scalp, he made a purring noise that reminded her of Crookshanks.

"Feel a little better?"

"Mn."

That might not sound like a success, and she knew that this didn't even begin to actually deal with the pain he was feeling, but Hermione was hopeful. Maybe she didn't always have to say the right thing; maybe just being there was enough, supporting him until he felt ready to bring the subject up himself. As long as he wasn't bottling things up and totally shutting down, then she wouldn't press him too hard. It would be rather hypocritical, she mused, admitting to herself that there were things she was avoiding thinking about, as well. Neither of them would be able to do that forever, but for a short time at least, they could work on adjusting to things at their own pace.

With a small wince, she shifted into a more comfortable position, as Ron began to snore softly, and she took the opportunity to lean forward and kiss his temple. They were both fairly messed up, she conceded, but she was sure that the two of them could get through this together.

_Ron groaned, and turned to bang his head gently into the wall. "I fucked uuuuuuuuup!"_

_He hadn't meant to-then again, that could basically be his permanent refrain-but this time he really thought he was doing the right thing! At the time, he had had no clue what the rules were for mourning when you were in a relationship. Were you allowed to feel happy about it? Was it okay to not think of the person you had just lost for hours at a time? and he had NOT wanted Hermione to feel like she was there to be his emotional babysitter. He would have hated it if she had thought that he was...using her to forget, or something. Not that anything, even Hermione, could have done that. But he had gotten the bright idea that it would be better to pull back, until the right amount of time had passed. He snorted. As if there was a schedule for that!_

_Abruptly, the light went out, and Ron blinked, peering around him in the dark. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that they were now in Ginny's room instead of his._

Hermione rolled to her side, wrinkling her nose at the way the thin cotton sheets clung to her sweaty skin. Even with the window open, it was almost stifling, and she felt as if she would be roasted to death if she didn't get some air. Kicking the covers off, she sat up, glancing over at Ginny in the other bed.

Asleep.

Good; she didn't want to bother her. She knew Ginny had tried to sleep lightly enough to check on her these past few nights, and she felt bad about that. She didn't want to be an inconvenience.

Like she apparently was to Ron.

" _Shite! Shiteshiteshite. Shite on buttered toast, you weren't!" Ron protested, following her out of the room._

Or maybe not an inconvenience, Hermione thought, struggling to be fair, although she wasn't sure what else she would call it. The day after Fred's funeral, Ron had started to act strange. At first, she barely noticed, because she thought it was only natural that he was still adjusting to Fred's death. Ron had never been much for talking about feelings, so it had taken her while to notice that he was hardly talking at all, at least to her. That night, when she had gone to his room, he had already been in bed, and she had thought that maybe he had needed a night to himself.

The next day was the same, though, and she started to notice that when they were left in a room alone, he would suddenly find a reason to be somewhere else. That night, she had walked upstairs with him, expecting him to say something when she stopped at Ginny's door. But he merely gave her the ghost of a peck on her cheek, before saying goodnight and continuing up to his room. Ginny and Harry, who had been behind them, had shared her baffled expression. As the days passed, Hermione couldn't help but to feel hurt, and more than a little worried. Was he...was he trying to say he didn't feel the same anymore? Her stomach had turned at the thought. Hadn't he been the same way when he broke up with Lavender? Maybe he couldn't figure out how to do it, and was waiting for her to end it. Well, she wouldn't! If that was what he wanted, fine; she wasn't going to pressure him, obviously. But he at least owed it to her to end it in the right way!

Her shoulders slumped. How was there anything right about ending things with Ron?

" _Wow. Just when I think I couldn't feel any worse, she pulls out a shovel and starts digging," Ron sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Why hadn't he just told her what was bothering him, instead of deciding that all on his own? If anyone would've understood about wanting to do the right thing, it was Hermione. And didn't she have a right to decide what the right thing to do was, when it affected her?_

She leaned on the railing, gritting her teeth as pain shot down her spine, and then disappeared. Merlin, she hated how it came out of nowhere like that, with no time to brace for it! Not that bracing for something always helped...like with the nightmares. They had gotten worse again, but she couldn't tell anyone. What could they do, after all? Well, one person could help, but seeing as that was no longer an option, she pushed it out of her mind, and continued down to the kitchen for something to drink.

There was a light under the door, and she paused; why would anyone be up at this hour? As if channeling Ron, she rolled her eyes. She didn't have a monopoly on sleeplessness, after all. She could always leave if it looked like whoever it was wanted to be alone. Fully expecting to find one of the Weasleys, Hermione was surprised, when she pushed open the door, to find Harry sitting at the table, his glasses folded in front of him as he stared at the empty chairs on the other side.

"Harry?" She asked, not sure why he would be down here, instead of with Ron.

"They should be here, Hermione," he muttered, almost as if he was talking to himself, "At one point or another, I think I saw most of them here...and now..."

She came up behind him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, a verse springing to her mind, which she quoted quietly.

"Here they talked of revolution

Here it was they lit the flame.

Here they sang about tomorrow

And tomorrow never came."

Harry looked up at her, his eyes looking larger without his glasses. His hair was standing up all over his head, and Hermione thought he might be sleeping even less than she was.

"What was that?" He asked, his voice raspy.

She shrugged, sitting down in the chair next to him so he didn't have to twist his neck to look up at her. "It's from a play my parents took me to see a few years ago. It's meant to be sung, actually, but I thought the words were fitting."

He nodded, asking, "Can you remember any more of it?"

Should she? It might upset him. Although that might not be such a bad thing; it had always taken a push to make Harry get something out of his system so he could start to get better.

"There's a grief that can't be spoken.

There's a pain goes on and on.

Empty chairs at empty tables

Now my friends are dead and gone."

The muscles in his jaw tightened as he stared ahead with glassy eyes, unspeaking. She was thinking maybe she should leave after all, when she noticed he had started to shake. A strange, hiccupy sound escaped his lips, and tears began to slide down his cheeks. Hermione put her arms around him, and at the contact, he released a loud sob, and started to cry in earnest. A part of her was surprised, since Harry wasn't the sort to cry much in front of others, but after everything that had happened, she supposed there was only so much one could hold in. And, knowing Harry, she could figure out what a large portion of his problem.

"Stop blaming yourself, Harry. None of this was about you, really, and there wasn't anything you could have done."

He pushed away at that, which was typical. "You can't be sure of that, Hermione!" He ran his hand through his hair, and the air practically crackled with static electricity. "I keep going through everything in my head, wondering what if-"

"You could drive yourself mad with what ifs!" She practically snapped, worried about the direction he was headed. This had the potential to be worse than fifth year, with Sirius. "You can't be responsible for everything, especially not the choices of others."

Harry shook his head, his eyes closing wearily. "it's not just that," he admitted. "It's...everything. Ginny-I don't know how to fix-what I should say to make things right again. And what next? What do I do now, Hermione?" He asked, his voice getting louder, his tone bordering on desperation. "Ever since I was eleven, it's been building up to what happened, and now that it's over, what do I do? I don't know where to go from here. Hell, I don't even know where to start to figure it out!"

She winced as he banged his fist on the table, narrowly missing his glasses. She could try to give him advice, but what good would that do, even if she was right? Harry always balked at anyone telling him what to do, and she knew both he and Ron were usually rubbed wrong by the way she said things. Right now he was at least being open, but if she said the wrong thing, he might close himself off again.

The solution came to her in a flash.

"Harry," she said solemnly, getting him to look her in the eyes, "I could make you a list."

He stared at her disbelievingly, his mouth sagging open. For a moment, she thought she had gotten things wrong, and then the corners of his mouth turned up, and his shoulders jerked as he let out a laugh.

"And I just bet you could, couldn't you?" He asked in a wry voice. "With color coded charts and everything."

Both of them laughed a bit at the mental image, even though it wasn't particularly funny.

"What made you think to say that, anyway?" Harry asked, his head cocked to the side.

Hermione jerked her shoulders, not quite meeting his eyes. "I don't know. I was just trying to help you feel better."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. "Yeah, see, the thing is, normally your idea of helping would be to actually give me that list. So what's different now?"

Sometimes, Hermione thought, he knew her too well. "Well, yes, I suppose you're right, but when has that ever worked? I just...I just thought that Ron's approach might be best, and tried it. Not as well as he probably would have done, but better than my usual attempts."

"Sounds like Ron is rubbing off on you; must be the result of getting together."

Harry's voice was still hoarse from crying, but he wore an amused expression that told her he was happy for something else to focus his attention on. And while she was certainly happy that he wasn't sitting here blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong, she wished the conversation was going in a different direction.

"Has he said anything about that? About...us?" She couldn't help but asking, and cursed herself for it. Harry probably thought she sounded like Lavender.

"Ah, well, we...that's not something we really talk about, you know? Since Ginny is his sister, and you're basically mine. It'd be too weird, I guess." Harry said, scratching the bridge of his nose.

"Oh! Yes, of course. I just thought that he might have mentioned...mentioned if he had sort of changed his mind. Or something." Hermione replied in a high, falsely cheerful voice, inwardly cringing at how obviously not casual she was feeling.

The lingering spark of humor faded from Harry's eyes to be replaced by concern. "Hermione, I know Ron's acting a bit off, but trust me; he's completely mental about you!"

"That might be easier to believe if he didn't leap at the chance to degnome the garden rather than stay in here with me," she answered, trying to keep her voice level.

"Maybe it's because of...Fred. I know the others are having a hard time coping, and Ron isn't any different."

"I could understand that, except it only seems to be me he's avoiding. I don't know, Harry. If-if he doesn't want this, then I don't want to force him-"

"You're not going to chuck him over, are you?" Harry asked, looking positively horrorstruck.

"No! I mean, I just thought-"

"Look," Harry cut in hurriedly, "I'll talk to him in a few days if he doesn't snap out of it, alright? Just promise you won't do something that will probably make the whole thing worse. I'll bet it isn't even anything to get upset about, really. Ron's thought processes can be baffling sometimes..." Harry trailed off, shaking his head as if there was something he couldn't wrap his head around.

"Alright, although I don't know why you're suddenly taking an interest in things between me and Ron, after avoiding it for so long," Hermione grumbled, although she was actually pleased that Harry would make the effort.

"The way you two went on, it was safer as a spectator sport," Harry said dryly. "But maybe helping the two of you will help me how to figure out what to do with Ginny."

Hermione felt contrite; she had known Harry and Ginny were trying to work things out, and she hadn't helped either of them very much. "Harry, Ginny just needs to feel like you aren't going to shut her out of your life again. It's going to take some time, but I'm sure things will get better the more time you spend with her."

"Yeah, well, now that there's not a homicidal maniac out to kill me and take over the Wizarding world, I won't have to leave her behind now, will I?"

"You know what I mean! Ginny knows why you did it, but that doesn't mean she wants you to think you can just go off when things get bad.

"Fair enough. I'll work on showing Gin that I'm around for keeps, if you promise to let me talk to Ron or sort it out yourself before you start throwing around canaries."

"I had no intention of using canaries!" She snapped, stung. "And of course I want things to be sorted out."

Harry stood up, sliding his glasses on crookedly. "Good. I think I'll head back up to bed now; you coming?"

She shook her head. "No, I think I'm going to fix myself something to drink." She left out that she didn't think she would be able to sleep without the nightmares coming back.

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning, then." He put a hand on her shoulder. "And Hermione? Thanks for earlier...it just...comes over me all of a sudden sometimes, what happened."

With a small smile, she reached up to squeeze his hand. "I know. Try to get some rest, Harry. Things are much better than they could've been, and we'll find a way to get through this."

She sat there until he had left the room, and she could hear him creaking up the stairs. With a sigh, she got up, and began to rummage through the cabinets for tea. It had been nice to spend some time with Harry. The emotions and subjects had swung back and forth like a pendulum, but that seemed to be the way of things these days. She supposed things would level off as time passed. Heating up the water, she bit her lower lip; had it been alright to let Harry say something to Ron? Maybe she should just let things be. Reaching up, she rubbed her temples, trying to erase the dull throbbing that had started. She didn't know anymore. She was tired, she was in pain, and she was wishing that things could be easy for the two of them for once. They had been so close...

She straightened up, irritated with herself. Well, she wasn't giving up yet! If something hadn't changed in two weeks-she thought that was an acceptable time for Ron to, well, definitely not get over Fred's death, but certainly to start feeling up to communicating-she would confront him about what was going on. Feeling better for having some sort of plan, she reached for a mug, pleased that she was handling things a bit more like her old self.

Now she just had to figure out what she was going to do about sleeping...

_Ron felt like he had just been on the emotional equivalent of one of those Muggle rides Harry and Ginny had dragged him onto one time. Of course, that had sort of been the way it was for all of them, in those days. One minute you felt like you were in a deep, dark pit with no way up, and then the next minute you were laughing about something like nothing was wrong. And then you realized what you were doing, and felt guilty as hell. He was glad she had been able to help Harry a little, because it had been hard for the him to talk to Harry himself. It was frustrating when Harry would act as if the whole thing was his fault, and it was hard to cheer someone up when you were grieving yourself. Harry hadn't even mentioned this part, but Ron found himself oddly pleased that Hermione had thought that his approach might be better. It was just what he would've done, too; made some comment that was a little funny, but more of a shock to snap Harry out of his current train of thought. It might not solve anything, but it helped to put you in a better frame of mind to deal with whatever was wrong._

_Intellectually, he knew that he hadn't done anything truly wrong as far as Hermione was concerned. He hadn't set out to hurt her, and he hadn't acted out of some kind of spite. He was eighteen, confused, and trying not to ruin what felt like the only good thing he had going for him. His methods hadn't been great, but his intentions had been right; sometimes that was all you could do. Still, he hated knowing how much she was hurting because of it, after everything that had happened, and all the shite she was still dealing with. Until Harry had brought it up later, he hadn't even realized that she might think he was having second thoughts. He considered himself lucky that she hadn't given up on him; he just kicked himself for making her wait and worry..._

The solution to sleeping poorly was simple. Don't sleep. Hermione had perfected the art of the cat nap, getting all of her rest in bursts of light dozes. She went to bed normally, and would lie there in the dark, listening for Ginny's breath to deepen and even out. Sometimes she would stay where she was, but her mind usually drifted to things she didn't want to think about, and she would end up tiptoeing out of the room. Some nights she curled up on a sofa and read; others, she slipped outside to walk in the moonlight. She was always careful to be quiet, and to make it back in plenty of time to be in bed before Ginny woke up.

After a few nights, she discovered she shared this habit with several of the Weasleys. She had run into both of Ron's parents, as well as Charlie and Percy. At first, she had been embarrassed, but there had seemed to be an unspoken rule, where each would leave the other to their own devices. When it was Mrs. Weasley, Hermione would go back up first so as not to make the woman worry, but with the others, she would keep reading, or leave by a different door when they weren't looking. One night, it had been Ron; he hadn't seen her though, since she had tried to crawl behind the sofa because Crookshanks had meowed like he was stuck. Naturally, as soon as she had gotten herself into an undignified position he had pranced out into the middle of the room. Before she could get back out, she had heard someone come in, and not wanting to be seen like that, she had waited. Whoever it was had thrown themselves backwards onto the couch, slamming it into the wall-or rather, slamming her into the wall, the air rushing out of her from the force. As they sighed, they had draped one arm over the back of the sofa, and Hermione recognized them at once, even if she had suspected before. There was only one person she knew with those pale, swirling scars; Ron. She had been sorely tempted to come out to sit by him. He sounded like he could use the company as much as she did. But the thought of him fleeing the room held her in place. The situation might be ridiculous, but this was as close to Ron as she had been in awhile, so she might as well take it.

_Sweet fucking hell, Ron thought, having to close his eyes. She should've stood up and smacked him upside the head! Maybe if she hadn't been so exhausted, she would have. It was bad enough just feeling her recall the experience. If he had had to watch, he was afraid he'd find a way to beat himself to a bloody pulp._

Tonight, though, it seemed like it was George's turn, Hermione thought as she entered the den. He was sitting on the same sofa as Ron had the other night, staring at a bottle of Firewhiskey on the table in front of him as if he didn't know what to do with it. Which, Hermione knew for a fact, wasn't true. She hadn't seen much of George lately, but when she had, it was unusual to do so without one of the others hovering over him nervously. She hesitated, wondering if she should leave him alone, but just as she started to turn, he looked up.

"Don't just stand there like you'd seen a ghost. C'mon in," George said, with a pathetic attempt at a smirk.

Well then. If he was feeling up to being snarky, then she didn't need to tiptoe around him. Which was good, since she was really too tired to make the effort.

"If you're not going to use that, would you mind giving it up to someone who would?" She asked, gesturing to the bottle.

"Does my ear deceive me? Surely the perfect Prefect isn't asking for a shot!" He mocked, even as he poured some of the golden liquid into the empty glass on the table.

Hermione crossed the room and picked it up, giving him a frosty look. "I'm well above legal age, I don't make a habit of it, and I've been through a rather nasty war. I think I deserve at least one bloody drink." It was a sign of how stressed she was that the swear slipped past, but she was beyond caring at this point. With a quick motion, she downed the glass' contents, making a face as it hit the back of her throat.

"Easy there, Granger, or I might feel like my title of lush is being threatened."

"Drinking won't solve any problems," she snapped out before thinking, inwardly wincing at how judgemental she sounded.

"No, it won't," George agreed, surprisingly affably. "It won't even make you forget them. However, it will let you pretend to forget, and since that's as fucking close as I'm ever going to get, you might as well leave me to it, alright?"

His sentence finished on a harder edge, and although Hermione couldn't blame him, she couldn't quite let it pass, either. "For now. Don't expect it to last, though."

A strange, rusty laugh spilled from his mouth as he tapped his wand against the bottle in a short, jerky rhythm. "Always been on the honest and bossy side, haven't you? I think that's one of the reasons Ron loves you so much. And what drives him mental," he added as an afterthought.

"I'd know about that second part more than the first," she muttered as she sat down, thinking he couldn't hear her.

The wand stilled against the glass, and George squinted over at her, pushing his fringe, which he hadn't kept trimmed, out of his eyes as if that would help. "I realize I haven't exactly been keeping up with the latest news, but I was pretty sure the two of you finally got that sorted, before everything went to hell."

Hermione wasn't sure now if that first drink had made her say something completely stupid out loud, or if she needed another one to get over the slight embarrassment it caused. "It's nothing. Really. We're...fine."

George sprawled backwards on the couch, folding his arms behind his head. "You know what you and Ron have in common? You're both piss poor liars. C'mon, you might as well spill." When she gave a small shake of her head, he continued, "Consider it as keeping my mind off of my own problems and sober for a night."

Merlin, at this rate, she might need the entire bottle herself! But...as annoying as he was being, this was as close to normal as she had seen him since Fred had died. Even now, he looked like he might be following his brother in the near future. He had dropped too much weight, his skin was a poor color, and she saw the familiar signs of lack of sleep. Add in all the drinking she knew he had been doing...and it wasn't like she didn't want to talk to someone, at least a little. Ron wouldn't talk at all, and Harry and Ginny were too close. If this turned out badly, she could pretty much avoid George until the subject died down. It wasn't like she had to go into any great detail. Just enough to satisfy some of his curiosity and hold his attention long enough to hold off his need of a liver transplant for a few hours.

"It really is nothing. I just think that perhaps Ron might be...reconsidering his choice, if it was made in the heat of the moment. It's not something you should rush into, after all." She said with a forced nonchalance, as if the very thought that she might be right didn't make her stomach churn.

George gaped at her, then dropped his hands down to rub his eyes. "Rushing. Right. Just nearly four years. hardly any time at all," he muttered, before sitting up. "Hermione. You're a bright witch, so try to keep up. My brother-Ron, the tall, Chocolate Frog loving one-is completely mental about you. Crackers. Has been for ages, and I sincerely doubt that he'd suddenly change his mind now that he's gotten you into a bed. Even if that bed was technically the floor, and there were three other people."

"Don't be crass!" She snapped, "And if that's the best you can do, it's not very convincing. We haven't...that is, he doesn't want...I've been staying in Ginny's room."

There. That should shut him up. Although, was it really worth it, if she basically had to admit that Ron was no longer interested?

George looked flummoxed for a beat, then rolled his eyes. "Of course. This can only mean that Ron has been thinking again; only trouble ever comes of that."

"That's a horrible thing to say!" Hermione snarled, rocketing to her feet. She didn't care that George was distraught and running at the mouth to hide it; she didn't care that things were strained between her and Ron. If he thought he could get away with that, he had another thing coming, she thought, reaching for her wand. "How dare you! Ron is plenty intelligent-"

_Duck, Georgie; whatever she blasts you with is gonna hurt! Ron thought, amused, awed, worried, and slightly flattered in equal measure._

"And you think I don't know that?" George said with heat in his voice, enough to surprise her into being still. "But there's thinking, and then there's _thinking._ When Ron thinks, I've seen him pull of a brilliant chess game without blinking an eye. But when the git _thinks,_ suddenly he's as moody as Muriel, and thinking the most mental things you can imagine!"

Briefly, Hermione thought of Ron's accusation about her and Harry the night he left, and had to admit that George had a point. There was, indeed, an difference between thinking, and _thinking._ She lowered her wand, wishing, all at once, that the subject had never been brought up.

"He hasn't been acting like that. Mostly. He's been pleasant enough, just...distant."

George barked a laugh, scratching at the neck of his t-shirt, "Trust me, if he hasn't been wrapped around you tighter than a Gryffindor scarf, then he's been doing the wrong kind of thinking."

Casting about for something to distract him with, she recalled something Ron had told her and Harry the other day. "Instead of dwelling on the finer points of my love life, you might want to focus on a different brother, before you lose the chance altogether."

"W-what d'you mean by that?"

At his stricken look, she felt guilty, realizing how badly she had phrased that. She continued in a more gentle tone, "I'm talking about Percy. From what Ron says, it sounds like he might be leaving again."

Now, Ron had only ever really resembled the twins in the fact that all three had red hair and freckles, but as George's eyes narrowed and his jaw slid out stubbornly, Hermione realized she was about to see a display of the Weasley temper.

"Oh he is, is he?" He growled, flashing a look at the ceiling, "We'll just see about that! I think it's time someone knocked some sense into that twat."

"George, that's not what I-" She started to protest, but he was already halfway up the stairs. "-meant." She finished lamely, wondering if she should follow.

_So that's what had put a bee in his bonnet! He knew George had somehow gotten the idea that Percy was walking out. Bloody hell, that had probably been one of the worst things to tell George. For the better part of a year, he had freaked out whenever one of them went too far; Ginny and Harry told him that George had been a mess while he had gone to Australia with Hermione._

Before she could decide the best course of action, George was back, dragging a squealing Percy down the stairs by an ear. She watched, mouth open, as George stalked to the door, curses flowing from his mouth in a steady stream, while Percy kept asking what was going on. By the time she unfroze and raced after them, they were already out in the yard, tearing into one another and yelling at the top of their lungs. Hermione didn't know what to make of it. Just the sight of Percy-Head Boy, rule-abiding Percy-in a physical fight was almost enough to leave her feeling Confunded. George had the upper hand, but Percy obviously knew what he was doing. It struck her that this must be what they had been like as children.

"Would the two of you get in here right now!" She called as loud as she dared, looking back over her shoulder.

What did they think they would solve this way? She shifted from foot to foot, debating on whether it was best to leave this between brothers, or if she should do something herself. Percy howled loudly, and George called him something rather foul. Alright, perhaps she should do something, since they showed no sign of slowing down.

That choice was taken from her as someone thundered down the stairs behind her. Turning her head, she saw Ron barreling in her direction, steam practically pouring from his ears, and Harry right behind him.

. "Why didn't you try to stop them?" He asked, pushing past her without waiting for an answer.

Fury welled up in her chest; just what did he expect her to do about it? "Because they're stubborn, pig-headed Weasleys!" She hurled at his back.

"He'll be in good company then," Harry said from behind her, with a short laugh.

"Well, at least he looks like he's being sensible enough to try to stop them," Hermione sighed, as she watched Ron push his brothers apart.

At least Ron had matured, she thought, quite proud of him trying to calm his brothers down. It was nice to see him taking the rational approach, as opposed to-

"I think you spoke too soon," Harry commented, as Ron punched George.

A splinter dug into her palm as she gripped the door frame, her eyes anxiously peering out into the moonlit yard to watch Ron rolling on the ground with Percy and George, all three having a go at each other individually and in pairs.

"Have they completely lost their minds? What are they doing!"

Harry watched the match critically, casting a Silencing spell before tucking his wand in the waistband of his pajama bottoms. "I believe that this is one of those bizarre sibling rituals that you and I are never going to fully understand. Which is fine, since I have an idea you'd be pretty vicious in a fight."

"It's not funny, Harry," she admonished, just as Ron disappeared under the other two. "Oh! Oh, Harry, he's going to be hurt! Maybe you should go out there and help?"

Harry screwed up his face, and shook his head rapidly. "Are you serious? They'd murder me! No, this is something families need to work out for themselves. Although I guess I could go get Ginny..."

_Ron doubled over laughing. The idea of Ginny joining them wasn't too far off; if he'd had her on his side, the whole thing would've ended a lot sooner. Hermione's concern was touching, but Harry had the right of it. It wasn't as if they had been fighting all out; there had always been unspoken limits that you just didn't cross. And as hacked off as they had been with each other, none of them would've welcomed any outside help. If anything, it had almost been a relief to sort things out like that had as kids, before everything got so...complicated._

It looked like the fight was breaking up; she couldn't hear them because of the Silencing spell Harry had used, but they appeared to be talking; after a few minutes, Percy left the other two behind, Rubbing his shoulder as he headed for the house. When he saw them, he flushed an even deeper shade of red than he already was from the exertion.

"You alright there, Percy?" Harry asked.

Percy looked thoughtful, and then smiled more brightly than Hermione deemed the situation to warrant. Did he have a head injury?

"Yeah. Yeah, I reckon I am. Better than I've been in ages, really."

"You can't be serious!" Hermione said, staring at him in shock.

Percy blinked at her, then glanced back over his shoulder. "Oh, that? That was nothing. Sometimes you have to fight things out before you can make up. Sorry if it alarmed you, though. I'm going to go wash up; goodnight, Harry, Hermione."

As he walked away, Hermione heard him mutter, "It's good to be home."

"That can't be healthy," she said dubiously, turning back to Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes, but softened it by patting her on the shoulder. "If everything had to be a hundred percent healthy to be comforting, there'd be a hell of a lot less to help people get through the shite they have to go through. Just let this one go, Hermione."

"I still think it's ridiculous," she grumbled, but was then distracted by the sight of Ron and George. With two strides, she was back at the door, hissing at them furiously, "What were you trying to do, kill each other? Honestly, I-oh! Ron, you're bleeding! Come here and let me see it."

He had blood dripping down his face, which drove away all-or most-thoughts of reproach. Standing on the tips of her toes, she tried to get a better look, completely missing the departure of Harry and George. Drat! He was too tall for her to get a good look, and this poor lighting wasn't helping any. Briskly, she dragged him into the sitting room and pushed him onto the sofa, flicking her wand to light the lamps. Finding only superficial injuries, she felt relieved. It was still too soon, and the sight of blood on him made her feel afraid.

"Thankfully it's not deep; it won't even need any Dittany. Although maybe I should leave it, and see if a little common sense would find its way inside," she scolded, even as she healed him.

"It wasn't even a real fight, Hermione. We just had some things to sort out," he explained, holding still while she fixed up his other scrapes and bruises.

"So Harry told me. Wait, where did he go?" She asked, looking around her. He was getting far too good at that silent disappearing act. She would have to bell him like Crookshanks.

"He took George up to help him with his eye."

"Oh." It hit her that they were actually alone. Oh! Well, I guess you'll be wanting to get to bed now yourself. Goodnight, Ron."

Any second, he was going to find an excuse to leave. Seeing him disheveled and streaked with blood made her flashback to those final hours of battle, and the relief and closeness they had shared that night. She couldn't bear for him to walk away from her right now, thinking of that; she just couldn't. It was just better to do it herself. Walk away now, don't let him see you're upset, she told herself, keeping the tears pushed back. Just walk away-a hand enveloped hers, and she nearly jumped at the unexpected contact.

"Hermione? Can...can you sit down a minute? There's something I need to say." Ron asked, his voice serious.

Oh. Oh, Merlin, this was it; he was ending it now. What should she say? She didn't feel right trying to talk him into being with her, when he obviously didn't want to. After everything-that didn't matter now. She was going to have to calmly accept it, go upstairs, deal with the dinner that was threatening to come back up, and put up a Silencing spell while she cried in bed. And then she was going to have to figure out where to go, because she didn't think she could stay here after this. She sat down slowly, as if avoiding contact with the sofa would prolong the inevitable.

_Ron released a wordless groan. One way or another, he had managed to hurt her over the years. Usually it was from his damned insecurity issues, combined with the general prattishness of anyone his age. He had thought he might feel less guilty when it was because he was actually trying to do the right thing, and just not knowing how to go about it. He was wrong, though. He felt just as low as any other time. If the situation had been reversed, he knew he wouldn't have handled it well. The thought of Hermione pulling away while he was still hurting made his stomach twist. He reminded himself that he hadn't done anything wrong; in fact, he could practically hear Hermione's voice telling him that he would have every right to break things off if he wasn't feeling right about the relationship. No, that's not quite true, was it? He had done something wrong. He hadn't just talked to her about it. They were a couple now, and couples were supposed to sort things out together instead of dealing with them alone. Hadn't he always been frustrated when she did the same thing? He wondered how often he still did this, and if it still hurt her as much as it did now._

"I've been an arse. A complete and utter arse," he said earnestly, still holding onto one of her hands.

That had been the last thing she had expected to hear, and it threw her for a loop.

"I-what?"

"They way I've been acting lately. I thought if I just waited, if I didn't say anything, you wouldn't notice-which, in hindsight, was a bloody stupid thing to think-but I thought everything would be alright after a while, and we could go on, being, you know..."

"No, I'm not sure I do. You're not being very clear, you know."

"You made me happy-make! I mean make!" He said quickly, as her face began to crumple, "Too happy, really. When we're together, I'm not...miserable. And I thought I should be."

"You thought-oh. I see. Does that mean...that you want to take a break?" She asked.

She held her breath; that was what he had to mean, wasn't it? It hurt. It hurt more than the whole mess in sixth year, even. But she understood, too. If being with her right now was too much for him with everything else going on, that wasn't his fault. She could tell this wasn't any easier on him than it was on her; she wouldn't make it any harder for him. But would this really be a break? She had tried making the first move, only to have things end in disaster each time. She didn't know if she could bring herself to do it again. Which meant it would be up to Ron. Would he make a move when he felt ready? Would he ever be ready? Or would the two of them just slowly drift apart, never being able to be sure when the time was right?

"No," He said firmly, all trace of nervous uncertainty erased from his voice. "Haven't we waited long enough? Waiting isn't going to bring Fred back. And that hurts, Hermione. It hurts so much that...I don't know if there are words for it. But you help me get through it. You help me get through another day, even when there doesn't seem to be a point. If I lose you...no one could help me get through that, and I wouldn't even want to try if they did."

She could scarcely believe it; after nearly a year of everything falling to pieces, and anything good almost always coming with a high price, It was almost unthinkable that she wasn't going to lose something so important to her. All of the nervous tension flooded out of her body to leave her weightless, with Ron's hand holding hers the only thing to anchor her. Tears tried to leak between her eyelids, and she brushed them away hastily.

"Does that mean you'll stop avoiding me like a four foot potions essay?"

He leaned close to her, their noses almost touching. "I can promise you, I've never felt like this about an essay," he said, right before angling his head for a slow kiss.

His lips on hers sent a jolt throughout her body, warmer and more intoxicating than the Firewhiskey she had earlier. A taste wasn't going to be enough; she needed the contact, needed to feel him wanting her. His hands moved deliciously up and down her sides, his fingers just barely skimming the undersides of her breasts. When he sucked her lower lip to nibble it with his teeth, she felt positively giddy, and had to take a gasp for air.

_Hot damn, I didn't realize I was that good, Ron thought with a gulp, his body heating up along with hers._

Both of them blushed slightly, and Ron eased back. "I guess we should go upstairs now, in case anyone else wakes up tonight."

Hermione sighed, knowing she sounded disappointed and not caring. Kissing Ron could quickly become her favorite pastime. "Yes, I suppose so. Ginny might wake up and worry where I am."

He stood up, and helped her to her feet, both of them quiet as they reached the stairs. She was far too excited to sleep, yet she was oddly relaxed at the same time. Things were going to work out. She and Ron were going to be fine. She could stop thinking how awkward it would be to be around him after he chucked her. Of course, now that that wasn't in the forefront of her mind, she had other things to worry about...but for tonight, she would simply let the past twenty minutes play over and over in her mind. Regretfully, for she wished they had more time together, she reached for the knob to Ginny's door, only to be stopped by Ron gently pulling her along to the next set of stairs.

"Ron? What are you doing? If Ginny wakes up-"

"Once Ginny's asleep, she's pretty much out until morning. Trust me."

That was most definitely true, but shouldn't she at least try to keep Mrs. Weasley from getting upset? In the hallway outside of his room, she protested feebly once more, "But if your Mum finds out, you'll get in trouble."

He opened the door, noting Harry wasn't back yet. "It's not like we haven't before. Besides, Harry'll be back, and it's not like we have to tell her, or anything. And you'll sleep better, won't you?"

The prospect of a night's sleep was almost too glorious to pass up in itself; being able to sleep with Ron pressed tightly against her was more temptation than she could withstand. Hermione hesitated, and bit her lip.

He let go of her hand to cup her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her skin. "I know I haven't been much help to you lately-pretty worthless in the whole boyfriend department, actually-but I'd like to start making up for that."

Any lingering reservations she might have had melted at his words; Ron had been doing the best he could in what had to be a difficult situation, and she wasn't going to hold it against him. After all, every new relationship had a learning period. Theirs was just...a little sadder than others.

She gave him a small smile. "You're not worthless, and you don't have to make anything up to me."

"Alright, then; how about if I say it'll make me feel better if you do?"

How could she say no to that? "Then you've convinced me."

He stood back while she set her wand on his bedside table and crawled under the covers, scooting at close to the wall as she could to leave him room. The bed dipped behind her as he got in, And Hermione promptly laced her fingers in his when he slung an arm over her side. She felt him sigh into her hair, and she giggled a little when he snorted from the way it tickled his nose. It was far too hot to be sleeping like this, but with his body fitting snugly against hers, she didn't care. Right now, she was warm, she was comfortable, there was nothing threatening them, and the person she wanted, wanted her back. This was as close to peace as she had been in ages, and she didn't plan on losing that feeling anytime soon. As she drifted of into a contented sleep, she thought, happily, that while there were still things she needed to sort out, her frustrations were over.

_Even after all the time he had spent reliving her memories, Ron wasn't sure he would ever get over feeling just how much he affected her. How could someone be comforted by someone who didn't know what they were doing half the time? Merlin knew he did his best, but he would be the first to admit that he wasn't always that great at reading the signals she gave him. As things sped up and blurred around him, he had to chuckle with rueful amusement. "Love, this is me; your frustrations are just beginning!"_

Two weeks later, Hermione had passed the point of frustration.

" _What did I tell you," Ron muttered, blinking a bit as the scene swam into focus. Once he saw what it was, his interest was piqued. This was a day he remembered quite well, and was keen to see from her point of view._

It had been two weeks since she had gotten things straightened out with Ron, and life had been going more smoothly. She was sleeping better (she suspected Mrs. Weasley knew what was going on, but they were all maintaining a polite facade), and she wasn't having to constantly worry that she had done something wrong. They were spending more time together, and Ron was finally being affectionate again.

Just not quite affectionate enough.

Oh, he almost constantly had an arm around her, or held her hand. And he was more than willing to steal a few kisses here and there. Unfortunately, that was as far as he went. Not that she was ready to go all the way-close, but not quite. That didn't mean there weren't other things she was keen to try, if he'd just take the hint. Sometimes she could feel him just on the edge of taking things further...and then he would back down, and she would be left hanging and ready to scream. How was she supposed to tell him that while she appreciated the thought, she wanted him to stop being such a gentleman? He'd never had such problems before, she thought darkly. Doubts had begun to nibble at the back of her mind; was she not appealing enough? Was she so lacking in areas that Lavender obviously hadn't?

_Hell no! That had never even crossed his mind; aside from a brief moment of relief at the news Lavender was stable, albeit in for a several month stay at St. Mungo's, he hadn't even thought about her. To be honest, when he was snogging Hermione, he found it difficult to think of anything at all._

This morning after her shower, she had even spent several minutes eyeing her naked body critically in the mirror, trying to figure out where the problem was.

_And of course I couldn't get to see that! Ron groused. Not now that I'm finally allowed to see her bloody starkers. As for problems, the only problem had been keeping his wand in his pants, assuming Hermione would prefer a slower pace. If he had known differently, he would've cheerfully kicked Harry out to sleep in Bill's old room._

Now here they were, in his room, in a depressingly upright position. Not that it was all bad; his tongue was doing wonderful things in her mouth, and every once and a while his hands would steal down to grasp her bum, before moving back up much too quickly for her liking. She tried to press herself against him, nearly growling out loud when she felt him angle his lower body away from her, before breaking the kiss altogether.

"I forgot how hot it get's up here in the summer. Maybe we should go down with Harry and Ginny, and get some cold pumpkin juice?" He suggested, his voice trembling enough to soothe her ego a fraction.

"Mhm. I think I'd rather stay up here," she answered, smiling playfully, feeling a bit foolish at the attempted flirtation, but hoping he would get the idea.

He pushed away, and paced a few steps to the left, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

"What are you doing with me, Hermione?" He asked, his voice rough.

Hermione gave him a confused look, uselessly smoothing down a flyaway curl. Apparently she was going to have to be more direct. "Well, I _was_ kissing you, until you moved over there; come back and I'll show you."

He shook his head. "No, I mean, what are you doing with me?" He gestured at himself wildly, a faint look of disgust on his face. "You're the most brilliant witch of our age! You should be with someone as amazing as you are. You should be with someone who's everything you want; someone smart and brave and-and...a hero. Someone who's the best." He looked up at his, his shoulders slumped, his voice cracking in a heartbreaking manner. "So why are you with me?"

Hermione was torn. He obviously meant the things he said about her; there was no doubt his words came straight from the heart. How could something so sweet be utter drivel at the same time? Ron might never have been as dedicated to learning as she was, but he had always been able to match wits with her, to keep her thinking and on her toes. More importantly, he had been her friend. The person she knew she could rely on to comfort her when she was down, to have her back in any fight. Ron had made mistakes-so had she, everyone did-but he had always had the values and characteristics that she believed were important, and over the past two years, he had grown into them magnificently. She probably hadn't been the most patient about waiting for him to get there, but she had always, _always_ considered him her equal, and she loathed to hear him speak of himself as anything less. Ron was what she wanted, what she needed, wrapped up in a frustrating, glorious ginger package that she loved so much she thought she would burst; it was high time he got that through his head.

"Why am I with you?" She asked in a low voice. "I'm with you because I should be with someone as amazing as I am. I'm with you because I should be with someone who's everything I want; someone who's smart, and funny, and brave. I'm with you because I should be with a hero. I'm with you because I deserve the best, and I found him."

_Her words had the same effect they had on him back then. Maybe even more so, since he could clearly feel the emotions that were practically radiating off of her. He didn't even need this memory to be able to recall every word she had said; they had been burned into his mind, and sometimes, when he was feeling his lowest, he would replay them over to himself. Because there were some days he felt like nothing he did was right. He'd cock up a training exercise, or forget how to perform a simple spell. His words would come out wrong and send Hermione into a snit, and he'd be left alone to brood about what the hell was wrong with him. He would get over it, of course; he'd sail through the next exercise beyond expectations, he'd perform a complicated spell that others in his class still hadn't mastered, he'd say something funny enough to make Hermione's eyes light up as she laughed in that special way he loved. Those words had helped him through a hell of a lot, but there had always been that niggling whisper that she had just been saying those things to make him feel better. After this, he didn't think he would be able to doubt it ever again._

Her breath caught at the look in his eyes. He was gazing at her with an expression that could only be described as hungry, and she didn't have time to prepare herself before he had crossed to where she stood, his lips slamming into hers in a manner rougher than he had used up to this point.

She liked it. A lot.

She liked it more when he gripped her bum, his fingers digging into the flesh with none of the hesitancy he had shown before. And then-something long and firm grinding into her-oh Godric! He was hard! For _her!_ If her knickers had been damp before, they were soaking now. This new aggressiveness was exciting, but she must have scared him off with the gasp she had let out, because she felt him start to back up again. But she wasn't having any of that this time; she was now completely confident that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, so instead of letting him go, she pressed forward. She felt him stumble a little, the motion causing their teeth to clack together as he hit the edge of his bed. His arms were still around her, so she was pulled along as his knees buckled and he sat down.

Far from being displeased, Hermione decided she quite liked this new position. She could feel him under her, fitting between her legs perfectly. She pulled back enough to gauge his reaction. His hands were clamped firmly on her hips, and his eyes had darkened to that shade of blue that she was quickly growing to realize signified lust. The muscles in his throat were working, but he didn't say a word. Suddenly, he bucked his hips into hers, an almost challenging expression on his face. If he thought she would shy away from that, he had another thing coming. There was a powerful thrill in knowing she could cause him to desire her like this, and she wanted to show him that they hadn't yet reached the limits to how far she was willing to go. Never breaking eye contact, she rolled her hips, her heart speeding up at the groan that she earned.

It felt like Ron's hands were everywhere on her at once; clutching her hips to guide her pace, sliding up and down the bare expanse of thighs left exposed by her shorts...pressed against her back, tangled in her hair. Her own hands were by no means idle. Their position made her options more limited, as did the fact that Ron was wearing jeans. But that didn't stop her from reveling in the softness of his hair, or the way the muscles in his arms bunched under her touch. Her main focus, however, was directed towards the growing friction between them as their hips slammed together, creating a tight ball of pleasure low in her stomach.

She was taken completely by surprise when Ron twisted beneath her, rolling her onto the bed, positioning himself between her thighs as he continued their previous movements. Oh! That was...how could it possibly feel this good, when they were still completely dressed? If she had been capable of thinking clearly, she would have reasoned that the fact that the seam in the crotch of her shorts was hitting her clit just right with every one of Ron's thrusts, enhancing what was already a pleasurable sensation., had something to do with it. He was bracing part of his weight with his arms, but his mouth was latched onto the tender patch where her neck met her shoulder, alternately sucking and drawing patterns with his tongue. She fisted his hair, knowing that she was probably moaning nonsense, but Ron didn't seem to mind if the sporadic, growled curses were anything to go by. She couldn't help imagining what it would be like with fewer clothes between them, and flesh gliding against slick flesh...

_Fuck yes, Ron thought from his spot at the foot of the bed, his eyes intently focused on the writhing couple. His right hand stroked himself over his jeans, barely taking the edge off of his growing need. We definitely have some things to talk about when we get back. But damn me if I don't fuck her into the mattress as well!_

His movements were growing more erratic, his breath coming in sharp hitches and gasps. Hermione locked her ankles together behind him to press him closer, feeling the hot, tingling sparks that always came before she orgasmed, like a preshock. She thought they had more time, but when Ron stiffened above her and cried out, she realized he had been closer than she had thought. Through a pleasure filled haze, she watched his face contort as he threw his head back, his sweat soaked fringe plastered to his flushed skin. Her name was slightly mangled, but hearing it come from him just then filled her with a fierce pride, the emotion, along with the physical stimulation, sending a stronger shock throughout her system, so close to actual release that, for a second, she thought she might reach it. As Ron collapsed on top of her, she found that she didn't really mind that she hadn't. In fact, she felt as if things were rather perfect, except for the small matter of her dwindling air supply. Just as she thought she might pass out, Ron began to stir, removing enough of his weight that she could breathe.

"'M sorry. Can't feel M'legs," he muttered in embarrassment.

Hermione giggled. "I can't either, but I think having my circulation cut off had something to do with that."

He wiggled until he could press his face in the mattress, clearly mortified. "Fuck, Hermione; I'm sorry that I didn't-I couldn't-"

She was touched by his concern; obviously it had...well, to be blunt, it had been nearly more than a year and a half since he had been doing the same with Lavender, so it wasn't too surprising that he hadn't held out longer. Not that she had any real basis for comparison. Gently, she reached out, placing her hand on his cheek to turn his face towards her.

"Don't be. I actually did, a little, and...I was just really happy being with you, Ron."

"Next time, I promise that I'll...y'know. Or I'll at least try to-"

He was adorable, and she couldn't resist teasing a bit. "Oh, I know that. You of all people know how I am about thorough revision. Only in this case, I think we can skip the essay and go straight to practical application."

She couldn't help laughing along with him, the grin on her face only widening as he wrapped his arms around her to pull her close, one of her legs coming up to hook over his hip. To be honest, she had been a little nervous about all of this. It wasn't something she had ever done before, and she had been afraid of...well, comparison. But Ron hadn't acted disappointed with her experience; in fact, he had treated her with an awe and a passion that made her feel incredibly desired. It took some of the sting out of not being his first...anything, a fact which she was trying to not let bother her, and which didn't as long as she didn't dwell on it. Firmly, she shoved it to the back of her mind.

" _What the bleeding hell, Hermione?" Ron shouted, gobsmacked. "Did you just totally miss the fact that I came faster than when you call me to dinner? The inside of my pants are a complete mess; there's no cream left in the pastry!" Merlin, but she was going to be in for a shock when they got right down to it, and she realized his cherry was bruised but intact._

Her mind was just starting to regain its usual equilibrium when Ron nuzzled against her temple, and totally derailed it once again.

"Love you," He said, his voice thick and slurred.

Time seemed to stand still; either that, or her heart had completely stopped. But that couldn't be the case, could it? Otherwise, what was thudding so loudly in her ears? Happiness filled her as she let the words roll over her. They were more important to her than what they had just done. More important, in fact, than if he had gone into elaborate detail of his feelings for her. They were sincere and unplanned, sounding as natural as if he had said them a hundred times before. And maybe he had, she supposed, just not where she could hear him.

"I love you, too," she said, before leaning forward to place a feather-light kiss on his lips.

Once again, she was enveloped in a hug, and Hermione wondered if there was a more freeing sensation than to be able not only to share such an intimate moment, but to finally be able to say the words she had been carrying in her heart for so long. Feeling bold, and confident in her new, more sexual role, she smiled.

"Ron," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"Hm?"

"You know, it's never too early to start revising..."

As Ron flipped them over, she thought to herself that this was one subject she could happily spend a lifetime studying.

_Ron was almost thankful when the season dimmed; he didn't think he could last through a second round. It did put his mind at ease about one thing, however. He'd always sort of hated the fact that he wasn't very good at the whole 'romantic' thing. Not that he didn't try-he did, and he reckoned he'd keep trying, since any effort had to be better than nothing at all. But it was reassuring to know that Hermione was happier with plain words that were meant, rather than something Lockhart would come up with._

_As good as things were between them that summer, there had still been something that had had the potential to turn into a huge problem. It had always amazed him that while Hermione could go on and on about things you didn't even know you didn't want to know, but wouldn't say a word about something that you actually considered extremely important. For instance, how to tell your future in-laws that they had a daughter._

As the door to the kitchen slammed shut, Hermione silently counted to fifty, to make sure that Ron, Harry, and Ginny were truly gone. Once she thought that enough time had passed that they wouldn't be popping back in for anything, she charmed the dishes in the sink from lunch to wash themselves, and bolted from the room. The others had gone out to play Quidditch, and although Ron had seemed keen that she at least watched, she had said she was tired and was going to take a nap. Ron had looked worried (which was incredibly sweet and guilt inducing), but she had convinced him to go, promising him they would go for a 'walk' later this evening.

She mounted the stairs to his room, thankful for the quiet of the empty house. Even Mrs. Weasley was out, having been tempted and slightly bullied by Fleur into a shopping trip. Her beaded bag was on Ron's desk, and as she went over to get it, she couldn't help looking out the window, to see if she could catch a glimpse of him. Surprisingly, she was at nearly the perfect level to see all three of them zooming around on their brooms, and she could almost make out what they were yelling at each other as they passed the Quaffle back and forth between them. Knowing Ron, it was probably something crude, she thought fondly. She watched for several moments before tearing her eyes away, her smile fading as the purpose of getting this time alone came back to her.

She had been putting this off for too long. She knew it, and yet a part of her wished she could go on, knowing that once she started, this would be the end of this happy bubble of peace she had been living in. Disgust washed over her as she situated herself in the middle of Ron's bed, propping her back against the headboard and delving into her bag. These were her parents! She should be excited to go get them-should have done it at the very beginning, even if she really didn't think she had been up to it. Stretching her arm in as far as it would reach, she pulled out books and loose papers, stacking maps and travel guides into piles around her. This was going to be difficult. Even if it was now permissible to apply for Portkeys, it didn't help her much if she didn't know where to go.

It had been a point she had agonized over last year; should she set up everything right down to the last detail, as she normally would have preferred, or did she just send them in the general direction? She had considered erasing the paper trail in case anyone came looking, but the thought of what would happen if she were caught (as happened), and had Legilimens used on her (as thankfully hadn't), decided her course of action. It was too risky for her to know their exact location, so she had sent them to Australia trusting that they would feel more at home in the larger cities. Just getting there was going to be tricky enough to manage, and the thought of how long it was going to take to track them down all on her own was daunting. A small voice urged her to talk to Ron about it, but she shook her head, banishing the idea.

Ron had already been such a help-calming her down after her nightmares, talking to her until she could sleep again, rubbing the muscles in her limbs that seized up in painful spasms from the curse, always making sure she was eating right...Ron had been amazing, but this was asking too much. If she mentioned it, she knew he would insist on going, and she couldn't allow that. His family needed him; she could tell just by the way Mrs. Weasley looked at him that the last year had been hard on her. Even Ginny had hugged him more in the time they had been back than Hermione could remember in their years at Hogwarts. They all needed to be together now. It was too soon after Fred, to ask him to go so far, and for possibly quite a long time. Ron needed to be there for his family, and she needed to be there for hers, she told herself firmly, determined to ignore the fact that she would much prefer to be selfish and have him come anyway.

_He had always wondered about that. It had hurt that she had tried to hide what she was doing, and a part of him had really wondered if she needed him at all. He knew she could've done it alone if she had had to, but he had at least wanted to help, and make things easier for her somehow. The fact that she really had wanted him to be with her made him feel a lot better, even if it had been so long ago._

Hermione began to take notes, listing options for travel, and the steps she would need to take to make things go as smoothly as possible. Her focus was such that she completely lost track of time, and didn't register anything amiss until the door burst open, nearly causing her heart to explode in panic.

"Have a nice nap?" He asked, entering the room. Hermione jumped nearly a foot, then began shoving everything in her beaded bag with a guilty expression.

"Ah, yes! I woke up a few minutes ago, and decided to do some reading. Did you have a good game?"

She cleared off a spot, budging over a little so he could stretch out beside her.

"Yeah. We did. Too bad you missed it. Maybe you could come out after dinner; we were gonna try again when it's cooler. Before our, uh, walk."

"Oh, that'll be nice!" She said in a falsely bright voice, picking at a few loose beads on her bag. Maybe she had distracted him?

"Hermione."

Another little jump. "Yes?"

"When are we going to Australia?"

Apparently not.

"What? We're not! I mean, that is to say-why did you even ask that?"

He rolled to his side to look up at her. "Oh, come on! You've been on edge for days, and did you really think I wouldn't notice that you were veeeeerry interested the other night when Dad and Percy were talking about how the restrictions on Portkeys had been lifted? And now you've gone into full blown research mode," he gestured at her bag, "and you expect me not to figure it out? This isn't like third year when I didn't know a Time Turner was an option; I didn't think you were going to pop off to France for holiday. I knew you'd be wanting to go to your parents sometime soon."

"I should've gone right away!" She wailed, giving up any pretense. "It's going to be hard enough as it is, but how can I tell them that I left them months longer than I had to?"

She was crying now, and Ron sat up quickly, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Hey! You make sound as if you _had_ popped off for a holiday! We talked about that, remember? There was no way you should have traveled like that, and you'd have scared them to death looking like you did, waving a stick in their face-what would they think?"

"I wouldn't have shown them my wand!" She said indignantly, as if that were the most important point.

"You know what I mean. It's gonna be a shock for them, and seeing how you were...it would've been a bit much for them to take in at once. Plus, you said yourself that you weren't well, and you weren't sure you could risk doing the spell like that."

"That's true," she acknowledged, slightly calmer, glad to hear that someone else thought she had made the right choice. "I really wasn't in the best place mentally or physically to do that, which I'm sure they'll understand."

"And it's not like you have to bring up how long you waited right off," Ron pointed out.

She nodded, feeling more like herself. "You're right, I shouldn't panic. Still, I'm doing much better now, so I'll probably go sometime this week, once I can arrange the right Portkeys. Or maybe a plane would be better..."

"Just tell me when to be packed, then," he said, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger.

It finally registered with her what he was saying. "What? But Ron, you need to stay here!"

He scowled slightly at the idea. "No, I don't. I need to go with you."

"Ron, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself!" she snapped, before her voice softened, unable to be truly mad when he was genuinely trying to do something for her. "And they do need, you, Ron. After everything-"

"My family will be fine! There's eight of them-" his eyes slammed shut briefly, "seven of them, and Harry, and Fleur. It's not like any of them are going to be alone, you know?"

Her mouth opened to protest, but he pushed ahead. "And what about you? Don't think that I don't know you've avoided having the Healers look at you; you still have pain, and don't even try to tell me you've stopped having nightmares. Who's going to be there for you if I don't go?"

She stared at him. Wasn't it obvious? "My parents, of course!"

"And if you don't find them right away? And when you do, they're...Hermione, there's gonna be a lot for them to take in. They might not be _able_ to be there for you, for awhile at least. And it's not like I'm saying I'd have to be there every minute; I know when to bugger off, if I need to."

"Do you really think they'll be mad?" She asked, in a small voice that told him she had been trying not to think of that.

He hesitated, but then plunged in. "If Harry and I had left without you-if we'd done the same spell and sent you after you parents, how would you have felt?"

She shot up, glaring at him so hard that he sat back, hitting his head on the wall. "You wouldn't have had any right! It was my choice!"

"Sure, but to keep you safe-"

"It was my choice to be safe or not! You can't just make a decision, and then shove me to the side-oh Merlin, they're going to hate me!" She cried, tears pouring down her face.

That was exactly what she had done to them, wasn't it? Yes, it was to keep them safe, but how much of a right did she have to make that choice for them? They were both adults, and she knew that there were things that were going to be difficult for them when they came back; she hadn't been able to cover for them with everyone they knew, after all. There was emotional shock to deal with, and what if they always worried that she would do it again? How was she going to explain-Ron was talking again, and she struggled to listen.

"They won't! Look, you would've been furious with me and Harry-probably have taken a good chunk out of our hides-but after awhile, you'd have forgiven us. I'm sure we'd have gotten the frosty side of your shoulder for awhile, but not forever."

That was true; her parents loved her, and they were generally reasonable. Surely once she had had a chance to apologize and explain, they would calm down after the initial shock.

"Alright, so I know to expect them to be upset. I can deal with that, now that I'm prepared."

Ron fidgeted, a strained look entering his eyes. "Hermione, trust me. Just because you know someone is going to be upset...even if they have every right to be...that won't make it hurt any less."

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. "Oh Ron, I'm so sorry-"

Why did she think they would forgive her so quickly, or let it pass with no need for effort on her part? She certainly hadn't when Ron had come back. Yes, the situations had been different, but even after he had sincerely apologized and made visible efforts to do better, she had still purposely hurt him to make herself feel better. The thought of being on the receiving end of that was...daunting.

He waved it away. "No reason you should be. But you can see why I don't want you to go clear across the bloody world to deal with that alone."

She was silent for a few moments, considering. Now that he had brought it up, she wasn't sure she wanted to deal with that on top of everything else, all alone. What if they were so mad that they needed to be away from her for awhile? Could she just sit around alone in another country, letting the guilt consume her? And sometimes, she still hurt too much to move. What if she had one of her spells while she was there, and no one could help her? Were these legitimate reasons to ask him to come, or was she just using to use them as justification because she _wanted_ him to?

"I'm still not sure..." she said hesitantly.

He sighed, giving an exaggerated shrug. "Look, you can say no all you like, and make your plans without me. But the minute you land in Australia, I'll be popping out of that beaded bag of yours-"

"Ron!" She gasped with a choked laugh at that mental image, "That's not meant to transport living things!"

"I wondered how we managed to avoid bring your beast along with us last year."

"Strange, I recall my beast being right there in the tent with me," she countered with a mock glare.

"And that's right where I plan to be, this time, wherever you are." He said softly, taking her hand. "So either let me help, or at least take out a few of the sharper objects you're carrying around in there, so I don't get punctured too badly."

Hermione snuggled into his shoulder with a large sigh. Maybe it was both; she needed him, and she wanted him. And maybe that was okay. "I suppose I have no choice, if you're going to be this stubborn."

"You always have a choice," he said, with what surely couldn't be hurt in his voice. "I wouldn't make you, you know."

But Hermione yanked him back, Wrapping her arms around him, and laid her head against his chest. "I do know. And I do want you to come. Truly. I just...I didn't want to take you from your family, when they need you, and you need them."

"They'll be fine. I'm not off to do anything dangerous, and they'll know where I am this time. I'll be where I need to be."

"Alright. Then after dinner, you can help me decide how we're going to get there."

Now that that had been decided, she actually felt much better. Ron would help her, and maybe they could even do something fun together, to keep the stress from becoming too much. Sometimes it was depressing how much they still had to do, even after all they had already been through. There were times when she truly wondered if any of them would ever be alright again. But with Ron...Ron gave her hope that there were still good things ahead-good things right _now._ As much as she had to worry over, and as many nights that she would wake up crying, having Ron with her meant there was someone there to point out the good things, someone who not only would understand her tears without needing an explanation, but would either try to make her feel better, or hold her while she let it all out. Yes, she thought as she snuggled closer for a nap, letting Ron come was the right choice. Being together meant being there for each other during the bad times, and hadn't she been hurt when he had tried to keep her from doing the same thing? She only had one concern left on the topic.

Was this really the best way to tell her parents that she had a boyfriend?

_He'd always felt a bit sorry for the Grangers. Nothing like losing a year of your life, being relocated to a foreign country, having to fix everything that messed up, and dealing with the idea of your daughter not only using magic on you without your consent, but going through the hell of war. And then, as if all that wasn't enough, having it dropped on you that your daughter was in a serious relationship. And not even with the one with prospects!_

_The entire trip had been wild, in one way or another. They had tried to work in some aspects of a vacation, but after the search for and dealing with her parents, they had needed a vacation from their vacation. Of course, not everything about the trip had been bad, and if he was really, really lucky, he'd at least get to see that...at least this time, he'd make it out of his pants before he came._

_Mostly._


	42. Chapter 42

Ron wasn't sure which he hated more. Attending the long list of funerals, or sitting at home. He didn't know what to say or do in either situation, and so he usually limited himself to monosyllabic grunts and vague gestures. It was as if the Ghoul was still standing in for him. Much of the past few days had been a blur, which he was guiltily thankful for. There were already so many things he was going to be remembering forever, and he thought if he added any more, his head would explode.

He splashed some water on his face, then wiped himself down with the rough green hand towel, tossing it onto the laundry basket when he was done. He kept drifting off, caught up in dark memories, or thinking about what could have been. Or should have been. With a quick shake of the head, he snatched up his toothbrush and squeezed out a glob of toothpaste, then set to scrubbing his teeth as if he could wipe away the thoughts through sheer physical force.

Hermione had snapped him out of it earlier, but he wished she didn't have to. It felt like he had mucked things up over the years enough times to keep them from getting together, and he wanted- _needed_ to get things right this time. He had to prove he could be counted on not to fuck up, and falling apart wasn't going to do anything to give her that impression. If he could just...make it through the next day, then maybe he could finally start finding ways to hold himself together.

_Hermione gave a frustrated hop as she followed him out of the room, unable to voice her distress. Of course he had mucked things up! So had she! And she had known that both of them would make mistakes in the future. She wasn't fifteen anymore; she hadn't expected for things to always go perfectly. She had believed that by now, they both understood what was important, and would work through any problems they had. She knew she could be exacting, and that she often got frustrated when Ron performed below what she knew he was capable, but she had never expected him to walk on eggshells, worried that she would end things because he was human! It was apparent that stress and grief were causing him to fall back into old thought patterns, which was understandable and shouldn't be too surprising. At the time, she had been too distressed herself to recognize the fact that he was slipping._

Harry was already breathing deeply when he entered, and Ron relaxed. Harry had been giving him that long, guilty face again, and Ron didn't have the energy right now to keep telling him it wasn't his fault. Because, after all, it wasn't; he had never thought so, and Fred wouldn't have, either. But Harry wouldn't listen, and Ron barely had the energy to drag himself out of bed every morning and pretend to function halfway normally. At least he had heard him with Ginny, earlier, and she sounded like she was talking sense into him. He crawled into bed, wondering if those two had gotten things sorted yet. He didn't think so, at least not all the way. They would be going along, seemingly as if they were fine, and then you would see the awkwardness flare up. He hoped they figured it out soon; they could both use each other right now, like with him and Hermione.

His mind turned towards her, happily avoiding the subject of Fred. She had acted strangely, tonight. Almost like she was afraid to come upstairs, but that couldn't be right, could it? Ignoring Harry's snores, he folded his arms behind his head, frowning. She hadn't had a fight with Ginny, so that wasn't it. And she hadn't acted like it was anything he had done, either. Were all of the funerals starting to get to her? He couldn't blame her for that. They were starting to get to him. Or maybe it was something worse. She still hadn't gone to St. Mungo's for the checkup she needed; what if something was really wrong? Maybe he should try to see if she would go in. He just had to figure out a way to bring up the subject without getting his head bitten off, or making her decide not to go just to be stubborn.

A faint sob came from somewhere below, and Ron rolled over onto his side, gritting his teeth and pulling the pillow over his ear. George. Ron had heard him every night, and he hoped Charlie or Percy was there to deal with it. It wasn't that he didn't want to help. He just...didn't know what to say. There was nothing anyone could say to make _him_ feel better, so he doubted that anything would work for George, either. A door opened, and floorboards creaked, followed by the sound of a few murmured words. Good.

He shifted deeper under the sheets, hoping he would fall into a deep sleep. A deep, dreamless sleep. On the other hand, he wanted the night to last for a long time; he didn't want the sun to rise, to have to get out of bed, put on his dress robes, and follow his family down to the orchard, where a tent was once again set up for one of his brothers, but not for a wedding...

An earsplitting shriek came from the floor below, and Ron nearly fell out of bed, his wand already in one hand. He glanced over to Harry, who had already sat up, his glasses jammed on hurriedly.

"Hermione," They both said grimly, before sprinting for the door.

Racing for the stairs, it felt like his heart was going to lunge from his chest. Memories he had pushed deep into his mind resurfaced, reminding him with crystal clarity the last time he had heard her scream like that. Pounding down the stairs, he was just in time to see Ginny yanking Hermione back from where she teetered on the top stair to the flight below. That had always been one of the most dangerous parts of the stairs; it was a sharp corner, and you were liable to break your neck. Charlie had broken his arm there once, going down too fast, and that had been when he was awake enough to try to break his fall. As he got closer to Hermione, he could see that she wasn't awake; it was almost like Shell Cottage all over again.

"What the hell happened?" He snarled, knowing he sounded like he was angry at Ginny, but too worried to bother apologizing.

Pale faced, Ginny's voice shook. "I don't know! She's been having nightmares, but she's always stayed in bed before. I think we forgot to put up the Silencing Spell tonight, because she woke me up with the scream, and then she ran out here! I tried to stop her, but she was so fast!"

"Shite, why didn't she say it was this bad?" He muttered, kneeling down to pull Hermione into his lap, ignoring the sounds of his family stirring.

"She probably didn't want people worrying," Harry said, his expression saying that was exactly what he was doing.

Hermione whimpered, and Ron was afraid of what she might do if they didn't wake her up.

"Hermione! Hermione, wake up!"

It took a few minutes, but she began to stir, her eyelids fluttering open as she looked up with a confused expression. "I...what happened?"

"What happened? You nearly broke your neck falling down the bloody stairs, that's what happened!" He barked, knowing he was probably holding her too tightly, but unable to let go.

"Ron!" His mum snapped, surprising both of them. "Hermione, dear, what happened?" She asked more softly, coming up the stairs she had been standing on below, his dad beside her.

"I'm sorry; I think it was just a nightmare," she muttered.

Ron snapped his mouth shut; if that was a regular nightmare, he'd eat his Quidditch gloves.

"Alright, everyone get back to bed. Give the poor girl room to breathe!" Molly said, waving her hand. "Come along, dear. We'll get you back into bed, with some nice tea to help you sleep."

Somehow, Ron didn't think tea was going to cut it. This must have been why Hermione had acted like she was avoiding going to bed; had she been like this since they got home? Why hadn't she said something? And was it because the hell they had gone through, or was it something related to the Cruciatus?

"Are you alright? You're not alright. Do you need me to sleep outside the door in case it happens again? Because-"

"Ron, go to bed. What Hermione needs is sleep; we all do." Mrs. Weasley interrupted, gently pushing him aside.

"But Mum, she nearly-"

"We'll put up Wards on the stairs like we did when all of you were little, so I promise she'll be safe. Ginny, would you please go fetch Hermione some tea? From the blue tin, please."

Ron wanted to argue that penning Hermione up like a toddler wasn't going to solve anything. It might stop her from crashing down the stairs, but what if she tried something else? Hermione needed sleep to heal, and he didn't think she was getting very much. He stood in the hall, listening to doors close around him. Harry raised his eyebrows, but Ron nodded at him to go on ahead; he knew Harry would wait for him just out of sight, and would slip back if he needed him.

He stayed quiet, hoping his mum wouldn't notice if he stood there awhile longer. He wanted to talk to Hermione alone, because he was serious about sleeping by the door if it would help. He knew Ginny could probably take care of anything that came up, but he would feel better if he was there himself. They had barely entered Ginny's room before Hermione came bolting out, a determined look on her face as she passed him on her way up the stairs; he quickly followed her, confused to what she could be thinking. Nothing was up there except his room, and then the attic.

"Where is she going?" Harry asked as they passed him, his back pressed to the wall to get out of the way.

"Hell if I know!" Ron called back over his shoulder, wondering if Hermione knew, herself.

He caught up with her outside of his door. Was she planning on staying there? He'd prefer that, actually; he felt better having her and Harry both where he could see them. He knew that was a little strange, but he couldn't help it; as long as they were all together, he felt like they were safe. Or they would be, until his mum got ahold of them.

"Hermione, what are you doing? You know I'd let you stay, but Mum'll go spare if-hey!" He yelped, as she pointed her wand, flipping his mattress off the bed.

The mattress nearly engulfed his toes before he moved out of the way, the thing spreading like a lumpy ocean across his floor. He watched in disbelief as Hermione then proceeded to make her way to the middle, drop to her knees, and begin nesting like a cat in a basket.

A familiar elbow to his side had him taking a step to the left as Ginny pushed her way in, not batting an eye at the scene. She dropped down beside Hermione, and Ron could tell by her body language that she wasn't leaving. Which might have irritated him more a couple of years ago, but really it wasn't much different than when they were younger, and it wasn't like he was going to complain about knowing another person he cared about was safe. Now all they had to do was convince Mum, which would be a challenge fit for the TriWizard Tournament.

"What on earth is going-no. Ginny, back to your room!" Mrs. Weasley puffed, having caught up with them. "Hermione, surely you realize that this isn't appropriate, for you to be sleeping in here-"

Which Ron didn't really understand. Setting aside the fact that they were above the legal age, who was going to know? It wasn't as if they were going to go around casually dropping it into conversations that they had slept in the same room. Still, he knew it was a sticking point, and he didn't have the heart to fight with any member of his family right now. But it looked like Hermione was going to take care of that herself.

"I don't care!" Hermione cut in, her voice coming out more shrilly than she had intended. She clenched her fist around her wand, droping her gaze to her rapidly whitening knuckles. "I'm sorry. Really. But I'm so tired, and I keep trying and trying, but the nightmares- _everything_ is getting worse, and maybe this _is_ inappropriate, but," she looked up then, her eyes pleading with his mother to understand, "But this is the only place I feel _safe!"_

There was only one reaction he could have to that. Hermione was staying. If that's what she needed to feel better, then letting her go back downstairs wasn't an option. A look at Harry's face told him he agreed, and no discussion was needed as they joined the girls.

"That's enough for me. Sorry, Mum, but either you let her stay here, or I'll just go down to Ginny's."

"It isn't like we didn't share a tent for months," Harry added, placing himself, Ron noticed, closer to Ginny.

"But that was-I still think-"

"Molly," his dad said quietly, placing his hand on his mum's shoulder, "Leave them be. They're all well over age, or close enough, and I for one wouldn't deny them the comfort. Besides," he continued, when she showed signs of protesting, "I really don't think we have to worry about anything while Ginny and Ron are sharing the room."

Ron was filled with alarming mental images that he had no desire to entertain; from the look Ginny was giving him, she felt the exact same way.

Mum slumped, clearly having reached the point where she couldn't fight anymore. Under normal circumstances she would never have given up so easily, but there was only so much she could handle right now.

"Alright," she sighed, rubbing her temples, "I can see when I'm outnumbered. Just...behave."

"After Dad's comment, there's not much of a chance we wouldn't," Ron muttered as his parents left.

Taking advantage of his long limbs, he reached for one of the pillows, placing it next to Hermione's. He waited for her to settle into place on her side, before he curled up behind her, his arm going around her waist, where her fingers came up to tangle with his. Harry put the candle out, and Ron lay there in the dark, listening to the other three breathing. He winced every once in awhile as the spasms Hermione sometimes had made her kick back into his shins, but he didn't move away. Even with the small pain, he felt calmer, somehow. He still didn't want to think about tomorrow, but with the four of them here like this, it seemed further away. His room was small, and they were a bit crowded together, but for one of the few times since the battle ended, he felt like he could breathe.

He had fallen into a doze; not fully asleep, but in that dreamy, hazy relaxed state, which was almost as good as a full night of actual sleep, at this point. A faint creaking from below broke the spell; his hand went to his wand under the pillow, then he realized it must be one of his brothers. All of them-himself included-had a habit of roaming the house when they couldn't sleep. Surprisingly, the sounds became louder, telling him that someone was coming up the stairs to his room. Odd, since most of the time they went down to the main floor.

Slowly, his door creaked open to reveal George, the last person Ron expected to be standing there. The moonlight coming in through the window was bright enough to see him clearly; pajamas wrinkled, face haggard, and hair shooting in all directions, as if he had been wrestling in the bed rather than sleeping in it. George squinted into the room, before looking down at them with an expression of shocked confusion, which really wasn't much different from how he had looked the past three days, when he had any expression at all. Then a new expression crossed his face; one of hunger, and Ron realized with a pang that George was going to have to go back down to a room he had shared with Fred for nearly twenty years, and sleep in it alone.

"Well? Are you gonna come in, or just stand there?" He asked, trying to be quiet enough so the others wouldn't wake.

George's head snapped up when he saw that he was being watched. Face flushing with embarrassment, he took a step back, one hand raised to rub at his neck.

"George," Ron said, waiting for him to stop, "Get in here."

Not waiting to be told twice, George shut the door behind him, lumbering over the uneven surface under his feet, and Ron saw that somehow, his brother had already lost some weight. George stumbled, righted himself, and worked his way to the spot above everyone's heads; he lay down, grabbed the extra blanket and two extra extra pillows, and curled himself in a tight ball. Ron hesitated a moment, then moved the arm that was around Hermione to reach over his head, to carefully rest it on George's back. He felt him tense, and was just about to withdraw, when George relaxed, and ever so fractionally leaned back into the contact.

Ron knew that George was going through a special hell that was different than it was for the rest of them, and he knew that it was going to be harder for him to get through it. He wasn't sure what he had to offer, if anything. But...maybe this was a start.

_Tears were streaming down Hermione's face, and she sniffed noisily. She was a crier; she cried at weddings, and she cried at funerals. She cried when she was fighting, and she cried when she made up. She was crying now because that gesture was so typical of who Ron was; reaching out to those he cared about, even if he wasn't sure of himself. Sometimes what he tried wasn't always what was best at the time, but the point was, he tried. Ron had stepped up so much with his family, even when it meant putting off the career he had always wanted; he had made sacrifices without being bitter about them. It had been most noticeable with George, although she knew she had missed much by being away at Hogwarts. She had always wondered how George had ended up in there with them that night, but she really should have known._

The first rays of the sun were just beginning to struggle over the horizon, but Ron was already awake. Hermione had rolled over in the night, and had wrapped her leg around his, one hand gripping the front of his shirt. Harry was sprawled on his back, with Ginny in a similar position, her hand draped across Harry's face. Ron tipped his head up to find that George was there, unmoving. He wasn't sure if he was actually asleep, but he wasn't going to disturb him. Ron wished he was asleep, too. He wished he could close his eyes and dream away until this day was over. He knew as soon as the others started waking up, he would be forced to shower, and put on his dress robes, and go out to watch his brother being planted in the ground like some tree.

Fred. Dead. Dead Fred, Fred dead. The words played over and over again in his mind, in a nasty little sing-song. Unable to bear it, Ron stealthily untangled himself from Hermione, crawled to the edge of the room, and slipped out the door. He went over to the window in the hall, biting his lip as he pulled it open, pausing before he wiggled out of it and onto the roof. He moved across the shingles until he was out of view, finding the space a bit more cramped than he remembered it. Memories of past Quidditch games engulfed him as he looked out at the homemade pitch, and he turned quickly away, only to jerk his head back, seeing the spot where Fred was to be buried. Everywhere he looked recently seemed to be a reminder of what his family had lost, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. He threw himself backwards, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't go down. He just couldn't. Until he saw Fred being buried with his own eyes, he could pretend. He could pretend it was dream, or a bad joke. Some sort of mistake. If he stayed up here he wouldn't have to see his family crying. He wouldn't be tempted to cry himself. It was selfish. It was impractical.

But it was what he needed, damn it.

_He had terrified everyone by disappearing like that. Mrs. Weasley had flown into a frenzy, and George, who had been nearly silent this whole time, had broken down in hysterics, not able to cope with having a brother missing. She had been well on her way to joining them, when she spotted his foot near the edge of the roof. It had taken them awhile, in all of the rush to get ready to notice that no one had seen him, so they were already dressed for the funeral; Harry had volunteered to go get him, which had been wise, since she had been so worried that she might have ended up throttling him._

"Ron, what the bloody-oh for fucks sake; he's actually asleep!"

Harry's voice jerked him awake, and he rolled slightly, having forgotten where he was. His toes curled around the edges of the shingles, thanking Merlin that they weren't loose. "Jesus, Harry! What made you think it was a bright idea to go around waking people on roofs?"

Harry crawled out, duck walking to keep from messing up his dress robes too badly. "I didn't know I'd be going around rescuing people like they were cats in trees, did I? What were you thinking? Do you know how late it is? Everyone down there was worried sick; they had to give George a potion to calm him down."

Ron squirmed guiltily, his face flushing. Damn, he hadn't thought of that; the idea that people would think something had happened to him had never entered his head.

"Hermione?"

"You should be glad I'm the one that came up here."

"I didn't mean to worry anyone," he murmured, but made no move to leave.

Harry's expression shifted to melancholy, and his voice lost its heat. "Ron, you know I'm sorry. If only I-"

"Harry," He bit out sharply, not wanting to go there.

His friend blinked, then grinned ruefully. "I'm doing it again, aren't i?"

Ron nodded, rubbing the stubble along his jawline. "A little, yeah. Look, if it makes you feel better, after...later on, I'll write you up a nice long list of everything that's your fault, right up to the hens not laying right, okay?"

Both of them snorted weakly.

"You're not going, are you?" Harry stated more than asked, his eyes piercing uncomfortably through Ron.

"I can't, Harry. I can't watch-I can't let that be the last thing I see-" Ron tried to explain, unable to put his jumbled feelings into words.

"Ron, if you can't, you can't. But you might wanna at least come inside, so people don't wonder why you aren't in St. Mungo's," Harry cut in, only slightly joking.

"Ah. Yeah. Hadn't thought of that." He followed Harry back through the window, surprised when Harry followed him up to his room, instead of going downstairs. "Shouldn't you get outside?"

With a shrug, Harry lowered himself to the foot of Ron's bed, and Ron absently noticed that Hermione's makeshift bed had been cleared away.

"You didn't leave me alone in fifth year. Why would I leave you now?"

Harry's quiet statement caused a lump to lodge firmly in Ron's throat, nestled next to the one that had been there all morning. "You don't have to do that, mate. Ginny-Ginny will need you with her today."

That earned him a wince, as Harry ran a hand through hair that had been fought into some semblance of control, completely undoing all the hard work. "Ginny has the rest of your family. I'm not going to have you stay up here by yourself."

"She needs someone who's...someone who's family, but not at the same time." Ron said, his fingers spinning a small wooden top that had been lying on his dresser.

Someone like Hermione was for him, he thought. Ginny needed the same kind of support from Harry that he needed from Hermione, and she wasn't getting it because he was being stubborn.

"Look, Give me a minute, and I'll be ready to go down, alright? I just have to put on my robes and run a comb through my hair."

"You don't have to-"

Ron waved his words away with one hand as he pulled his trousers out. "Yeah, I do. People will talk, the family will be disappointed-"

"No one would be disappointed in you, Ron!" Harry said fiercely.

Ron hopped about on one leg, reaching for his shirt as he shook one leg into the right hole. "Not disappointed, but they'd be worried. They'd be sitting down there wondering if I was alright, when today is about Fred," he said firmly, saying his brother's name for the first time. I'll just close my eyes when they...no one will notice."

"Are you sure?"

He paused, one black sock rolled halfway up, his shirt still undone. "What do you think I should do? Honestly, not just what you think I wanna hear."

Harry let out a puff of air, before pulling his shoulders back. "I think the whole locking yourself in a room and brooding thing is mine, and you should really leave it to someone who can pull it off better."

Ron jammed his feet into his shoes, slowly doing up the laces. "See? Ill be fine. I just...needed to get my head together."

Hand on the doorknob, Harry paused. "I'll go and tell them that you'll be down in a few minutes, then." He looked troubled, and continued, "You know I-He shouldn't-"

Standing, Ron focused on buttoning his shirt, taking his time with each fastening. With a small pause, he looked up to meet Harry's eyes. "You don't have to say it. I know. Felt the same way with Sirius."

Both gave a small nod.

"Alright, I'll just go on ahead."

The door closed softly behind him, and Ron slumped to the bed. He wasn't doing nearly as well as he had tried to let on, and he thought Harry probably knew that. He still didn't want to go downstairs. But if he had learned one thing over the years, it was that sometimes you had to do things that you really, really didn't want to. But he was only staying for the funeral, he told himself; he wasn't going to hang about and socialize with the visitors over a cold lunch.

With leaden feet, he walked to the door, straightening his tie. It felt like it was strangling him; spots danced before his eyes, and he leaned against the door. Once all the funerals were over, he promised himself, he was burning these robes, new or not.

A few slow, deep breaths cleared his vision enough to see, He braced himself to confront his family, but the Burrow was empty, except for Hermione. She looked pale and tired, and he expected her to rip him a new one for worrying her.

"Where is everyone?" He asked, as if he didn't know.

"Already outside. Your Mum wanted to wait, but Harry said you were fine, and they needed to get George in place without too many people bothering him...so I told them I'd wait for you."

He nodded, not knowing what else to say, and dreading the moment he had to start moving again. To his surprise, Hermione rushed forward, her arms going around his waist in a tight hug.

"Leave a note next time," she said, her voice muffled.

Ron gulped, his chin hitting the top of her head as he nodded. Damn it. Why hadn't he realized that his going off like that would scare people? He should know better, since he could barely stand to have them out of his sight. After all of the dying, when someone was gone too long, your mind went to bad places.

Hermione stepped back, sniffing. "We should probably catch up now. Are you going to be alright?"

Words were locked up in the back of his throat; he wasn't completely sure how he would answer, anyway. He nodded, taking her hand and holding it tightly. Hermione opened her mouth, then shook her head; after standing there like that for a moment, they walked to the door, and Ron could hear the sound of voices from outside. People were still milling about, and Ron recognized distant family members, as well as witches and wizards he had seen around for years, although he barely knew more than their names. Hagrid was clearly visible, several heads over everyone else and already teared up; close by he saw the sharp peak of McGonagall's hat.

Even as he came closer to the seating area, he knew he was trying to distract himself. He looked all around him, anywhere but the front, where most of his family was already gathered. Eyes on the ground, he moved to join them, squeezing Hermione's hand harder when she started to pull away. She probably thought she shouldn't be sitting with the family, but that wouldn't do. A wave of oily darkness was washing over him, and she was the only bright point he could hold onto to help push it back. He found two empty seats next to Harry and Ginny, and they sat down; Harry and Ginny both tried to catch his eye, but he just nodded to show he was alright. Not that either of them would believe it; they knew him too well. Even Hermione kept shooting him worried looks, and he was grateful that there wasn't any way for them to ask him how he was at the moment.

He glanced up the row at the rest of his family. Percy and George were two white statues. Percy stared straight ahead, his eyes glassy and bloodshot. George's hands were curled into fists, and Ron could see tiny tremors running the length of his body. Charlie had his arms crossed, his eyes closed as he breathed heavily, while Bill sat hunched over, strands of hair blocking his eyes, with Fleur rubbing the back of his neck. His mum was slumped against his dad, already shaking with tears, and there was a small bead of blood on his dad's lip where he had been biting it.

As the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach grew, he sat back, fixing his eyes on a small patch of grass a foot in front of him, his hand nearly swallowing Hermione's as they rested on his leg. He sat, unmoving, as people filled the rows behind them; he sat unmoving as people got up and spoke words he didn't hear about his brother. He sat through the sounds of his mother's tears, and he sat, until the rest of his siblings stood. With a shaky breath, he untangled his hand from Hermione's, slowly joining them for the moment he dreaded the most. The six of them moved towards the casket, although Ron still couldn't bring himself to look at it directly. Surrounding it, they all bent at the knee, and hoisted it up, resting it atop a shoulder. Ron was behind George, and he could see people watching his brother worriedly, as if the act might be too much for him. Ron knew better. George was going to be an absolute mess later, but there was no way in hell that he would let others carry Fred while he stood by, even if they were family.

Ginny was on the opposite side, her heels making her tall enough that Ron didn't have to lean too far to even the load for her. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and Ron realized, with a start, that his face was also wet. Their footsteps were matched as they walked the short distance to the place where they would leave Fred, the guests standing as the carried the coffin past. As they drew closer to the hole that had been prepared, Ron wanted to stop. The wood was digging into his shoulder, and he remembered all of the times that the twins would pop up, each tossing an arm around him.

This was the last time Fred would ever rest on his shoulder, and the weight of that was almost enough to crush him.

Gently, they placed the casket on the ground; it would take magic to lower it. For the first time, Ron looked at it head on, and his stomach lurched. Madly, he wondered if Fred was still smiling. He staggered back unsteadily, noticing that everyone had followed for the burial. as they pressed in closer, his resolve broke. He couldn't stay any longer, or he would cause a scene. He had to get out before he embarrassed himself...

"Ron...Ron!" Hermione whispered, her voice slightly shrill with panic. He looked down at his side, where she was tugging on his arm.

"Wha-?"

"The snow!"

Blinking, he saw that small flurries were coming down around him. He looked about wildly, but everyone's attention was focused elsewhere. He tried to make it stop, but it started to come down a little harder. Behind him, he heard the sound of earth being moved.

He ran.

Hermione's startled gasp echoed in his ears as his feet pounded into the ground, his long strides carrying him to the Burrow. He flung open the kitchen door with barely a pause, and he heard it slam behind him as he tore up to his room, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He threw himself face down on his bed, his pillow smothering the anguished scream that clawed its way up from his throat. His fingers dug into the sheets, twisting the material into two, tight balls. It wasn't long before he felt the mattress dip beneath him, and a hand was placed on his back. He tensed, waiting for the well meant words, or to be chided for running out early. Neither came. Which was remarkable, because it had to be Hermione. He and Harry were close, but Harry wouldn't be rubbing small circles on his lower back like that.

After a few minutes, he sat up, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. "I guess you're here to tell me I shouldn't have left like that," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"Ron, I knew how hard it was just for you to come; I didn't expect you to hang about afterwards. Besides, I don't think anyone noticed. And George Apparated away not long after, so even if they had, that would have distracted them."

He looked up at her, worry filling him. "He left? Does anyone know where he went? He shouldn't be-"

"Bill and Charlie went to look for him," she soothed, "And Percy and Ginny are helping your parents, and Harry is with them."

"And you drew the short end of the straw and got me," he said, not knowing why he was being so bitter.

"No, I'm here because I wouldn't be anywhere else."

He felt a spike of pleasure, but guilt made him stamp it back down quickly.

"Ron, do you...do you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

Shaking his head, he pushed himself to his feet. How could he possibly talk about it? There was no way to put things into words, not when he hadn't even sorted them out in his own head. He couldn't even pin down one emotion before it spiraled into something else. He knew he was supposed to be sad, but sad was a weak word that didn't even begin to cover it. Sad was eating the last chocolate frog before you got your pocket money. Sad was the wireless not working during a Cannons match. Sadness wasn't a patch on the storm that was raging inside of him.

A sudden, gripping anger seized him; the same as the night Fred died. Why was this even happening? Why did Fred-anyone from the battle that had been on their side-have to die? It wasn't fair! Like a dark mantra, the words repeated in his head, as he paced the room. He punched the wall, but found it unsatisfying. With one arm, he swept everything from the top of his dresser in a loud crash, watching bits of his childhood shatter and snap. With a grunt, he yanked out a drawer, hurling it across the room, clothes scattering everywhere, and the corner of one end leaving a deep gouge in the orange paint. Hermione was sitting on the bed, her face pale and drawn, not saying a word as she watched him destroy his room.

"Well?" He snarled belligerently, "Aren't you going to tell me to stop? To tell me what an immature prat I'm being?"

It was stupid, he knew, and he hated himself for it, but a fight was all he could think of that would burn the anger out of him, give him something to focus on.

Hermione shook her head, looking at him sadly. "I know what it's like to hurt so much, where you want to smash everything around you until it's just as broken as you are inside."

As quickly as the boiling rage had overtaken him, it vanished, leaving him weak kneed in its wake. His whole body sagged, and he was ashamed. There was Hermione, still too thin, collar bones jutting out, and plagued by nightmares that were all the worse for being memories. His parents had lost a child-something he couldn't even begin to imagine. George had lost a part of himself. Harry was struggling to accept the fact that he was alive, when so many weren't. Why was he being so childishly selfish? Head hanging, he returned to the bed, and sat down.

"Sorry."

Hermione scooted back against the headboard, kicking her heels off and drawing her legs up onto the bed. With arms outstretched, she motioned him to come forward. "Come over here. I can't make things right-Merlin knows I would if I could-but this helped me."

Ron removed his own shoes, and crawled up awkwardly beside her, letting her take him in her arms. He curled on the bed with his head resting on her chest, Her heart beat a steady thrum in his ear, as her fingers gently slid through his hair.

"Feel a little better?"

"Mn."

And it did. It didn't take away the pain of losing Fred, and it didn't erase the horrors that he had been through. But even though it didn't fix things, it showed him that there was still happiness in the world, at a time when it was hardest for him to believe it. With Hermione holding him, it was like being wrapped up in the comfort of seven years of friendship; it was the feeling of her lips pressed against his, a jolt of joy that went straight to his heart, parting the clouds like the sun. He knew he should get up, go downstairs, and be with the rest of his family. They were hurting as much as he was, and they needed his support. He was going to go.

Just...ten more minutes.

_This was where Hermione became confused. She had been fully aware that Ron was struggling; who wouldn't be? And she hadn't been naive enough to think he would be miraculously healed by the power of her love. It had never been her intent to become such an emotional crutch for Ron that he couldn't function without her, but she had hoped that they could rely on each other to help work their way through all of the mess they had to deal with. That was what a relationship was, wasn't it? Enjoying the good times, helping each other through the bad times? And that had seemed to be what Ron wanted, as well. What on earth had caused the shift that she knew was about to happen?_

Like a hog rooting for acorns, Ron sifted through his closet with small grunting sounds as he dug, tossing another shirt onto the pile behind him. That should be the last of them, he thought, sitting back on his heels, mentally adding the clothes he had pulled from his dresser. To keep busy, he had begun the process of putting his room in order; just now he was getting rid of all the clothes that were too small, even with charms. It had been a week since Fred's funeral, and everyone was trying to go through the motions of being normal, hoping that if they did it often enough it would start to feel natural.

Cleaning wasn't what Ron would consider _natural,_ but it kept his mind busy, which was good enough. It also gave him an excuse to be up here alone, which he needed. Hermione had looked at him funny when he had said what he would be doing after lunch, but she had let it pass this time; he felt bad about turning down her suggestion of a walk, but there was no way around it. He had been thinking, you see.

_It's always dangerous when he thinks, Hermione seethed, but not always in a good way._

He had been spending too much time with Hermione, and enjoying it far too much. And that was wrong, wasn't it? How he could be so happy, when he had just lost a brother, and everyone around him was still hurting. _He_ was still hurting. It didn't seem right, somehow, to try to move on so fast. Wasn't there a set period of time that you had to be miserable? Yet Fred's grave didn't even have grass growing on it, and here he was, thinking of what it would be like to snog his girlfriend!

He wadded up a pair of socks and threw them on the wash pile, disgusted with himself. Hermione meant to be comforting; there wasn't anything-anything sexual in her actions, for Merlin's sake! Randy git that he was, though, he couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to kiss her lips again...her neck...rest his hands on her hips and-he growled, chucking a pair of holey trainers in with the trash. But he couldn't seem to help it! It always started innocently enough, with him feeling lousy and Hermione trying to make him feel better. Then the thoughts would start, and he'd end up feeling guilty. What made it worse was the fact that Hermione misread the guilt as him being upset about Fred, and the whole bloody cycle started all over again. And that was part of them problem, he had to admit. He needed to stop leaning on her so much. At this rate, she was going to end up thinking that was all he wanted her for. This wasn't how he had wanted their relationship to start out! Hermione shouldn't have to hold his hand like he was some distressed toddler. Eventually she had to get sick of putting so much effort into him, only to watch him keep falling apart. He was no expert, but he suspected that wasn't every young witch's dream.

_Clearly no expert, Hermione groused. The part about feeling guilty for being happy, she could understand. Lot's of people experienced that, and she had felt that way a little herself. But the part about him being some sort of burden was utterly ridiculous. Even if they hadn't been together romantically, she still would have been there to support him; why should it be different just because they were dating? A likely reason for his line of thinking seemed to be the fact that his self esteem was on a low swing. For someone with those issues, it can be hard to think positively at the best of times; with everything he was going through, it was nearly impossible. Still, she hated him to think that just because he needed help, it made him less viable as a romantic partner._

So he had done the only thing he could do. He had put a little distance between them. No more cuddling, no more sleeping together. They still spent time together, and they talked, but he made sure they were never really alone. It wasn't something that he wanted to keep up for very long. It was hard, already. He wanted to be with Hermione. He wanted to be close to her, to do all the things as a couple that he had always imagined. But he was afraid of betraying Fred's memory, and of driving her away with all of his problems.

The door opened, and Harry came in, throwing himself down on the camp bed so hard the springs creaked. "So. You avoiding everyone, or is Hermione a special case?"

Ron sniffed at an old towel, jerking his head back at the scent of mildew, giving it up as a lost cause. "I dunno what you're talking about," he said with feigned innocence.

Harry gazed at him with half-lidded eyes. "Come off it, Ron. I've known you for too many years to think that there's anything natural about you cleaning your room voluntarily."

"Maybe I've just matured," he replied, pretending to sort through a stack of old Quidditch magazines.

"And being mature has something to do with dragging me in every time you're alone with Hermione? Or why you're so polite to her all the time?"

Ron frowned up at him. "Are you saying you want me to be rude to my girlfriend?"

Harry reached over for his pillow, and smacked it in Ron's face. "No, you twat! I had enough of that when we were younger." He tilted his head. "So you do still consider her your girlfriend then?"

"Of course I do!" Ron said, his tone horrified.

"Well, you sure don't act like it."

Ron, giving up all pretenses of cleaning, pushed himself off the floor, and dropped down on his bed. "You don't understand."

"Try me."

Harry clearly wasn't going to give up, so he might as well let it all out. "Hermione's my girlfriend, Harry. I've waited years for this. Years! Do you know how happy it makes me that we're finally together?" He sighed, his leg bouncing in nervous agitation. "How can I be happy? It's-it has to be too soon!"

Clear green eyes shot him a piercing look, making him squirm at the knowing expression.

"This is about Fred, isn't it? You think you can't be happy because he's...gone."

"Dead. Yeah."

Taking his glasses off, Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I get it, I do. You're miserable, and mad, and that feels alright because you should be. Then you find yourself smiling about something, and it has to be wrong, because how can you smile, when he'll never smile again?"

Ron nodded, droping his eyes with a guilty knot in his stomach. Of course Harry knew; hadn't he gone through this with Lupin, and Cedric? As well as everyone else they had just lost.

"How do you do it? Move on, I mean."

Harry shrugged. "You just...do. Life keeps happening, and it won't stop, no matter how much you want it to. Trying to just makes you end up missing out on things that are important to you, and hurting the people around you. But then, you'd know about that side of things better than I would."

Both of them snorted, knowing how Harry could lash out when he was upset.

"You should enjoy being happy, Ron. Because even when you think you've moved on, and you're doing alright, it'll come out of nowhere and feel like it just happened yesterday."

That wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear, even though he had already known, really. "Oh."

"Which is why you should stop avoiding Hermione. Been there. done that, nearly got the Bat Bogey hex to prove it."

The corner of Ron's mouth twitched. Ginny was a force to be reckoned with.

"I will...just give me a few days, yeah?"

Harry gave him a look, but didn't press. "Fine. If you won't go see her, though, you might want to check on Percy. He was looking pretty bad, downstairs. Well, more than he has been already."

Percy? Ron hadn't really talked to Percy much since they had been back, and never alone. Hell, he didn't think he had seen him alone for over two years. "Where's Bill and Charlie?"

"With George. It's taking both of them today."

Looked like he wasn't getting out of it that way. What was he supposed to do? Did Percy even _want_ to talk to him? But...Percy _was_ his brother. As much as he annoyed him-had hurt him by leaving the family-he still cared about him.

"Alright. Is he still downstairs?"

"No, I think he went to his room."

In no great hurry, Ron made his way to Percy's room. It was probably the one he had been in the least; Percy was always so fussy about anyone touching his things. The door was partially open, but habit made Ron knock anyway.

"Come in." Percy's voice floated out, sounding heavy and tired.

Ron stepped into the room, silently observing his brother, who was sitting, hunched, at his desk. Percy had always been on the thin side, just like him and Bill; now, he looked positively gaunt. His hair had always been carefully combed, but now it was disheveled and slightly greasy, as if he had gone a few days without washing it. When Percy looked up, Ron saw, with surprise, that he had been crying recently.

"Oh! Ron. I didn't expect you."

His hand slid around the doorknob as he took half a step back. "Ah. Sorry. I can leave if you'd rath-"

"No!" Percy said loudly, partially rising from his chair. "I just thought you might be Bill, since he said he'd tell me how George was doing. Besides, only Mum and Dad really stop by here."

Ron felt his ears go red. It was probably true; everyone was busy dealing with their own problems, and when they weren't, they were worrying about Mum and George. Judging by Percy's appearance, that might have been a mistake.

"So why didn't you just go with the other's to check on George yourself?" He winced as his question came out sounding more accusing than he had intended.

Percy seemed to shrivel. "How could I? George probably hates me, and I'd just end up making things worse."

"Why would George hate you?" Ron asked, genuinely confused.

Eyes full of anguish, Percy answered, "Because It's my fault! I should have been able to save Fred! I was right there when-when-"

"I was there too, Percy. Is it my fault, too?" Ron asked, his voice tight. It was something he hadn't stopped asking himself.

"What? No! Of course not! You were helping Harry-I was _right there._ If I had just seen it coming, or if I had traded places with him-"

"You'd be dead." Ron said flatly. What was the point if one brother was saved if they lost another? The pain would be the same. The only difference would be the name on the stone.

Percy shrugged, his eyes dull. "I still should've been able to do something."

Ron took ahold of his frustration; years of being friends with Harry had gotten him used to these kinds of conversations. "There wasn't anything you could've done; George isn't doing well, but I don't think he hates you for that."

His brother gave a mirthless laugh. "Even if that's true, he still hates me. You all probably do, to some extent."

Did Percy honestly think they blamed him for Fred? "What are you talking about? It wasn't your f-"

"I left, Ron!" Percy shouted, the muscles in his thin neck standing out so much they looked in danger of breaking through the skin. "I left! I walked out on the family, and treated you all like less than the crap on the bottom of my shoe."

Oh. That.

"Well, yeah, you did. And we were sore at you for that. Bloody hell, we all wanted to wring your neck! But that doesn't mean that we hate you!"

Percy fell back into his chair, shaking his head. "You don't understand. You _can't_ understand."

This wasn't the Percy Ron remembered. His brother had always been so sickeningly sure that he was in the right, who always had an answer for everything, and didn't mind telling you even when you hadn't asked. This Percy was broken, with the look of someone desperately looking for answers and not finding them. A couple of years ago-and Ron realized, with a start, that he hadn't even seen his brother in that along, aside from that quick glimpse-he might have felt a sort of vindictive triumph. Now, he just felt...sad.

"I left, too," he blurted out.

His statement drew a puzzled frown. "That's hardly the same, Ron. You left to help Harry. I left because I was an arrogant fool."

Ron paced the length of the rug, not sure why he was telling this to Percy, of all people. "That's not what I meant. When the three of us were out there...I left them. I was mad, and there was dark magic involved, but that's no excuse-I still left."

" I find that hard to believe, Ron. Even if magic _was_ involved."

"Well, it happened," Ron growled. "I...I don't like to talk about it-I don't really want people to know. But Bill does.

Percy looked thoughtful. "You said you were mad. By any chance, were your feelings hurt?"

Startled by the question, he stopped, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red than they already were.

"Yeah. So?"

"When you were five, you were so hurt when the twins wouldn't let you help with something they were working on for Mum's birthday. You felt left out, and you wouldn't play with them for nearly two weeks, no matter what they did. They were surprisingly upset about it, actually. Thought you would hate them forever." Percy gave the ghost of a smile at the memory. "But once you had a chance to get away from them and deal with it on your own, you were fine; you went back, and soon the three of you were devising a way to make my sheets tie me to my bed."

"I'd forgotten all about that," Ron said, the memory hitting him with a mix of amusement and pain. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

Percy adjusted his glasses with one long, bony finger. "I'm just saying, that's what you always do when you're hurt. Did it in fourth year too, if I recall correctly. You always need time alone to get your head on straight. Sometimes it's pretty poor timing for those around you, but that doesn't make you a horrible person."

Ron paced faster, one hand coming up to tug on his hair. "They could've died, Percy! I wasn't there to help, I couldn't get to them-Merlin, I tried to go back as soon as I left, but the Wards!"

He was shaking, the memories coming at him in flashes of heightened sight and sound.

"You tried to go right back?"

"Of course I did!"

"Then that's the difference between you and me, Ron." Percy said, with an air of finality. "You made a mistake that you tried to fix right away. I was gone for two years-two years that I'll never get back! Two of the last years of Fred's life! And the hell of it is, nothing was stopping me except my own damned pride. Even when I wanted to, I couldn't just admit I was wrong and say I was sorry! Which is why I don't expect any of you to forgive me, and why I think it's best if I just go back to my flat and...stay out of everyone's way from now on."

Ron's emotions were still high, and Percy's statement brought with it visions of his Mum crying into a Christmas jumper because one of her kids wasn't there; of the way his dad would look at the vacant seat at the table, his jaw clenching before his shoulders would droop. The way each of the rest of them clutched at anger, because it was easier than dealing with the pain of a piece of them being missing. He was a prat, but he was their prat, and they had just gotten him back; now he wanted to do it again? And for such a stupid reason.

"Well then isn't it just too fucking bad you don't get to decide about how we feel, isn't it?" He roared, leaning into Percy's face.

Percy shrank down two inches. "But Ron, none of you could possibly-"

"No! You. Don't. Get. To. Decide! You walked out, and we're the ones you hurt; we get to decide if we forgive you or not, and we get to decide on what terms! And all of us-even Fred-already forgave you, so fuck you if you think you can go crawling away just because it's more comfortable for you!" He stepped back, panting slightly.

"I. Um. Don't think I've ever been forgiven quite so...forcefully."

"If you don't like it, then don't let the others hear you say shite like that."

Percy smiled weakly, and stared down at the top of his desk. "I still find it hard to believe, but I'll think about it."

Ron knew that was probably the most he could expect right now, and since he had been in Percy's place not to long ago, he knew it was something that you needed time to wrap your head around. He'd said what he needed to say, so now he would leave, and give it a chance to sink through Percy's thick skull.

_Hermione couldn't help raising an eyebrow at that; Ron still hadn't accepted their forgiveness, so it was rather much for him to think that about Percy! But she also loved how he was stepping in and saying what needed to be said, even if he had been initially uncomfortable to do so. The war hadn't really changed Ron's feelings about his family, but it had brought them out; they could still get under his skin, but he had started to make more of an effort to spend time with them. She supposed the shock of losing Fred so young, when they should have had many more years, had made Ron more aware of just how much you had to take advantage of the time you had left. She wondered how he was able to help everyone else deal with their struggles, but he couldn't seem to do the same thing for himself. Of course, the same could be said for Harry, since he hadn't been nearly as smooth as he had been with Ron earlier. Maybe it was just easier to deal with things if you had enough distance from them. But that was also why you needed to let in the people closest to you; if you did, they could help you the same way you helped them._

_Ron had finally reached out, but it had taken a pretty loud push to get him going in the right direction._

Ron lay on his bed, stretched out to his full length, his feet nearly hanging off the foot of his bed. Harry was in a deep sleep, as evidenced by the loud snoring coming from the camp bed, and Ron was left alone with his thoughts. Which, at the moment, were none too comforting. Hermione had kissed him tonight. Normally, he could fix the problem that caused with a little alone time in the bathroom. Tonight it was another matter altogether. The kiss had been...perfunctory, to choose a word Hermione herself might use. It was the briefest of pecks on his cheek, and she hadn't even looked at him before turning to go into Ginny's room. She hadn't seemed mad, but...had he done something wrong? He hadn't worked up to following Harry's advice yet, and maybe that was a mistake. Either that, or she had realized she would be better off without him already...

_When was he going to get it through his head? She wasn't better off with out him! Never had been! Never would be! How could he even come to the conclusion that she didn't want him, when he had been the one to pull away? She had been hurt and confused, and afraid of embarrassing herself if she pushed the boundaries he had set._

He had hoped that things would start to sort themselves out; that the gaping maw in his chest would start to close up, or that the fact that not only had he lived, but he now had a future to think about, would become more real. He had been busy, trying to bury himself in chores, and to help everyone else hold it together. But he was missing that support and sense of comfort that he only got with Hermione. Should he say something? He had thought that the distance would help him keep a clear head, but it hadn't. Now, when he wasn't having nightmares, he was having dreams of a different sort; the kind where he had to tiptoe down the hall to the bathroom. Was there something wrong with him? Keeping to himself hadn't helped, and now he wasn't even sure anymore that Hermione wanted the same things he did.

There were a few loud thumping sounds from the floor below, and loud voices that trailed off to the ground floor and out the door. From outside, Ron heard loud shouts, and he rolled off the bed and crossed over to the window. Harry had woken as well, and staggered over to join him.

"What the hell are they doing?" Harry asked, squinting down to the lawn below.

George and Percy were out there, bizarrely locked in some sort of wrestling match, each throwing in a punch where they could. The sounds of their voices could almost be made out, and Ron knew it wouldn't be long until it woke his mum up, and she didn't need to see this.

"I dunno, but if it's an arse kicking they want, then I'll make sure they get it!" He answered, not bothering to put on his shoes before darting out the door.

He charged down the stairs, thankful his family were fairly sound sleepers. If he could get those two bloody fools to stop soon, his parents might not even need to be bothered about all this. What had they even been thinking? They had barely spoken at all-of course, George was barely speaking period-so what made them think it was a bright idea to have a knock down drag out in the middle of the night?

Rounding the corner, he saw Hermione standing in the doorway, watching the commotion outside. "Why didn't you try to stop them?" He asked, pushing past her without waiting for an answer.

"Because they're stubborn, pig-headed Weasleys!" He heard from behind him, but he kept going.

As he rushed to get between George and Percy, he realized he had left his wand, which was unusual. Or maybe it wasn't; neither of the others were using theirs, and more than anything, it resembled the brawling and scuffling they had done as kids.

_Hermione didn't find that surprising. All of them had been very touchy about being out of reach of their wands, but in this case Ron was reverting back to the dynamics of childhood, when they had all had to resolve things without them._

Ron shoved his way between them, using his long arms to hold them away from each other. "What the actual _fuck_ do you think you're doing? Have both of you gone completely mental?" He shouted, looking back and forth between them.

Percy was fairly limp, but George was struggling, his glare practically burning a hole through their older brother.

"I'm trying to knock some sense into this bastard, that's what I'm doing!"

"What are you even talking about? You pulled me out of bed in the middle of the night, with no explanation, and then proceed to beat my head in, all the while bellowing like a bull about how you 'won't let me get away with it'!

"What, are you still on about that? Didn't I tell you to forget it?"

"I guess once a coward, always a coward!" George spat.

Ron gave him a shake. "Shut up, George! The two of you need to stop this. Mum'll have kittens if the two of you are at each other's throats."

"Ickle Ronniekins, always trying to make Mummy happy," George simpered, turning his venom on Ron.

Ron released his grip on Percy long enough to sock George on the jaw, sending him staggering.

"Was that really necessary Ron? None of this will be solved by violence."

"This is all your fault, so don't you lecture me, Big Head Boy!" Ron shouted, punching Percy in the gut.

No sooner had Percy doubled up than Ron was tackled to the ground by George, who hadn't taken kindly to being punched. Percy landed on top of them, and soon it was a ball of tangled limbs, grunting and cursing as they rolled around, each fighting to be on top. None of them were at their peak of health, but Ron was by far the most used to physical activity. After Percy had collapsed, gasping like a fish, he managed to wrestle George into a headlock, as he sat atop his back.

"See...Percy? I don't...think he'd try to stop you...from leaving if he hated you," Ron panted, blinking sweat out of his eyes.

Beneath him, George stopped struggling, and twisted his head to blink up at Ron. "He thought I hated him?" He muttered.

"He has...a strange way of showing it!" Percy wheezed, sitting up.

"Well, I don't," George grumbled, "But I will if you leave again! Do that, and I'll never forgive you!"

"Then I guess I won't, if that's how you feel. Can we go in now?"

"Sure, if Ron's done riding me like a hippogriff."

Ron stood up, slightly dizzy as the blood rushed from his head. "Don't insult Buckbeak with the comparison. Hey, it looks like we managed to get away with this; only Harry and Hermione are standing at the door."

Percy helped George to his feet. "I think that's because one of them put up a silencing spell."

"Probably Harry. Hermione would've separated us or something. Perce, you should go do something about that split lip. Ron was right; Mum would worry if she knew we were fighting."

Percy gently dabbed at his swollen lower lip, wincing at the sting. "My wand is still in my room. You should see to the eye Ron gave you, too."

George grimaced. "Yeah, I'll see to that in a bit. You go on ahead, I want to talk to Ron for a minute."

Fidgeting, Percy asked softly, "So...are we alright then?"

George scratched his head, looking uncomfortable. "Yeah, 'course we are. As long as you don't pull anything stupid again."

Percy nodded, and they patted each other awkwardly on the shoulder before Percy walked quickly to the house, obviously choked up.

"So, did you want something, or can I go back to bed and pretend to sleep?" Ron asked after a few moments had gone by, nervously waiting to find out what George might say.

George blew out a large breath of air, looking around like he had forgotten where he was. "Right, right. I hear you've gone off of Hermione."

Of all the things he could have expected, that hadn't been one of them, and he jerked back in shock, glancing over to where Hermione still stood with Harry. "What? No! What the hell made you think that?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe the fact that Hermione says that you hardly speak to her, and you avoid being alone with her like she has some contagious disease. She seems to be under the impression that you might've changed you mind."

Ron slumped. Things were worse than he had thought. What was he going to do? "I haven't! George, You know how much I-"

"Yeah, I know!" George waved his hand, then ran it through his hair, tugging on a handful in agitation. "So why are you cocking it up like this?"

He hung his head, stretching and curling his toes around the grass. "I thought it was too soon to feel happy."

"You stupid arse."

He looked up, but George seemed more exasperated than mad. "Do you know how lucky you are? You have someone to help you through all of this mess. And yeah, before you start, I know I have the family, but it's not the same. Fred...it was always us. We could get each other through anything. And now I don't have that, so it sorta pisses me off to see you throwing it away."

"I'm not-"

"Aren't you?" George snapped, his eyes blazing. "Look, Ron, I'm not in a good place, and I barely have the energy to care about anything right now. I can already feel it slipping away again. I know I've been out of it, but I've seen enough to know that neither of you are alright-but you're better when you're together. You want to be miserable, Fine! But be miserable _with_ her. You fix this, little brother. You fix this _tonight."_

Ron nodded hard, fully intending to. He didn't care if it was the right thing to do anymore; if it was hurting Hermione, he didn't care. "I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Good," George sighed, looking utterly worn out, "That means I can go to bed now and pretend to sleep, too."

They were greeted at the door with Hermione hissing at them furiously, "What were you trying to do, kill each other? Honestly, I-oh! Ron, you're bleeding! Come here and let me see it."

Ron looked over at an amused looking Harry, who seemed to catch something in Ron's expression. Harry turned to George, who couldn't seem to decide between the sitting room and the stairs.

"George, why don't you come on up, and I'll fix your eye."

The two of them went up the stairs, while Hermione dragged Ron in to sit down, where she could see the cut on his forehead better in the light.

"Thankfully it's not deep; it won't even need any Dittany. Although maybe I should leave it, and see if a little common sense would find its way inside," she scolded, even as she healed him.

"It wasn't even a real fight, Hermione. We just had some things to sort out," he explained, holding still while she fixed up his other scrapes and bruises.

"So Harry told me. Wait, where did he go?" She asked, looking around her.

"He took George up to help him with his eye."

"Oh. Oh! Well, I guess you'll be wanting to get to bed now yourself. Goodnight, Ron."

Her voice was brisk, and her expression guarded; with a pang, Ron realized that she thought he wouldn't want to be down here with her. This was his chance; if he wanted to fix things, he needed to do it now, or they might not get a private moment any time soon. As she turned away, he reached out and took her hand. She nearly jumped in surprise, and that made him feel even worse.

"Hermione? Can...can you sit down a minute? There's something I need to say."

Perhaps those weren't the best choice of words, he thought, watching her face go pale. She sat down beside him, waiting for him to speak.

_Honestly, that had been the worst thing he could have said. She had been convinced he was going to finally break it off with her, and she wasn't sure she was going to be able to wait to get alone to cry._

"I've been an arse. A complete and utter arse," he said earnestly, still holding onto one of her hands.

"I-what?"

"They way I've been acting lately. I thought if I just waited, if I didn't say anything, you wouldn't notice-which, in hindsight, was a bloody stupid thing to think-but I thought everything would be alright after a while, and we could go on, being, you know..."

Hermione cocked her head to the side, wispy strands of hair dancing across her face. "No, I'm not sure I do. You're not being very clear, you know."

"You made me happy-make! I mean make!" He said quickly, as her face began to crumple, "Too happy, really. When we're together, I'm not...miserable. And I thought I should be."

"You thought-oh. I see. Does that mean...that you want to take a break?" She asked, a quiver in her voice.

Her chin was tilted up, and Ron knew that if he said yes, she wouldn't fight him on it. She would let him go if he wanted it...and they might never find a way to get back together.

"No," He said firmly, all trace of nervous uncertainty erased from his voice. "Haven't we waited long enough? Waiting isn't going to bring Fred back. And that hurts, Hermione. It hurts so much that...I don't know if there are words for it. But you help me get through it. You help me get through another day, even when there doesn't seem to be a point. If I lose you...no one could help me get through that, and I wouldn't even want to try if they did."

There were tears standing in her eyes, and she brushed them away with the back of her free hand. Ron noticed, hopefully, that she hadn't tried to move the one he was holding.

"Does that mean you'll stop avoiding me like a four foot potions essay?"

He leaned close to her, their noses almost touching. "I can promise you, I've never felt like this about an essay," he said, right before angling his head for a slow kiss.

It was meant to be brief, but Hermione responded by putting her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. She was more forceful, and he happily complied, carefully shifting on the sofa so they were in a more comfortable position. He had forgotten how addictive she was; her lips weren't as chapped as they had been, now that she was staying hydrated better, and they were soft under his, delightful to nibble on. His hands stroked up and down her sides, feeling her warmth under the thin cotton shirt she wore. It was only when she broke away for a breath that he realized he had been contemplating getting her topless in the very seat his Mum usually sat to knit.

Both of them blushed slightly, and Ron eased back. "I guess we should go upstairs now, in case anyone else wakes up tonight."

Hermione sighed, and he wondered if it was wrong to be pleased that she sounded disappointed. "Yes, I suppose so. Ginny might wake up and worry where I am."

He stood up, and helped her to her feet, both of them quiet as they reached the stairs. Ron let her go first, thinking if he should go through with his idea. It wasn't until they were in front of Ginny's room that he shrugged; she could always say no. As Hermione reached for the doorknob, he took her hand, and kept moving in the direction of the next set of stairs.

"Ron? What are you doing? If Ginny wakes up-"

"Once Ginny's asleep, she's pretty much out until morning. Trust me."

In the hallway outside of his room, she protested feebly once more, "But if your Mum finds out, you'll get in trouble."

He opened the door, noting Harry wasn't back yet. "It's not like we haven't before. Besides, Harry'll be back, and it's not like we have to tell her, or anything. And you'll sleep better, won't you?"

Hermione hesitated, and bit her lip. He let go of her hand to cup her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her skin. "I know I haven't been much help to you lately-pretty worthless in the whole boyfriend department, actually-but I'd like to start making up for that."

She gave him a small smile. "You're not worthless, and you don't have to make anything up to me."

"Alright, then; how about if I say it'll make me feel better if you do?"

"Then you've convinced me."

Ron waited while she crawled under the covers before sliding in behind her, hoping he wouldn't fall out of the narrow bed. He thought of suggesting she do that thing with his mattress again, but as she wiggled closer to him and sighed, he changed his mind. pressing his face into the top of her hair, he breathed in the scent of shampoo and Hermione. The empty spot in his heart left by Fred didn't close up, or even shrink. Maybe it never would. But the part of his heart that had been aching for Hermione eased, and the burden of dealing with everything on his own suddenly lifted.

In his arms, he felt Hermione's body tremble a bit in her sleep, and he held her to him, and mumbled comforting words in her ear until she relaxed. He marvelled a little at that, how he was able to help her just by being there. Briefly, he beat himself up for the nights that he hadn't been there, and for making her have to go through it herself. He didn't want that to happen again; he wanted to be there for her properly. He wanted to discover with her what it was really like to be a couple, and he wanted to help her get to a place where she had sweet dreams more often than the nightmares. Maybe Harry had been right-George, too. He had focused on being miserable long enough. Maybe it was time to focus on the good things, and let everything else heal in its own time.

_Finding out what had been bothering him had been such a relief; she understood his feelings, and had even shared them, to some extent. And if he had asked, she would have put their relationship on hold. The only problem with that was, she wasn't sure how either of them would ever feel like it was 'the right time' after that. Life always had something to throw at you, and when it came to two people, you didn't always have a clear break at the same time. They had both been so busy that first year-she with her last year of school, and Ron with helping George, and studying at night so he would be able to keep up with the Auror program. It had been easier for them than it would be for most people, since they already had a solid relationship built up over years, but it would have been nearly impossible to restart something from a distance when neither was sure the other was ready. It would have hurt too much, stopping and restarting over and over._

_Once they had finally gotten going in the right direction, it had only been a matter of getting Ron up to the appropriate speed..._

Two weeks later, and Ron thought he finally had the hang of things; he was still grieving, still having some trouble adjusting to normal life after the past year, but now he was allowing himself to enjoy things, and to take comfort where he could without feeling too guilty-at least most of the time. As for being with Hermione, he thought it was going brilliantly. They were comfortable with one another again, and, when they weren't helping around the house or spending time with the others, they would take long, aimless walks, or sit in his room and talk. Actually, sometimes they didn't even have to talk; sometimes Hermione would read, while he dozed next to her. And then...sometimes they would do more than talk. The goodnight kisses had extended to good morning kisses, and then into passing each other in the hall kisses, and quick, no one else is in the room kisses. Ron was doing his best to remain the gentleman his mum had raised him to be. Hermione was making it quite hard, though.

All too literally.

He was trying to take it slow, so she wouldn't feel pressured; she had been doing so much for him, and he didn't want her to feel like he was only interested in what he could get out of her. He also knew she still experienced pain from the Curse, and she was stressed about her parents, and...he was just trying very, very hard not to mess it up. She probably didn't even know what she was doing to him, with all of those little sighs, and the way her tongue would-no, no, not going there!

_Actually, she had known; rather, that had been the response she was after. She hadn't been ready for sex, obviously, but she had very much wanted more than the rather chaste kisses to which Ron had limited them. It had been frustrating, and it had also made her nervous that she was doing something wrong, or that perhaps he wasn't attracted to her. He had practically sucked Lavender's face like a sump pump, but he broke things off every time they started to get interesting. She hadn't wanted to pressure him into anything he didn't want to do...she had just wished he would show more enthusiasm._

Ron was currently trying to hide his enthusiasm; they were in his room, the door dangerously shut, and Hermione was pressing herself against him in an all too inviting manner. Her hands were at the nape of his neck, toying with the strands of hair hanging over his collar. He shuddered slightly as one of his hands, which were on her back, brushed over the clasp of her bra, tantalizingly prominent under her thin cotton shirt. with a shuffling, duck-like motion, he surreptitiously scooted his lower body back, groaning with arousal and frustration when Hermione swayed closer to make up for the distance. Bloody hell, she was killing him! He was trying to do right by her, but it was taking everything he had not to push her up against the wall and snog her properly. Why had he thought it was a good idea for them to be in here alone like this? He was uncomfortably aware of how close his bed was, and how easy...he broke the kiss, his throat working as he gasped for air.

"I forgot how hot it get's up here in the summer. Maybe we should go down with Harry and Ginny, and get some cold pumpkin juice?" He suggested, his voice only trembling a lot.

"Mhm. I think I'd rather stay up here," she answered, smiling playfully.

He looked down at her. The sunlight coming through the window streamed through her hair and across her face, the subtle red and gold strands that usually blended into the brown glinting in the light. This close to her, he could see the small hazel flecks in her eyes as she started to pull him back down, and his heart skipped a beat as it hit him again how lucky he was. Hermione-the girl he had wanted to be with for years-was his girlfriend. Not only was she his girlfriend, but apparently she'd rather be up here snogging him, than...doing anything else she could be doing. Hermione. Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger was actually with him, Ron Weasley. A brilliant witch who could be with anyone...a scene flashed across his mind's eye, dark and cold and painful as a blade of ice through his heart. She could be with a hero, like everyone would expect her to be. What the hell was she doing with him? He pushed away, and paced a few steps to the left, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

"What are you doing with me, Hermione?" He asked, his voice rough from the pain of his memories.

Hermione gave him a confused look, uselessly smoothing down a flyaway curl. "Well, I _was_ kissing you, until you moved over there; come back and I'll show you."

He shook his head. "No, I mean, what are you doing with me?" He gestured at himself wildly, a faint look of disgust on his face. "You're the most brilliant witch of our age! You should be with someone as amazing as you are. You should be with someone who's everything you want; someone smart and brave and-and...a hero. Someone who's the best." He looked up at his, his shoulders slumped, his voice cracking like his heart. "So why are you with me?"

As he had been speaking, Hermione had tilted her head down, her hair falling around her face in a bushy cloud, hiding her reaction. Now, she raised her face to him, her hands clenched in tiny fists at her sides. He took a step back; she looked almost exactly as she had the day he came back.

"Why am I with you?" She asked in a low voice. "I'm with you because I should be with someone as amazing as I am. I'm with you because I should be with someone who's everything I want; someone who's smart, and funny, and brave. I'm with you because I should be with a hero. I'm with you because I deserve the best, and I found him."

Ron had nearly choked at her first sentence, his head snapping up from where he had been staring at a faded spot on the braided rug. He had searched her face, finding nothing but honesty as every word slammed into him. It felt like a box of his brothers' best fireworks were going off inside his chest. She was brilliant. So fucking brilliant it hurt; she had taken his question and turned it into her answer, taking all of his insecurities and throwing them back in his face as strengths. There were things in life he knew he wanted to be good at; things he would put time and energy into. But loving her-this is what he would do best.

_Hermione struggled to breathe. She knew Ron loved her, and she knew how much of himself he put into the things he loved-whether it was food or Quidditch, family or training, Ron threw himself into it with a passion. But as important as those things were to Ron-would always be, and she wouldn't change that-she was in a category apart. This level of dedication and commitment was what was going to get them through whatever life tossed at them; there would be bickering and petty squabbles, misunderstandings and hurt feelings, but this was the bedrock beneath the surface._

She had barely finished when he had crossed to her, pulling her against him and slamming his lips into hers, a growl rumbling through him as his hands gripped her shoulders before sliding down over her back. His fingers sank into the firm flesh of her arse, and it wasn't until she squeaked as he ground his hips against hers that he realized what he was doing. Reflexively he took a step back to try to slow himself down, but this time, Hermione was more insistent. She took a step forward, pushing him until he stumbled back a few steps, the back of his knees hitting the edge of his bed hard enough to knock him off balance. He landed on the mattress with a lapfull of Hermione, who seemed perfectly happy with the situation. She had to feel what she was doing to him; his cock was practically popping out of his jeans. His mind was too fried to even begin to think of how to bring the subject up, so, gripping her hips, he thrust upwards in an unmistakable motion. Staring him dead in the eye, she mimicked him, rolling against him so firmly he nearly blacked out at the sensation.

Both of them were frenzied, hands roaming feverishly wherever they could reach as they rocked into each other, the room silent except for gasps and the sound of denim rubbing against denim. Merlin, this was fantastic-she was fantastic! Why the hell had he thought she wanted to take things slowly? Fuck, this was good...sofuckinggood! But...she was so light, that even though she was moving energetically, there just wasn't quite the right amount of force. Deciding that it was his turn for bold moves, he flipped them around to where she was lying on the bed under him, her hair fluffed out around her. Her eyes were dark as she looked up at him, just like that expensive chocolate he had gotten to try once. He paused long enough to make sure she was alright with this, but words were unnecessary when she wrapped her legs around him.

He braced his feet against the floor, moving over her the way he had always imagined, only a few layers of clothes in the way of his ultimate goal. Which was fine; honestly he didn't think he was going to be able to handle this for very long, never mind anything more. He had his face buried in her neck, sucking at the salty flesh where her neck joined her shoulder. Her breath was hot in his ear, and purring, gaspy little moans she was making, occasionally punctuated by murmurs of his name, were only making him harder. She was about to make two bald spots at the back of his head if she didn't ease up, but hell would freeze over before he said anything; he didn't care if he ended up bald as a dragon's egg if he could keep her legs locked around him and her tits pressed up against his chest.

_Hermione sat with her thighs pressed tightly together, aching so badly she whimpered. She had forgotten how intense this had been! So much pent up sexual tension was finally finding a release, and without even doing anything for herself, she found she was rapidly approaching the end along with Ron._

It was like the fireworks in his chest were exploding behind his eyes; his breath caught, and the tight, coiling sensation in his stomach released, jolts of pleasure shooting through his body. He must have passed out for a minute, because when he came to, he was lying bonelessly on top of Hermione. With all of the energy of an overcooked noodle, he tried to roll off of her, but only succeeded halfway.

"'M sorry. Can't feel M'legs," he muttered in embarrassment. The insides of his pants were a sticky mess, but he wasn't going to draw attention to that.

Beside him, chest still heaving in a manner that had him stirring with interest, Hermione giggled. "I can't either, but I think having my circulation cut off had something to do with that."

He wiggled until he could press his face in the mattress, mortified. "Fuck, Hermione; I'm sorry that I didn't-I couldn't-"

Her hand was on his cheek, turning his head until he could look at her with one eye. "Don't be. I actually did, a little, and...I was just really happy being with you, Ron."

If she was trying to make his heart explode from his chest, she was doing more than a fair job. "Next time, I promise that I'll...y'know. Or I'll at least try to-"

"Oh, I know that. You of all people know how I am about thorough revision. Only in this case, I think we can skip the essay and go straight to practical application."

He could see the corners of her lips twitching, and it wasn't long before the two of them were laughing, cuddled together in a sweaty but happy tangle. He felt light, and it wasn't just from coming so hard. He had been, he realized, sort of afraid. They hadn't gone all the way, and while he was sort of fairly confident about his kissing, he had figured he'd bollocks up anything beyond that. He had been worried Hermione would be disappointed, and give him that look she always had when he had done particularly badly on a test. The painful, awkward silence he had been envisioning would have killed him. But the fact that they could do something like that, and laugh about it-and still enjoy it-he felt loads better, and now he was excited since the pressure was off. He nuzzled his face into her temple. pleased that she showed no sign of moving.

"Love you."

He froze. Why had he said that? Well, he knew why. He said it because he meant it. But why _now?_ He had meant to make it special, damn it! He knew fuck-all about romance, but he had been going to try! He had wanted to make it something that she would remember, and could tell people about. Now she was going to have to figure out a way to tell them that her boyfriend told her he loved her while lying in a puddle of his own spunk. He felt her moving, but could barely look her in the eye at first. He was shocked when he did. She was looking at him like she'd just been given all Os, been made head girl, and told that every house elf in England had been set free.

"I love you, too," she said, before leaning forward to place a feather-light kiss on his lips.

WIth a choked laugh, he pulled her closer, so she couldn't see that he had tears in his eyes like a giant tit. The inside of his head was still choked with darkness, and sometimes it suffocated him. He would find it hard to believe that there were things like happiness and hope, and he would feel himself slipping away from the world. But Hermione _was_ happiness and hope, and she pulled him back into the light. She was brilliant. Being with her was brilliant. He didn't think it could get more brilliant if they tried-

"Ron," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"Hm?"

"You know, it's never too early to start revising..."

There had been many times, Ron thought as they rolled over, that Hermione had proven him wrong.

He was happy to say that this was one of them.

_They had needed that time at the Burrow so very much. It was a place of safety and warmth, and although the Weasleys had suffered a sever blow, it was still a place that one could heal while grieving. She had managed to avoid going to St. Mungo's for a long time-she just didn't feel ready for that-and discovering what it was like to have a romantic relationship with Ron had helped distract her from her pain and the nightmares. Of course, there had been something she was putting off, and Ron, being Ron, had spotted it..._

Ron tiptoed up to the door of his room, his hair standing up every which way from playing a short, uneven game of Quidditch with Harry and Ginny. Hermione had stayed in to take a nap, she said, but Ron wasn't buying it. Over the past couple of weeks, she had grown decidedly shifty, and he suspected he knew the reason why. He had tried to bring the subject up a time or two, but she had gotten so upset, that he had backed down. Maybe it was time for attempt number three.

Stealthily, he turned the knob, pressing his eye against the crack in the door as he slowly opened it. Hermione was on his bed alright, but she wasn't taking a nap; there was a stack of papers, and she was frowning over what looked to be a travel brochure.

"Have a nice nap?" He asked innocently, entering the room as if he hadn't noticed anything. Hermione jumped nearly a foot, then began shoving everything in her beaded bag with a guilty expression. She was so flustered that Ron almost felt bad.

Almost.

"Ah, yes! I woke up a few minutes ago, and decided to do some reading. Did you have a good game?"

He waited until she had cleared off a space, and then he sprawled beside her. As much as one could sprawl, in about a four inch wide space. "Yeah. We did. Too bad you missed it. Maybe you could come out after dinner; we were gonna try again when it's cooler. Before our, uh, walk."

"Oh, that'll be nice!" She said in a falsely bright voice, and Ron knew she thought he had bought the subject change.

He let the silence build, watching as her fingers smoothed over the beaded surface again and again, the beads clicking against her nails.

"Hermione."

Another little jump. "Yes?"

"When are we going to Australia?"

"What? We're not! I mean, that is to say-why did you even ask that?"

He rolled to his side to look up at her, ignoring the crick in his neck. "Oh, come on! You've been on edge for days, and did you really think I wouldn't notice that you were veeeeerry interested the other night when Dad and Percy were talking about how the restrictions on Portkeys had been lifted? And now you've gone into full blown research mode," he gestured at her bag, "and you expect me not to figure it out? This isn't like third year when I didn't know a Time Turner was an option; I didn't think you were going to pop off to France for holiday. I knew you'd be wanting to go to your parents sometime soon."

"I should've gone right away!" She wailed, giving up any pretense. "It's going to be hard enough as it is, but how can I tell them that I left them months longer than I had to?"

She was crying now, and Ron sat up quickly, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Hey! You make sound as if you _had_ popped off for a holiday! We talked about that, remember? There was no way you should have traveled like that, and you'd have scared them to death looking like you did, waving a stick in their face-what would they think?"

"I wouldn't have shown them my wand!" She said indignantly, as if that were the most important point.

"You know what I mean. It's gonna be a shock for them, and seeing how you were...it would've been a bit much for them to take in at once. Plus, you said yourself that you weren't well, and you weren't sure you could risk doing the spell like that."

"That's true," she acknowledged, slightly calmer. "I really wasn't in the best place mentally or physically to do that, which I'm sure they'll understand."

"And it's not like you have to bring up how long you waited right off," Ron pointed out.

She nodded, looking more like herself. "You're right, I shouldn't panic. Still, I'm doing much better now, so I'll probably go sometime this week, once I can arrange the right Portkeys. Or maybe a plane would be better..."

"Just tell me when to be packed, then," he said, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger.

It finally seemed to register with her what he was saying. "What? But Ron, you need to stay here!"

He scowled slightly at the idea. "No, I don't. I need to go with you."

"Ron, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself!" she snapped, before her voice softened, "And they do need, you, Ron. After everything-"

"My family will be fine! There's eight of them-" his eyes slammed shut briefly, a surge of pain through his heart, "seven of them, and Harry, and Fleur. It's not like any of them are going to be alone, you know?"

Her mouth opened to protest, but he pushed ahead. "And what about you? Don't think that I don't know you've avoided having the Healers look at you; you still have pain, and don't even try to tell me you've stopped having nightmares. Who's going to be there for you if I don't go?"

She stared at him as if it were obvious. "My parents, of course!"

"And if you don't find them right away? And when you do, they're...Hermione, there's gonna be a lot for them to take in. They might not be _able_ to be there for you, for awhile at least. And it's not like I'm saying I'd have to be there every minute; I know when to bugger off, if I need to."

"Do you really think they'll be mad?" She asked, in a small voice that told him she had been trying not to think of that.

He hesitated, but didn't want to lie. "If Harry and I had left without you-if we'd done the same spell and sent you after you parents, how would you have felt?"

She shot up, glaring at him so hard that he sat back, hitting his head on the wall. "You wouldn't have had any right! It was my choice!"

"Sure, but to keep you safe-"

"It was my choice to be safe or not! You can't just make a decision, and then shove me to the side-oh Merlin, they're going to hate me!" She cried, tears pouring down her face.

Ron was in a bit of a panic; he had only meant to make a point, not scare her to death. "They won't! Look, you would've been furious with me and Harry-probably have taken a good chunk out of our hides-but after awhile, you'd have forgiven us. I'm sure we'd have gotten the frosty side of your shoulder for awhile, but not forever."

She settled back, and Ron could see her lowering her hackles. "Alright, so I know to expect them to be upset. I can deal with that, now that I'm prepared."

He felt a sharp twist in his gut, and there was only sadness in the smile he gave her. "Hermione, trust me. Just because you know someone is going to be upset...even if they have every right to be...that won't make it hurt any less."

Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. "Oh Ron, I'm so sorry-"

He waved it away, uncomfortable. "No reason you should be. But you can see why I don't want you to go clear across the bloody world to deal with that alone."

She was silent for a few moments, and he could practically feel her thinking.

"I'm still not sure..." she said hesitantly.

He sighed, giving an exaggerated shrug. "Look, you can say no all you like, and make your plans without me. But the minute you land in Australia, I'll be popping out of that beaded bag of yours-"

"Ron!" She gasped with a choked laugh at that mental image, "That's not meant to transport living things!"

"I wondered how we managed to avoid bring your beast along with us last year."

"Strange, I recall my beast being right there in the tent with me," she countered with a mock glare.

"And that's right where I plan to be, this time, wherever you are." He said softly, taking her hand. "So either let me help, or at least take out a few of the sharper objects you're carrying around in there, so I don't get punctured too badly."

Hermione snuggled into his shoulder with a large sigh, some of her waving hair tickling his nose. "I suppose I have no choice, if you're going to be this stubborn."

He felt ashamed. He didn't want to force himself on her...He knew she could probably handle it herself, didn't really need him...

"You always have a choice," he said, trying to hide the hurt in his voice as he pulled away. "I wouldn't make you, you know."

But Hermione yanked him back, wrapping her arms around him, and laid her head against his chest. "I do know. And I do want you to come. Truly. I just...I didn't want to take you from your family, when they need you, and you need them."

His eyes fell closed in relief. "They'll be fine. I'm not off to do anything dangerous, and they'll know where I am this time. I'll be where I need to be."

"Alright. Then after dinner, you can help me decide how we're going to get there."

At her words, he brightened. Not only did she want him to come, but she was actually asking for his input, which...really meant a lot to him. Hermione usually just took charge of any kind of planning, if Harry wasn't directly involved, and it made him feel like this was a partnership, like his dad always said a mar-relationship was supposed to be. Maybe it was strange, but the thought of being part of something bigger than himself made him oddly warm, as if what they had together was finally going to extend beyond the Burrow. It felt more...real. He just hoped he didn't cock it up somehow.

And he hoped he could figure out how to tell his mum...

_Hermione sat on the chair in front of Ron's desk, feeling...not ashamed, maybe, but close to it. She had never meant to make Ron feel like his input was unnecessary. It was just that she got so wrapped up in a project, that her tunnel vision made her blind to anything but the goal. But that wasn't going to work in a marriage. Two people were involved, and it was going to take them working together to reach decisions. Was she still doing things like that? Is that why Ron sometimes looked like he was going to say something, but would always walk away with a frustrated look on his face?_

_She consoled herself a little with the fact that even then, Ron was seriously committed to her. She had caught the slip he had made mentally. Even if neither of them had been ready for that step then, he was obviously considering it as part of their future. So many people seemed to think that that wasn't something men gave any thought to, but Hermione thought they were wrong. He might not express it as much, or care about many of the details, but that didn't mean he didn't think about it._

_Looking back, Hermione was extremely glad Ron had gone with her. She had wanted him to, badly, but she really had been afraid of taking him away from his family; she hadn't wanted any of them, him included, to resent her for that. There had been so much stress and pressure, and so many times when she had doubted or second guessed herself...she would have been absolutely miserable if Ron hadn't been there, to comfort her and to see the brighter side of things. She knew he had still been struggling as well, but he had made such an effort to project a cheerful attitude that she had been unable to resist rising to meet it. Had she ever thanked him for that? As she watched the two cuddling on the bed, she suddenly recalled that Australia hadn't been all bad._

" _Oh, yes," she said with a sly smile, "I do believe I did!"_


	43. Chapter 43

**A.N. Here we are! The story is finally winding down, and I see there being about two more updates and an epilogue before I move stories about post therapy (yes, there will be a resolution here!) to a collection of one shots. I considered just adding them here, but others agreed that it didn't capture the feeling I was going for, and looked closer to what I was trying to avoid. So in the interest of better story telling, I'm doing it this way. Those of you who are only interested in a few days/months after the session can end there, while the rest can follow the new arc. With that in mind, enjoy!**

Once Hermione made up her mind about something, she wasted no time in setting things in motion. She had wanted to tell everyone right away, but Ron convinced her that it would be best if they had everything all planned out, to counteract any arguments his mum might have. Knowing Ron had more experience in that sort of thing, she deferred to him, as long as it was clear that they wouldn't go without telling. After being hastily assured that he wouldn't think of doing that-he was determined to go, but he wasn't going to scare them that way-the two of them worked things out, not without some minor frustrations. Now, here they were two days later, palms sweaty as they sat in the sitting room, ready to break the news.

Ron's parents were sitting in armchairs slightly angled towards each other. His father was flipping through an old generator instruction manual, while his mum was knitting by hand, something she had begun to do to burn up nervous energy. Ginny said that if she didn't stop soon, she'd be able to make a tea cozy large enough to cover the entire Burrow. George was upstairs in his room, and Harry and Ginny were sitting on the other sofa, giving her and Ron encouraging nods. They, of course, already knew what was going on.

She exchanged a look with Ron, who nodded and nervously licked his lips. Things might be about to get ugly; at the very least, they would probably be loud. Taking his hand in hers, she gave it an encouraging squeeze, hoping he knew how much she appreciated this. A weak smile flickered across his face, before he turned back to his parents, and cleared his throat.

"Mum? Dad? Hermione's leaving the day after tomorrow to go get her parents."

Arthur jerked awake, while Molly paused in her knitting to look up.

"Are you sure you're feeling up to traveling, dear? I understand that you think you need to go, but you shouldn't push yourself if you're not well."

Hermione smiled, the fact that Mrs. Weasley assumed she was going alone not lost on her. "I know I'm not...completely well, but I really can't put it off any longer. It's going to be hard enough to explain everything as it is; it would be worse if I left them longer than I absolutely had to."

Mrs. Weasley nodded, but her frown lines remained in place. "Well, if you're absolutely sure...still, I worry about you going so far by yourself!"

"Well, that's good, because she's not; I'm going with her." Ron piped up, pale but firm.

Instantly, his mum sat bolt upright, and Arthur eyed her nervously. Ginny and Harry watched the proceedings avidly, reminding Hermione of spectators at a heated tennis match.

"That's out of the question! It's bad enough that Hermione has to go; there's no reason you have to go after her."

"But you just said you didn't like the idea of her going alone!" Ron protested stubbornly.

Her knuckles turned white around her knitting. "I meant that there should be an adult!"

Ron threw his hands in the air, his quick temper getting the best of him. "This might come as a right shock, Mum, but we _are_ adults!"

Just as she puffed up like an angry hen, Mr. Weasley cut in with a different subject.

"What are you doing for travel? It's true that Portkeys are no longer completely restricted, but permits are required to make sure no one's leaving the country that shouldn't be. There are a lot of applications, and I hear it's taking a long time to process them."

Hermione nodded; they had already looked into that. "Yes, we found that out. That, and the fact that there are so many hops to coordinate, don't really make it very practical to get there quickly. That's why we're flying; I had left enough money for that possibility."

Mr. Weasley's eyes lit with a shadow of their old spark for the first time. "A Muggle plane? Really?"

"Arthur! Not! Now!" Mrs. Weasley's voice cracked like a whip. "Be that as it may, it's not up for debate. I've made my decision, and I'm not permitting this."

Hermione watched uneasily as Ron's jaw clenched, and his ears flushed a deep maroon. She felt sick; this isn't what his family needed right now, and she hated that it was because of her.

_It was going to happen anyway, Ron thought, laying a hand consolingly on her shoulder. His Mum had always had a hard time letting her children go-his dad had tried to explain that to him later-and it was just his turn._

"Well, the thing is, I wasn't asking you, I was telling you. I don't need your permission, but I didn't want you to worry."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes were flashing, and she was practically puffing like a steam engine. "Don't you sass me, Ronald Weasley! If Hermione needs someone, we'll arrange something; there's no reason to do something so inappropriate!"

"How is helping her inappropriate?" Ron challenged. "We were together for the better part of a year, aside from Harry."

Harry had the distinct look of someone who didn't want to be brought into the discussion, Hermione noticed sympathetically.

"That-that was different! As you said, Harry was there, and at the time you two weren't a couple-"

Beside her, Ron leaned forward, his body tensing in that way it always did when he noticed a weakness in a chess opponent.

"So if we were just friends, it'd be alright? But now that we're _together,_ I can't be there when she needs me until we're married? That's bollocks! I know it hasn't always looked like I was listening when you were trying to drum something into my head, but you've always taught us that when you love someone, you're there for them!"

Hermione drew in a sharp breath, a warm dizziness spreading through her. Ron had told her he loved her-he's actually said it several times, in a...variety of situations. And everyone knew that they were together. But he had never said it out so plainly, with such conviction, for everyone to hear. Not only that, but he had actually brought up marriage. Hermione knew neither of them were ready for that yet, and she knew Ron didn't mean anytime in the near future. Still, that he was thinking about it in the future at all...that he really wanted a future with her in it, erased for a short time the feeling of dread at how things were going to go with her parents.

_Ron shook his head. And here he always assumed he only made a mess of things when he spoke without thinking! Maybe he shouldn't hesitate so much to blurt out things that came straight from the heart. He had certainly meant it; like Hermione, he wasn't prepared to pop up a wedding tent quite yet, but he had known that was the direction he wanted them to take. What was the point in pretending otherwise?_

"Don't swear," Mrs. Weasley protested feebly, her knitting lying in a tangled heap in her lap, the ball of yarn falling to the floor.

"Molly, you know he's right," Mr. Weasley said, not without sympathy.

Standing abruptly, she spoke as if her voice was coming from far away. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight, everyone."

Hermione watched as Ron sat back with a troubled look at his father as his mum left the room, and she wondered again if this was the right thing to do.

But Mr. Weasley shook his head, and said reassuringly, "Don't worry, Ron. Your mum knows you're right, but she needs some time to adjust. I'll talk with her, and she'll be fine. And Hermione," he turned to her, looking over his glasses knowingly, "Don't sit over there blaming yourself! I know you're a brilliant and capable young witch, but that doesn't mean you need to do everything on your own."

She blushed a little, at both his perceptiveness and his praise. "Thank you, but I really don't want to cause trouble. It would be-I need-well, Ron coming would be perfect, but I understand..." she trailed off. it was true that she didn't want to be a problem, but she was dealing with so much right now, and she was afraid that once in Australia, she might get so discouraged that finding her parents would end up taking months. Just thinking about it made her want to go have a good cry. She knew with Ron along, he would be able to pull her out of those moods.

_It hadn't been easy, Ron thought grimly. For one thing, she was still (stubbornly) dealing with the effects from the Cruciatus. Her joints and tendons would stiffen up, she'd lose all feeling in her fingers...he shuddered to think what could've happened to her if she had gone alone. One day, her legs had started to go out from under her when they were crossing traffic, and he'd nearly had a heart attack. Other days, when her fingers weren't working properly, he had had to fill in for them, clumsily performing Muggle tasks with her instructions._

"Nonsense! Ron's quite right. This isn't something you should have to face without support. Besides, don't mention it to Molly, but I think the two of you could use a little time together."

Both of them flushed heavily; while it was true that there weren't many opportunities to leave the Burrow, they had put odd corners and long walks to very good use...and if the slightly amused smile Mr. Weasley was giving them was any indication, that fact hadn't gone entirely unnoticed. From their seat on the sofa, Harry and Ginny smothered giggles, and Hermione glared at them. Traitors!

"Just go on tomorrow as if nothing had happened, and I promise Molly will send you off, if not with a smile, then at least a well meant set of instructions."

"Yeah Ron, give her a little bit, and I'm sure she'll be rushing around to get you clean pants, and to remind you to change them every day," Ginny teased, making Ron drop his head in his hands with a groan.

"I'm not sure you should be laughing, Ginny. With Ron and Hermione gone, it just means your mum will be focusing more on you and Harry." Arthur pointed out mildly.

Both Harry and Ginny quit laughing abruptly, Harry going rather pale. Ginny turned to Ron, her face solemn.

"Ron. Dear Ron. My favorite brother. Every moment you are away from us will seem as a thousand years."

They all laughed a bit at that, and Arthur pushed himself to his feet.

"I think I'll just grab a quick pot of calming tea, and then go in to work on your mum. Ron, it might help if you spent a little time with her before you have to leave, and maybe be on your best behavior."

Ron nodded. "Sure, Dad. You know I don't want to upset her more than I have to."

His dad clapped him on his shoulder on his way out of the room.

Hermione placed a hand on Ron's leg to get his attention. "You will spend some time with your mum, won't you? I think your dad is right."

He blinked, as if he was surprised she'd even ask. "Well, yeah, I had already planned on it. I know I got a bit sharp earlier, but Mum's like the rest of us; if you don't, she'll just plow you over until she gets her way. I know she's just upset with one of us leaving, after...Fred."

The four of them were quiet, thinking that over.

"But it isn't like this is dangerous, right?" Ginny asked in a quiet voice, all traces of humor gone.

Hermione realized that the thought of losing another brother worried her. "Only the average, everyday sort of danger," she promised, knowing that nothing was ever one hundred percent safe.

"Don't worry, Gin. I'll be back before you know it, and then you can get back to showing Harry the same five things in Dad's shop."

Harry blushed, but Ginny just tossed her hair with a snort. "Is that anything like taking Hermione for walks in the orchard, as if she'd never seen a tree before?"

Ron gazed at his sister innocently. "Why Ginny, you know we go out there to do some bird watching." At Ginny's disbelieving look, his grin morphed into something more wicked, and he waggled his brows. "Hermione's the bird, and I do all of the-"

"Ron!" Hermione gave a small shriek, smacking him in the face with a throw pillow.

"Aaaand with that charming mental image, I think I'll go to bed. Ginny, come tell me a story so I won't have any nightmares, please?"

"Make it a short one, since we'll be up in a few!" Ron called after them.

Once they were alone, Hermione released a breath. "Well. That went...alright, I suppose."

Ron put an arm around her, squeezing her close. "Don't relax yet; remember how she was right before the three of us left last time? Be prepared for her to try to distract you with 'helpfulness." He warned her.

"Everything is taken care of except for the packing, so there's not much she can do," she pointed out.

He chuckled darkly. "We'll see about that."

_Surprisingly, his mum hadn't been very difficult at all. A bit weepy, but Ron couldn't honestly blame her, what with Fred, and dealing with him being gone for nearly a year, and worrying about Ginny at Hogwarts. It had been hard enough for her to let Bill and Charlie go home, and here he was, rushing off to another country he had never been to before._

The morning of their flight came quickly, and everyone was in a rush to make it on time. Hermione was afraid they were going to be late, but she couldn't turn down Mrs. Weasley's insistence that they sit down to a big breakfast. Even though she wasn't very hungry herself, she knew Ron would do much better with plenty of food in his system. Or not, depending on how he handled the flight...

Harry and Ginny came to the airport to see them off (and Hermione suspected that they wouldn't be going straight home), and once Hermione got everything sorted with the tickets, Harry pulled her to the side, while Ron and Ginny stared out one of the large windows, watching the planes land and take off.

"What is it, Harry?" She whispered, expecting something along the lines of him telling her to be careful, or that he would miss her. She wasn't expecting him to thrust some Muggle money in her hand, with a furtive look over his shoulder. "Harry, thank you, but I can't accept this; I promise I have enough-"

Harry shook his head, with another look back. "This is for something else. I want you to go to the gift shop, and buy a disposable camera for the trip."

She blinked, unable to understand his excitement. It wasn't as if she and Ron were going on a real holiday where there would be a lot of sightseeing. "I...didn't realize you were so interested in Australia," she said slowly.

He grinned infectiously, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, the interesting bit will happen long before Australia! This is to get a few snaps of Ron on the plane. I can only imagine how priceless his face is gonna look!"

" _Harry, you wanker!" Ron laughed, able to admit after this long that he did sort of resemble a very long, disconcerted toad. He sure was green enough for it._

"Harry! That's not very nice! It's hardly Ron's fault that he hasn't been exposed to things like this."

Harry gave a small shrug, still smiling. "I know that. We just like to take the mickey sometimes, but you know I won't take it too far. Besides, there's just something about the expression he gets..."

She weakened. "It is rather adorable when he's worried, isn't it?"

He made a face at her. "Hardly. I've lived with Ron a lot more than you have, and trust me, adorable is probably at the bottom of the list of words I'd use to describe most of his habits. That aside, you have to admit this is something that needs to be recorded for posterity!"

"Harry, I'm sure wizards have flown in planes before."

"Ah, but those wizards weren't _Ron!"_

How could she argue with that? While Harry went over to keep the others distracted, she dashed into the gift shop and purchased a camera, guilt compelling her to toss in a few chocolate bars. When she returned, she was amused to find that Ginny and Ron hadn't even noticed she was gone.

"Well, they look like they stay up alright," Ron commented doubtfully.

"Of course they do! Muggles wouldn't do something like this if they didn't. But...you do have your wand, right?"

Ron didn't move his eyes from the window, but tapped his sleeve, where his wand was concealed.

"Then you'll be fine; you've got Hermione and a wand, so I don't think it gets much safer than that."

Hermione wasn't sure if Ginny was trying to convince Ron, or herself.

Ginny and Harry hugged them both when it was time for them to board, telling them they'd be looking out for any messages at the Burrow.

"Take care, Hermione. Let Ron help, yeah?" Harry whispered, and she nodded.

"Remember the Charm, and try to ignore Ron if he gets irritating. He won't mean to, but his mouth gets out of control when he's nervous." Ginny whispered when it was her turn for a hug, and Hermione had to fight back a blush.

She held her breath through the security check and boarding, having run through it with Ron many times so he would know what to do. He was quiet, and his eyes kept darting all around them, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be explained away as the nerves of a first time flyer. Taking his hand, she led him to the correct aisle of seats, motioning him to the window seat. This way, she could at least block him from the sight of any of the other passengers if he forgot himself. She winced in sympathy as he folded his long legs into the small confines, but to his credit, he didn't complain. Clutching her beaded bag (specially Charmed to make it through security), she sat down beside him, leaning in his direction as a stream of passengers pushed by her to find their own seats.

"It looked a lot bigger from the outside. It's almost the opposite of your bag," Ron commented as he watched the people go by.

"Well, I couldn't exactly justify flying first class, so I'm afraid you'll just have to make do with the space you have," she snapped back, her nerves acting up.

Ron blinked at her, looking rather surprised. "That's not what I meant! Just...it doesn't seem like something like this will stay up with all of these people," he explained with a rather sickly smile.

Hermione felt a little guilty; this was different than flying on a broom. Ron was used to being in control, with plenty of space around him. He was doing his best to put a brave front on it, but who wouldn't be nervous in his place? Ron had no idea how any of this worked, but he was here because she needed him, and because he trusted her.

"It won't have any problem. But now you know how nervous I get flying a piece of cleaning equipment," she said lightly.

Ron gaped at her as if she had uttered something blasphemous; considering who she was talking to, she probably had.

"Cleaning equipment? _Cleaning equipment?_ Hermione, when we get home, we're going to have to give you a better appreciation of brooms."

She patted his leg as he began to mutter something about superb, timeless craftsmanship, pleased to have distracted him. Sadly, that only lasted until the stewardess began to run through the emergency procedures, Ron's eyes widening with every sentence. Doubtfully, he looked down at the illustrated sheet from the pocket in front of him.

"Damn good thing I've been practicing my levitation charms ever since you decided on this," he whispered.

Hermione didn't quite have the heart to tell him that she wasn't sure that would work.

_Ron had to laugh as he watched himself; he had been ready to come out of his skin, but it was mostly because of the strangeness of it all, rather than a fear of flying. He'd actually flown several times since then, and while it didn't give him the same rush as a broom, he had to admit it had its merits._

His hand nearly crushed hers as the plane took off, and she had to endure almost an hour of him asking, "Is it supposed to do this? Are you sure?" The only thing she wasn't sure about was if she could handle this until their layover in Singapore. When the stewardess came by to ask if they would like anything to drink, Hermione took a bottle of water, and glared at Ron, who knocked back a slug of whiskey before the stewardess could even move on to the next aisle.

"I don't need you to be drunk for the flight, Ron!"

He glared right back, sinking lower in his seat. "Well, maybe I do! Besides, I can have one drink without getting pissed. Let a bloke have just one for the nerves, would ya?"

"Fine, but no more during the flight!" She grumbled. "Why don't you just take a nap? It'll pass the time."

"Hermione, there's no way in hell I'll be sleeping until we get off of this thing for good," he said seriously, crossing his arms.

Twenty minutes later, he was slumped against the window, snoring softly. There was a small crease between his eyes, and Hermione couldn't resist reaching over and gently smoothing it out. At her touch, his lips curved slightly.

"H'mione."

Her heart swelling with affection, she reached into her bag, and pulled out the camera. Quickly winding it, she aimed it at Ron, who slept through two pictures. She giggled softly as she tucked it away; for posterity, indeed...

_FIgures he'd sleep through one of the last moments she was anywhere close to relaxed, he thought. For the next twenty four hours, they had dealt with two long flights, getting slightly lost when they finally arrived in Sydney, and had to deal with suspicious hotel staff when they checked in. Apparently it was highly unusual to check in for a week or more with no luggage. Hermione had been quick enough to spin a story about the airline losing theirs, but that had only dimmed the hostility shown by the perpetually sour desk clerk. The next four day were spent alternating between walking around the city looking for likely dentist offices (Ron liked that best, since it was easier to distract Hermione as she rambled on about sites of local interest, or answered his questions about some of the confusing Muggle contraptions. He wasn't entirely honest about those; he knew what rollerblades were, from Dean, but he didn't have the heart to interrupt her when she was actually being animated about something), or sitting in the room while she used the phone directory. Those days were harder; as interesting as the television was, and while room service was enjoyable, it was hard to distract her from her increasing depression and anxiousness._

_The nights were both easier and harder. Easier, because cuddling was one thing he could do and do well, and it seemed to help. Harder, because her nightmares were worse than they had been back home. He had seriously started to wonder if he was doing any real good by being there, but Hermione soon made it clear that she thought otherwise._

Hermione lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. There was enough moonlight coming in from the window that she could see the rise and fall of Ron's chest beside her, his snores rumbling in the slightly stuffy air. His presence was comforting even if he wasn't awake, and she desperately needed comfort at the moment. Here she was in Australia, and she felt just as far away from her parents as if she had never left England. Were they even in Sydney? Had they moved to a smaller town? She didn't think so, since they had always expressed a preference for city life, but how could she be sure? And it wasn't as if Sydney was the only large city. She had no clue what else she could possibly do to find them. It felt like she was going in circles, and failure had never set well with Hermione. She was nearly to the point of tearing out her hair from the stress; hopelessness washed over her in waves. But...every time she had started to feel too sorry for herself, Ron stepped in. Sometimes it was a question, other times a poor attempt at a joke. There were also times he didn't say anything at all, but would just wrap his arms around her, and rest his chin on her head as she continued the endless round of calls.

She rolled to her side, resting her hand on his chest as she watched him sleep. She had nearly taken his head off a few times, but instead of snapping back, he had taken it, much like he had after his return to the tent. She frowned. She didn't like that comparison. They were finally together, and she didn't want the stress of the situation to ruin that. He had been so good...when was the last time they had been affectionate, when he wasn't comforting her? Back at the Burrow, things had progressed fairly rapidly after their first good snogging session, and they had slipped off fairly regularly to explore each other with their hands and mouths. Since they had arrived here, things hadn't gone beyond a few kisses, although Ron held her close each night. She blushed a little, embarrassed to be thinking about such things under the circumstances. Although, she thought suddenly, why should she? Why couldn't she enjoy being intimate with her boyfriend? They were together, they loved and respected one another...and it felt pretty amazing, as well. Was it so wrong to seek affection and comfort from your partner? Was it wrong to be happy together?

How ridiculous to think so! After wasting so many years, why was she holding back? Ron was the one bright spot in her life at the moment, so why was she wasting the chance to celebrate that? She was tired of putting things between them on hold while the rest of life was being dealt with. Now, the only question: would Ron be up for this?

_Such a brilliant witch; such a stupid question! Would he be up for it? Had she honestly not noticed he was 'up' every night? The only times he had ever not been keen on at least trying were when he was hacked off, or so sick he couldn't move. And even then..._

Wiggling slightly, Hermione nuzzled into Ron's neck, wondering how, exactly, one was supposed to go about seducing their boyfriend. Should she just poke him in the side and ask if he wanted to engage in carnal activities? They weren't yet at the point where she felt it would be permissible to fondle him below the boxers while he was asleep. She wanted her intent to be clear, but she also wanted him to have a chance to say no. Not, from the signals he had been giving, that she thought he would, but it was the right thing to do, and-she was losing track of her goal.

"Ron?" She whispered into his ear, before taking his earlobe between her teeth.

A sharp intake of air told her that Ron was awake.

"Wha-? Hermione?"

"Yes, it's me. Were you hoping for someone else?" She asked, before kissing the side of his neck.

His body arched up slightly, and she could feel him tensing under her hand.

"N-no! I just, um, thought you were asleep..."

"I missed you," she said honestly.

"Oh. Well. I think we can fix that," he said, a smile in his voice.

Gathering her courage, she ran her hand slowly down his body, hooking her fingers under the band of his boxers to rest against the skin of his lower stomach.

"Good. Because...I want you."

His arms, which had reached out to pull her closer, stilled. "You...you want to snog? Brilliant! Feel free to wake me up anytime for-"

"Not just snog," she cut in quickly, glad that he was at least showing some enthusiasm. Already, she felt him bumping the heel of her hand.

"Even more brilliant," he said, his voice low.

She gave a little gasp as he pulled her on top to straddle him, one of his hands going behind her head to pull her down for a kiss, the other resting on her hip. For some reason, she didn't think that Ron fully understood where she wanted to go with this, but she intended to show him. There was nothing gentle about the kiss she gave him, as they had been recently. It was fueled by her pent up passion and desire, And Ron scarcely paused before returning it in kind. Pressing her body tightly to his, she began to grind their hips together, thrilled at the vibrations in his chest when he growled.

The bed shifted as he matched her movements, and she sucked his tongue playfully when his hands moved down to cup her arse. Oh, yes, he was most definitely responsive...she could feel him hard and throbbing through the thin layers of clothing that separated them, and she knew it would be very easy to get him off like this. While that thought had a certain amount of appeal, it wasn't enough. She wanted more of his caresses, more dirty, yet oddly tender things whispered in her ear. She knew the odds of being brought to orgasm her first time were astronomical, but that didn't really matter. This was more about emotional closeness than physical pleasure, although she wasn't exactly short in that department, either. It was amazing how good just two bodies rubbing against each other could feel...

There was something about watching Ron lose himself that thrilled her. She had never felt sexy, or wildly attractive, but she felt both when Ron responded to her in this way. Perhaps she still didn't see herself that way, but she believed Ron did; there was desire, and love, and need in his eyes, all for her. And tonight, she was finally going to see how he looked at her when they made love.

Taking her time, she kissed her way down, pausing to flick her tongue over his nipples, biting gently when they firmed under her attention. She had already discovered that Ron was particularly sensitive there, and she smiled into his chest when he hissed, his hands dropping down to twist the sheets. With one hand, she reached down and gripped him through his boxers, giving him a few strokes.

"Herrrrrrrrrmiiiiiiooone," he moaned, "Are we gonna...it's been so long!"

She giggled, the vibrations tickling his stomach until he sucked it in. "Ron, it hasn't even been a week!"

"Hermione, a day's too long; a week's liable to kill me!"

"Then I suppose," she said, sliding down to tug on his boxers, "we'll have to make up for that, won't we?"

"Fuck yes!" He growled, pushing up on his heels to lift himself enough for her to get rid of the impeding garment.

Hermione made herself as comfortable as she could, watching his face as she wrapped her hand around his shaft experimentally. A gurgling sound from the back of his throat told her he was enjoying her attentions, spurred her on. Through discreet research and overheard conversations, Hermione had learned that men usually...lasted longer on the second round. She had confirmed this herself with some hands on experiments in the orchard behind the Burrow, where Ron had been a more than willing participant. She had noticed recently that he had been able to last longer, no doubt his stamina returning now that he was sexually active once more.

' _Sexually active once more.' He snorted. She really had no clue, did she? Just because he didn't come the second she breathed on his cock didn't mean he had come even close to his full potential. He was partially relieved to know that she would finally realize she had it all wrong, but he was also worried that his lack of...skill...was going to disappoint her even more. Not that he hadn't already made good progress with getting her off in other ways, and she really did mean for this to mostly be an emotional experience...but bloody hell, that didn't make the fact that he was going to come like a geyser while she didn't any easier to take!_

In the near darkness, Hermione could only make out the shape, but her fingers easily traced the veins and ridges, lingering over the spots that made him twitch in her hand. Leaning forward, she used the tip of her tongue to lick him from base to head. Instantly, she felt his hands tangle in her hair, and she froze.

"Ron?" She asked, pulling back slightly.

"Promise I'll be careful," He gasped out, "Just wanna touch you."

Well, as long as he was careful this time...

_He couldn't exactly blame her. One day he had gotten a little too enthusiastic, and hadn't realized he had nearly gagged her until she gave a warning scrape of teeth. Happily, he hadn't needed a second reminder._

His fingers relaxed in her hair, and she made up her mind, dropping her mouth back over him. Carefully she worked her way up and down, trying not to scrape him too much with her teeth. She tapped her tongue against the several sensitive spots she had already mapped out, pleased at the grunts and strangled growled that followed each one. Her jaw ached, so she used one of her hands to work the base, able to pick up her pace now that she wasn't taking so much in. She could feel he was close, so using something she had learned in one of their more recent explorations, she reached down to cup his sack, gently rolling the textured skin across her fingers. His grip on her hair tightened, but he didn't pull it or push her head down. It was only the way the muscles in his thighs jumped, and the way he twitched in her mouth that let her know what was coming-and come he did.

_Ron snorted with embarrassment as she watched her choke him down. It was pathetic, really, how quickly he had shot his load; he comforted himself with the knowledge that he could last much longer now._

There was something fascinating about watching Ron come; The way every muscle in his body appeared to tighten and stand out, and then how he went utterly boneless moments later. Part of the thrill came from the way he gasped her name, and the knowledge that _she_ was the one who had made him feel that way. Watching him lying there, dazed and panting, she was unable to resist touching him. She kissed her way back up to his neck, moaning at the sensation of dragging her aching core over his leg. His skin tasted so good; slightly salty, with-

Suddenly, she was flipped over, blinking up in surprise at a grinning Ron, his face flushed and his hair tousled.

"Your turn," he growled playfully, nuzzling her ear.

The bed creaked as he bent over her, and her breath hitched when she felt him sucking on her earlobe, his teeth grazing the flesh before his tongue swiped over it. Pinned beneath his body, she was only able to run her hands along his sides as he nibbled on her neck, hitting all of the tender spots. His lips skimmed over her collarbone, moving achingly slowly towards her breasts. She tried pushing them forward, be he managed to avoid her, scattering teasing kisses across the top and down the side.

She lifted her arms from under his, and began to run her fingers through his hair, trying to tug him in the right direction. He must have gotten the hint, because his mouth finally closed over her, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He moved between each breast, his hand giving attention to whichever one his mouth was neglecting. It felt so good, but she needed more.

"Ron, please!" She gasped out, her voice choking on a whimper.

Thankfully, he listened; the mattress shifted as he moved lower, and she felt her stomach suck in as his lips tickled the skin around her navel. She dug her heels into the bed in anticipation of what was coming. Ron, once his initial reticence wore off, had been enthusiastic in learning what gave her the most pleasure. His mouth put all those years of sucking on chocolate frogs to good use, and she realized it had been far too long since the last time they had done this. Through a wave of hair that had fallen across her face, she watched him as he got settled, feeling rather pleased at the intent way he was eyeing her. She wasn't sure if she would ever get used to that expression in her eyes that made her feel desirable, and she wasn't really sure why he would feel that way in the first place. But, she thought as he kissed her right thigh, she was very, very glad he did.

_Ron groaned as he watched, practically able to taste her. He rubbed himself through his jeans, desperately needing some form of relief. How could she wonder how he found her desirable? It's cause she bloody well was!_

He was moving far too slowly. In frustration, she reached out and gripped the back of his head, falling back when his mouth finally made contact. The feeling of his tongue working over her folds and lapping at her clit had her gripping the sheets in her fists, her head rolling from side to side on the pillow. And then she felt him start to move away, and her mind thickly tried to come up with a protest, which wouldn't quite leave her lips. But it was alright-more than alright, she thought, as he gently inserted one finger. Her hips rose to meet him, and she almost purred a few minutes later when he added a second one; he had gotten so much better about reading when she was ready for that! His fingers were longer than hers, and they were hitting just the right spot. If he kept on much longer, she knew she would come. But she wasn't ready for that. She wanted to feel him inside of her, and she knew she would be hazy after an orgasm. It probably would have made things easier, but she had always been a bit odd about these things. Releasing the sheets, she reached out to push on his shoulder.

"Ron...Please...up..." she panted, reaching one hand under her pillow and pulling out her wand.

Thankfully she still had enough of her wits about her to be able to perform the Charms correctly, although Ron seemed to have suddenly lost his.

"Hermione? What-why-"

"I told you, I want you. All of you." She said firmly, hiding her nervousness.

She waited for him to make a move, or show some sign that he wanted this as much as she did, but he just sat there, staring at her. Oh no. Was she making a fool of herself? Was she...disappointing in some way? She knew she wasn't as pretty as, well, as Lavender, especially since her body still hadn't fully recovered from last year, but was it enough to put him off her completely? Maybe he was trying to find the kindest way to get out of it.

"Unless you don't want to," she said, blinking rapidly. "I just thought-but if you don't-"

"I want! I want! I just-are you sure?"

Relief drove away the sick feeling that had lodged in her chest; he wasn't disgusted, we was just putting her first before leaping at her!

I'm positive. Ron, I love you, and I...I want to feel it with you."

She whimpered a little as he leaned forward to kiss her, the combination of the way his lips gently brushed across her lips and the way his cock throbbed against her making her head spin.

"Love you too. So fucking much."

Several times she felt him tease her entrance, and it was driving her mad. She just wanted him inside, _now._

_He'd been trying! If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought her bits were moving. Teasing had never entered into it, because he had been just as eager as she was to get things underway._

"Ron, please! Don't tease anymore!" She growled, arching herself into him, pushing against his arse with her heels.

It threw him off balance, and he sank into her faster than she had expected, and she couldn't contain her hiss of discomfort at the intrusion.

"Sorry! Fuckthat'sgood-sorry! Do you need me to pull-?"

"No," she gritted out, clutching at his biceps, "It's not bad. You're just bigger than your fingers, and I need to adjust." Through half closed eyes, she saw a smug grin pull at his lips. "Oh, stop looking so smug!"

"S'rry."

He was still, and she tried to relax around him, knowing that would make it easier. After a few deep breaths, she thought she was ready, and glanced up to find him wearing an almost painful expression.

"Is something wrong?" She asked, concerned.

"No. You just feel so much different than-"

"That's fine, you don't have to say it," Why had he brought that up now? She had been trying to forget it; as silly as it was, it still hurt. "I-I think you can start moving now."

" _That's not what I meant!" Ron yelped, affronted. He might not be Mr. Sensitivity and Understanding, but even if he had been with Lavender like that, he never would have brought it up, and definitely not then! Couldn't she tell that he had no idea what to do between a woman's legs? At least as far as his lower half was concerned. He eyed his own movements with a disgusted, critical eye._

" _You'll never get her off at that angle!" He shouted uselessly. "You need to tilt her hips. And speaking of hips, what the hell are you doing? If you keep moving like that, you'll rupture a disk before you're twenty-five!"_

His movements seemed uncoordinated, and it was a strange sensation when he slipped out of her. She knew she wasn't going to come, but as he finally found his pace, she knew she didn't care; knowing Ron, he'd be willing to keep trying until she did.

" _Damn right."_

Instead, she revelled in the feeling of being close; right now, everything was Ron. From his muffled swearing, to the smell of his skin, the sweat on his arms and neck damp under her hands. She was completely immersed in him, and there was nowhere else she'd rather be. It wasn't very long before she felt the telltale signs of his impending orgasm, and she concentrated on squeezing down on him.

"HERMIONE!" He roared, right before slowly collapsing on top of her.

The air whooshed out of her body, but it wasn't an altogether unpleasant sensation, at least not until it became difficult to breathe. Luckily, he began to stir, and she took a deep breath as he rolled away from her-but not to far, she was happy to note.

"Sorry 'bout tha'." He slurred, wiggling enough to pull her against him.

"We'll work on that part," she giggled, still short on air.

"Gimme five minute, love, and we'll do just that!"

"I didn't mean right now, you prat!" she swatted his arm, but she couldn't help laughing.

Ron, she was pleased to discover, was a post-coital snuggler, which was perfect because she wanted this feeling of connection to last as long as possible. And then-

"'Ermione, you're the best-"

Why did he have to say that? Hastily, she twisted to cut off the rest. It had been lovely, and she didn't want it ruined by memories of jealousy and hurt. She supposed that in his own way, he was complimenting her, and she had to admit that at least a small part of her enjoyed hearing that she came out ahead. As the kiss continued, she promised herself that she would get better about that. The past was the past, and Ron had made his choice. He was with her, and they were happy.

She didn't plan on that changing. Ever.

_Ron, aside from the stiffy in his pants, was a little deflated. He'd been about to attempt to be romantic, and he hated to think that she had been hurt by the conclusions she had jumped to. He'd never really thought of it before, but now he knew why he hesitated whenever he was about to say anything like that. She'd done that several times over the years-not on the same subject, but enough for him to sometimes think that he just needed to keep his mouth shut. But he had all of these feelings for her practically bursting to come out, and if they could fix this, he thought she might actually welcome them._

_Misunderstanding aside, it had been a brilliant night. They had cuddled for hours, and he had finally gotten a second attempt-marginally better, but at least he hadn't passed out on top of her again. And it was a good thing they had enjoyed it, because they were about to hit an unpleasant patch._

With a viscous motion, Hermione crossed out yet another entry on her list. She hadn't really expected anything else. Really, she should be numb to disappointment by this point. Instead, each failure was like claws raking across her heart. She was failing. Of all the times for her to possibly fail, and it was now. She had made it through six terrifying years of school, one year on the run with some of the most evil beings hunting them down, and had survived a war. After all that, and she couldn't even locate two people who weren't trying to hide. How pathetic was that? Tears pricked her already stinging eyes, and she slammed the cheap plastic hotel pen down on the night table, bringing her hands up to rub her head.

"Hermione? I think it's time to stop now. We should probably eat and-"

Her frustration found a direction, and she struck.

"Is that all you can think about?" She screamed, shooting to her feet as Ron fell backwards in surprise.

"That's not-"

"All you do is eat! You're either ordering room service, or insisting we go out and pick something up! Can you honestly not go two hours without having to stuff yourself?"

She leaned forward, ignoring the hurt look in Ron's eyes before he slid them away.

"And when you aren't eating, you're asking questions about things you would have known by now if you had listened to me for once and taken Muggle Studies! It might be easy for _you_ to forget, but we're not on holiday here!"

She finally stopped enough to draw breath; as she inhaled for a second round, she finally took in Ron's hunched shoulders, and the way he wouldn't meet her eyes, and stuttered to a stop. There was a long moment of tense, almost unbearable silence, before he spoke quietly.

"We haven't eaten since breakfast at seven this morning. It's after four. Any offices will be closing soon, and it'll be too late to keep calling. You need to eat to keep up your strength. You were barely starting to get well, and you can't afford any setbacks now."

Hermione glanced wildly at the clock, unable to believe that so much time had passed without her realizing. but with a sinking sensation, she saw that Ron was right. It was 4:27, going on ten hours since they had last eaten. Ten hours where Ron had sipped quietly on warm bottles of water, never saying a word.

"And I know we're not on holiday, and I know my questions are stupid. It probably doesn't make much difference, but I actually knew the answers to a lot of them. But I don't know how to help with-" he waved his hands in the air vaguely, "And all I can think to do is to try to get you to eat enough on a halfway regular schedule, and try to get your mind off things before you drive yourself completely mental. I can't think of many things to talk about besides food and stupid questions that wouldn't depress one of us somehow. Fuck, I wanted to be useful, and I know i'm just...just sort of a useless ginger lump."

He sat there dejectedly, still not bothering to look up. Hermione could hardly breathe. Here Ron was doing everything he could think of to help her, and she was so wrapped up in her fears that not only hadn't she seen it, but she was hurting him for it! Her emotional circuits were finally overloaded, and she burst out into loud sobs, falling heavily beside him on the bed.

Her shoulders were heaving, her eyes were blurry, and her hair was hanging in her face, but although she couldn't see him, she felt his arms go around her, one hand patting her on the back as if he weren't entirely sure she would welcome it. That thought made her sob even harder.

"H-Hermione? What is it? Did I say something wrong? Did I do something? Please say something!"

"Oh, Roooooon!" She wailed, choking from not breathing properly, "I've been h-horrid!"

"What? No you haven't! Maybe a little stressed..." He said, sounding genuinely surprised by her outburst.

She shook her head hard, stopping when she realized she was accidentally slapping him in the face with her hair. "I have! You've been so sweet to me, and all I've been is nasty in return. The one good thing in my life right now, and I have to go and r-ruin it!"

"Hermione, breathe, or you're gonna make yourself sick," he said softly, scooting back against the headboard and pulling her with him. "Listen," He continued, once he had settled them into a comfortable position, "You're not ruining anything, you hear? You're just under a lot of stress, and pushing yourself too bloody hard."

She sniffed, twisting her fingers into the front of his shirt. "Nevertheless, that doesn't give me the right to take it out on you." Beneath her, she felt Ron's chest jerk as he let out a small snort.

"Trust me, Hermione. I know how worrying about your family can make you say some shitty things. I just wish I was actually doing something to help."

Her eyes squeezed shut at the despondency in his voice. Self recriminations rang through her head; hadn't she promised she would do better than this? It had been so much easier back at the Burrow, but now that things were getting harder, she was taking it out on him. After so many years of waiting, they were finally really getting somewhere, and she was going to end up driving him away!

Shifting to the side, she pushed herself up to look at him. "You do help!" She said fiercely, "You help more than you know, and it's not your fault I'm too stubborn to listen!"

"Can I get that in writing for tomorrow?" He joked weakly.

Hermione could tell he was trying to put on a bright front, but the hurt still hadn't left his eyes. Gently, she reached up to cup his cheek, relieved when he nuzzled into her hand. "You won't need it. I promise. You've been great-amazing really-the whole time we've been here. I've just been so frustrated with myself! I feel helpless and foolish and pathetic, and I took it out on you."

"You're not any of those things," he said, rubbing her back. "I reckon you just haven't outsmarted yourself yet, is all."

She felt her forehead wrinkle as she tried to puzzle that out. "What?"

"Well, you wanted your parents to be safe and hard to find, right? Then it seems to me that if you're having a hard time, it just means you did a good job."

Her jaw sagged a little as she stared at him. This entire time, she had been beating herself up, thinking that she had lost whatever brains she had ever had because she couldn't find her own parents. But, at least in a way, Ron was right. The whole point had been to make it difficult to find them, to keep them as safe as possible. She wasn't a failure. She just hadn't moved on to the next step, yet. How did he manage to tell her exactly what she needed to hear?

"I just wish this wasn't so hard on you. It's too bad they don't keep dentists all together in one place for convenience."

And he had just done it again. A slow smile worked its way across her face, brightened by the ray of hope he had just ignited. Awkwardly, she lunged forward to place a long, firm kiss on his lips.

"House elves and dentists," Ron said dizzily once she pulled away, "You get turned on by the strangest things, but it's damned fun figuring out what they are!"

With a laugh, she kissed him again. "Ron, you're brilliant! You just made me realize how to find my parents." She wasn't even surprised. It was amazing how Ron could cut right to the heart of a problem, if you actually listened to him.

"Really? You're serious? What do we need to do, then?" Ron asked, looking nervous and excited at the same time.

Hermione rolled off the bed, and grabbed her bag off the night stand. "First, we go get that dinner you mentioned. And tomorrow...we go to the library."

Ron shot her a bemused look. "Naturally."

Butterflies were exploding in her stomach as she waited for him to get ready. They were on the right track now, she could feel it. Any day now, she could finally find her parents...but she couldn't help wondering, were any of them ready for that?

_Those had been incredibly stressful days. The doubts had crept back into his mind, about whether he was good enough, or if he was just dragging her down. Hermione almost always seemed to have everything on track, and it was hard for him to remember that she had insecurities like everyone else. And when they got the best of her, she snapped at anyone around. He usually took it personally as if she really thought those things, instead of realizing that she was projecting her feelings about herself onto him. It wasn't one of her better traits, and it was one that really messed with his head. He knew she didn't do it on purpose, and it had been pretty few and far between in the past few years. But what would happen as the stresses of her job increased? She was going to be taking bigger and bigger cases, and eventually she was going to come up against one that really stumped her. He was going to have to figure out a way to let her know she was hurting him, without losing his temper and just starting a fight. It was one thing to bicker and let off steam, but there had to be limits._

_True to her word, they had gone to the library the next day, only they hadn't gone to look at books. He had seen televisions several times at that point, but this had been his first time seeing a computer, and he had instantly known it was something that his dad would have been in raptures about for days. Hermione had given him a brief demonstration before she got down to business, and he had been impressed even if he didn't understand half of what she said. Apparently, there really was a place that kept all the dentists in one group; some sort of association, which Hermione had been embarrassed that she hadn't thought of before. It had taken several hours and more than a few disapproving sniffs from the librarian for taking such a long turn, but in the end Hermione left with an address clutched tightly in one hand. She had alternated between wild elation and tense silence, and he'd had to work hard to keep up with the rapid changes in mood. Neither of them had hardly slept all night, and he wasn't sure which of them had been more nervous the next day..._

Hermione stood in front of the door to the low, pleasant looking house, the sound of the ocean echoing close by. She had only eaten a few bites at breakfast at Ron's insistence, and they were already threatening to rebel on her. She was about to face her parents for the first time in over a year, and all of her carefully prepared speeches and answers had left her head completely. Part of her wanted to turn and run, while another part wanted nothing more than to collapse into their arms and cry like she was two. Neither was an option, however, so she merely stood there trying to recall how to breathe.

"Hermione? Are you going to knock?" Ron asked tentatively.

"Of course! Just...give me a minute to prepare. This isn't easy, you know."

"Yeah, I know, and I wouldn't wanna pressure you or anything like that, but we've already been standing here twenty minutes, and some of the neighbors are starting to notice."

Darting a quick look around, Hermione noticed that there were in fact several people looking in their direction. "Maybe they're looking at something else," she said doubtfully.

Instead of answering, Ron reached over her shoulder and gave the door a firm knock.

"Why did you do that? I'm not prepared yet!" She hissed at him, barely refraining from elbowing him in the stomach.

"Trust me, this isn't the sort of thing you're ever prepared for," Ron muttered, shifting away as if he had discerned her thoughts.

There was no time for argument, as the door opened with a small click, and they were greeted with a pleasant, "Hello, may I help you?"

Hermione stared wordlessly at her mother, her mind unable to form a coherent sentence. She hadn't seen her mum in over a year, and the sound of her voice made her heart ache. Eagerly, she drank in every detail. noting the familiar diamond stud earrings that had been an anniversary present from her father that Hermione could recall from the time she was small, to the shade of lipstick she had always worn. With a pang, Hermione realized that her mother's features had become blurred in her memory, and there were fine lines around her eyes that she couldn't be sure were new, or if she had just forgotten them. In horrifying slow motion, she began to cry.

Her mother wore a look of shocked concern, as if she were unsure what she should do for the stranger crying at her front door. Hermione knew she needed to get ahold of herself, but she just couldn't.

"Ah, I'm sorry about this," Ron cut in, his voice slightly loud, "My girlfriend's cat went missing, and we've been out looking for him. I know it might sound strange, but there's, erm, sentimental reasons." He wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Don't worry love, we'll find him."

Apparently deciding that they were harmless, her mum stepped back. "There have been several cats in the neighborhood recently; would you like to come inside and describe him? You look like you might need to sit down."

"Yes, thank you," Hermione sniffed, thankful for Ron's quick thinking, "We've been looking for a long time, and it's just seemed so hopeless."

Her mum patted her kindly on the shoulder before motioning them into the living room. "Well, if he's around here, I'm sure you'll find him; several of the elderly ladies leave food out for the strays. Just a moment, and I'll ask my husband to join us. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

Hermione and Ron both perched on the edge of the couch as her mum stuck her head around the corner and called upstairs for her husband.

"Hermione, now's your chance; you should do your mum before your dad walks in!" Ron whispered hurriedly.

Hermione's hand moved towards her wand, but as she pulled it out, her mum turned back around and noticed, peering at the wand in puzzlement.

"What is...that?"

"Oh, this?" Ron asked brightly, "This is part of the cat's toy, his favorite. There's usually a string attached to the end, with a little ball stuffed with catnip. He loves it when you flick it just so, right, Hermione?" Ron prodded meaningfully.

Catching his hint, Hermione flicked the wand in the correct motion, the wordless spell leaping from the tip to connect with her mother, who staggered back. As she began to crumple, Ron leapt to her side, trying to angle her into a chair, his face contorted in abject panic at his armful of boneless, middle aged housewife.

Hermione rushed to assist him, biting her lip as her mother moaned, her eyelids fluttering rapidly.

"Hermione, was it supposed to happen like this?" Ron asked her, grabbing her mum before she could slip out of the over-stuffed armchair.

"I don't know! It's not like I've ever-"

"What's going on in here?"

Hermione whirled around to face her father, whose brows were lowered at the sight in front of him.

"What have the two of you done to my wife? If it's money you want, take it and get-"

"Hermione, now!" Ron shouted.

Hermione snapped out of it, swiftly performing the same spell on her father that she had just used on her mother. He stiffened, and began to sway, his eyes rolling back.

"Bloody hell, not him too!" Ron groaned, running to catch him.

Her father was bulkier than her mother, and Ron had a harder time leading him the few steps to the ottoman, where he dumped him with a grunt.

"H...Hermione?"

She swiveled her head to look at her mother, who was sitting up and rubbing her temples. Apparently she was having some trouble as the memories of the past year shifted to fit with her rightful life. Hermione rushed to hover at her side, not quite daring to throw herself in her lap, as she wanted to do.

"Mum? You recognize me? Are you alright?"

Her mother looked up at her, and blinked around the room, in a slight daze. "Where on earth...how...I remember you saying..." Suddenly, her attention snapped back to Hermione, her eyes boring into her keenly. "Hermione Jean, you tell me right now this isn't what I think it is."

"I...that depends on what you think it is," Hermione stalled in a small voice.

"What I think is that for whatever reason, you've somehow used magic on us, altered our memories, and uprooted our lives. Tell me I'm wrong."

Hermione faltered under her mother's bluntness. "It's true I used magic, but there was no other way!"

"Helen...what's going on?" Her father's groggy voice came from behind her.

"Your daughter is trying to explain why I seem to have a years' worth of memories as another person, but can't seem to recall the reason why that would be. Did you know anything about this?"

Her father shook his head, and Hermione wanted to cry harder. He was looking at her like he recognized her...but he didn't _know_ her.

"I know it's a lot to take in, but Hermione will tell you everything if you just-" Ron tried to speak, but was quickly cut off.

"Oh, I have no doubt that she will, but I want to hear it from her. But don't think that I'm overlooking you, or what part you had to play in all of this!"

That brought Hermione out of her daze; her parents had a right to be mad, but not at Ron. "Ron didn't know anything about this until it was already over!"

"And I'm supposed to be grateful this wasn't a conspiracy? You have a lot of explaining to do, so I suggest you start!"

_At this point, Ron had been lead away by Hermione's father, and although he had been able to hear the raised voices of Hermione and her mother, he hadn't been able to make out the words. Hermione got the majority of her temper from her mother, and he had always gathered it had been an emotionally fraught battle._

"It's hard to decide where to begin," Hermione said with a deep breath. Her mother remained silent, lips pursed, waiting for her to go on. "I've told you before about Harry, and the dark Wizard that was targeting him. What I left out was that there was a war going on, and it wasn't just affecting that world."

Her mother crossed her arms, unappeased so far. "And I've always felt the utmost sympathy for Harry, and supported your efforts to be a good friend to him. But I fail to see the connection here."

"They weren't just targeting Harry!" Hermione blurted, years of pent up guilt and frustration bursting forth. "Voldemort and his followers hated Muggleborns, and Muggles! They wanted to enslave this world, and thought nothing of killing for sport! We had to stop them!"

Her mother looked slightly shocked at this, and Hermione took the chance to plunge forward, highlighting the past seven years so her mum could see exactly how serious this was.

"And just where were the adults in all of this?" She asked, pushing herself to her feet to begin pacing. "Forgetting for the moment that these were choices you shouldn't have even been making-"

"I'm an adult!"

"From the sound of it, you've been making these choices long before that, so don't even give me that excuse, Hermione! I know that world is different from this one, but don't expect me to believe that they sit back and do nothing while children face such danger!"

"Of course not!" Hermione's voice was straining from all of the yelling, "Everyone was involved, but it all rested on Harry, and Ron and I were the only ones that knew everything and could help!"

"And you're telling me that three children-no, don't say it, I don't give a damn about legal technicalities-three children were supposed to defeat, what I've been lead to believe, one of the darkest Wizards in their history?"

"It wasn't as if it was something we set out to do! There was magic involved that you wouldn't understand-"

"Don't be so sure," her mother said in a tight, quiet voice. "Just because I'm unable to use magic myself doesn't mean I don't understand it in theory. Muggles can buy books in Diagon Alley, too."

Hermione was nonplussed. For some reason, it had never occurred to her that her parents might do some of their own research. "They needed me, Mum. You and Dad have always taught me that when there's something that needs to be done and you can help, to do it. If I hadn't been with them, at least one of them might be dead."

"Alright, say all of that is true. Even if this was something you absolutely had to do, you had no right to do this to us! You took a year of our lives away, without even asking us! And what about everyone back home? I know you're exceptionally bright, Hermione, but there's no way you could have taken care of everything. We're going to have to rebuild not only our professional lives, but our private ones as well!"

"Don't you understand?" Hermione practically screamed, shaking with emotion, "They would have killed you! They knew who I was, they were hunting me, and they would have used you-"

"That's besides the point!" Her mother yelled back, making a slashing gesture with her hand. "That wasn't for you to decide! Your way is not always the best way, Hermione, and you had absolutely no right to take away the choices of two adults when it came to something this important! You had an ethical obligation to tell us what was going on, and to let us choose our own options!"

"I knew you'd never agree to it, and I couldn't let anything happen to you!" Hermione confessed.

"That wasn't your choice to make. And even if I can understand the reasoning..." Her mother turned away, hugging herself, "That doesn't erase the feelings of betrayal and violation."

The two of them stood there in silence. Hermione didn't know what to say; Her mum was right, but so was she. She just wanted everything to go back to normal for them, but she knew that wasn't possible. Just as she had with Ron, her parents deserved time to be mad.

"Is everything alright in here?"

Hermione turned to face her father, who was standing in the hall with a nervous looking Ron peering over his shoulder.

"What do you think, Richard?" Her mother snarled, still not turning around.

"Ron, I think we should be leaving now." she said, her voice only wobbling slightly.

"Hermione, you don't have to leave. It might just be best if you and Ron waited in the other room-"

"No. This isn't something that's going to go away if I wait a few hours. I knew that...that things would be bad, and that you'll most likely never forgive me. I'm truly sorry that I couldn't think of another way, but I'm not sorry that I did it. Ron?"

She held out her hand, and Ron squeezed by her protesting father to cross the room, ignoring her hand as he wrapped an arm securely around her shoulders.

"Ready, love?" He asked.

Hermione nodded, feeling utterly exhausted. She hadn't felt up to going into everything that had happened this past year, and she didn't want to have one of her episodes in front of her parents right now. "Yes. Sorry for the wait." She looked back at her parents, feeling her heart break at the distance between them. "Mum, Dad, I love you. I hope...I hope someday you're able to say the same about me again."

She knew she was seconds from breaking down completely, and she leaned into Ron as they turned to go.

"Stop."

Turning at her mother's abrupt command, Hermione was surprised to see her mum marching towards her, her face set.

"Get that ridiculous notion that we don't love you right out of your head," her mother said sharply, pulling her into a stiff hug that had Ron's arm trapped as an awkward hostage. "Your father and I love you very much; nothing is going to change that. However, we are both very, very mad, and very, very hurt. We need time to process everything, and you need to allow us to express those feelings."

Her father had joined them, wrapping his arms around both her and her mum, causing Ron to release a faint whimper. "Your mum's right, Hermione. This is going to take some time, and it won't happen all at once. Why don't you and Ron come over tomorrow night, and we'll try to talk some more, alright?"

With a loud sniff, she nodded. This wasn't the reunion she had wanted, although she had already known it wouldn't be. But it also wasn't as bad as she had feared. She would have been furious if the same had been done to her, and if she wanted to rebuild their trust, then she was going to have to be sensitive to their needs.

"we'll see you at six, then. And Hermione?" Her father asked, as he and her mum stepped back to let her and Ron move away. "We love you, and...that's not something we ever want to forget, and it's not something you should forget, either."

"I love you too, Daddy. We'll be back tomorrow."

Her father's words both hurt and reassured her. She had been so concerned about keeping them safe, that she had thought any sacrifice was worth that. Perhaps, for them, it wasn't. But as mad as she knew they were going to be for awhile, her heart was lightened a bit by the reassurance that they truly did still love her.

"You alright?" Ron asked quietly.

It was only at his words did she realize they had been walking down the street for a bit without her saying anything to him. "I...I'm not sure. It wasn't very pleasant in there, and I don't think it will be for some time, but I at least know that they aren't going to totally disown me."

Ron snorted. "I seriously doubt that was ever a possibility."

"You only say that because you weren't in there to hear my mum. She can be stubborn and sharp when she's mad, although it takes a lot to get her there."

"I hate to break this to you, but the Dirigible Plum didn't fall far from the tree. But your dad seemed to be...handling things better, and he said she'll come around eventually."

She stopped in her tracks, biting her lips as she half turned. "Maybe I should go back and explain things while Dad is there. If we can get her to see..."

Ron tugged at her arm firmly, pulling her back into motion. "Uh-uh. Your dad was holding it in, but that doesn't mean he wasn't mad. Besides, if she's anything like you, having people gang up on her to try to convince her of something is only gonna hack her off more."

He had a point there, she was forced to admit. "But I can't just not do anything!" She groaned loudly.

He took her by the shoulders and squinted down at her. "Are you serious? You just traveled across the bloody world, tracked down two Muggles harder to find than an Unplottable, and you performed high level spells under a fuck ton of stress, all while dealing with me. You've done all you can do until it's time to talk to them again."

When he put it like that, it sounded as if she had done more than she really had. Still, maybe it was true that she hadn't put as much effort in as the situation would allow...but that was no reason to slack now!

"Right. Once we get back to the room, I'll work on all the points I need to cover, so I won't lose my composure this time. I'm sure I'll be able to convince them if-"

"Hermione."

"Hm?" She asked absently, already considering what points her mum might bring up.

"No."

Again, she stopped; if they kept this up, there were never going to make it back to the hotel. "No? What do you mean, no?"

He darted a hesitant look in her direction, before his eyes shifted away. "This isn't something you can just memorize the right answers to and expect that to be enough. You can't go back there and-and beat them over the head about why you did what you did, or why they have to forgive you. It doesn't work like that, and you'll make things worse."

Her temper flared. Where did he get off thinking he was the voice of reason? They were her parents, after all! "What makes you such an expert?" She snapped, folding her arms across her chest with a huff.

"Loads of practice," he stated bluntly.

His words caused her steps to falter.

"Look, Hermione. I know there's not exactly many areas where I have you beat in the knowledge department. But fixing things after I've bolloxed them up is sort of a speciality of mine, so maybe you could trust me a little, yeah?"

"Then what do I do?"

He put his arm around her as they casually ducked down a small side street.

"You don't _do_ anything," he said with a glance back over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed. "You listen. You be as honest as possible when they ask you something. And...just know that they'll probably say a few things that'll make you feel like utter shite while they're still trying to work this out."

In sharp detail, all of the cutting remarks and deliberate, punishing slights she had inflicted on Ron in an attempt to hurt him as much as he had her. It all seemed so...pointless and petty. Not her anger, or her hurt; just her methods of dealing with them. It hadn't helped her feel better, and it hadn't been in either one of their best interests. Now that she was in a similar position, she was suspecting that nothing she could have done could have made Ron sorrier than he already had been.

_She had it in one. Nothing she had done had made him sorrier, but it had made him feel a hell of a lot more hopeless that things would get better. He'd been afraid that if her parents were anything like her, Hermione would end up a wreck._

With tentative affection, she raised her hand to give a light caress across his jaw, resting it on his neck. "Ron, When you...while we were still...I'm sorry. Not for being mad, but for some of the ways I expressed it. I said some pretty awful things to hurt you so that I would feel better, and I shouldn't have."

He gave a short, jerky shrug, as if he were uneasy with the subject, several prominent freckles disappearing into frown lines. "Maybe not, but you needed to, if you know what I mean. I knew you mostly didn't mean it."

She tilted his head so he would look at her again. "Any of it. I didn't mean any of it. I was just hurting and having a hard time figuring things out and-"

"And that's how it'll be with your parents. It'll be hairy for while, but you'll get through it. At least they want to talk with you."

Her hand dropped to rest on his shoulder. "With _us._ They said for you to come, as well."

His tongue flicked over his lips nervously. "And if you want me to be there, I will. I just didn't want to, you know, shove in where I'm not wanted, if it'll make things harder. It's a family thing, so it's not like I'd be offended or something."

Hermione remembered thinking the same thing, not too long ago. She thought of how Ron had made her feel a part, how he had welcomed her to share his sorrows. She thought of how much he had been there for her these past few months, and how he was now putting her needs above his to help her. She thought of all of the ordinary, wonderful, and probably not always pleasant ways he had helped her.

"Of course you're coming. You're family." She said firmly, and meant it. When his eyes widened in pleasure, she thought she might have said the right thing.

_It had been exactly what he needed to hear. He and Hermione were best friends, and they were now most definitely lovers, but there was an added sense of belonging in the word 'family.' While he had no desire to be seen in the same brotherly light as Harry, it was a closeness he longed for. After all, even the best of friends and lovers sometimes parted ways. Family...there was something more permanent to that, and permanency was what he was going for._

"Sorted. I'll stay as long as you want me there." He leaned close to kiss her temple. "Now we should probably go; everything is gonna hit you any minute, and you'll need to cry. And while I don't exactly mind, I'd rather that not happen out here where someone will think I'm attacking you or something."

As if his words had been a signal, she gave a deep, shuddering breath, her vision already starting to blur. Her emotions were swinging wildly, and she knew that if she tried to Apparate now, she'd probably wind up Splinching him again.

"You're right, we should go back to the room. But I don't feel up to Apparating us. Would you mind...?"

Ron put his arm around her, giving her a small lopsided smile. "Anything you need, Hermione."

And she believed him. She wasn't a damsel in distress. She was capable of travel. She could perform high level spells with no help, and she could mend a damaged relationship with her parents. But...she was also human. She needed to hear that things would be alright, needed to know that someone would be looking out for her best interests when she wasn't up to doing it herself. In short, she thought, as they began to spin in place, she had needed Ron.

And she was pretty sure that wasn't going to end with this trip.

_If he hadn't felt useful during the first part, he more than made up for it during the second. He'd been there to run interference with her parents, clarify points, and distract people when things got too tense. He had comforted Hermione in the privacy of their hotel room, and had spent hours rubbing her spasming arms and legs. He had also been more than willing to help her burn out her frustration and anger in almost punishing rounds of sex, assuring Hermione that he didn't feel used at all, but even if he did it was the kind of used he could become accustomed to._

_It took awhile, but things finally cooled down with her parents; they still were hurt, and not happy with her choice, but they understood her reasons and were making the effort to come to terms with it. There was a strain, but Hermione was happy that they could hold a civil conversation, and once they were all back in England, she tried to spend more time with them. He missed her like hell, but he knew why she had to do it; it just made him look forward all the more to the days she would slip over to the Burrow to see him. Things were going blissfully well as far as their relationship was concerned, so he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that they were due for their first fight. To this day, he still didn't know why it had even got to that point._

Hermione squinted her eyes against the glare of the sun reflecting off the pond behind the Burrow; she had come over for a visit, and was sitting by Harry while they waited for Ron and Ginny to come out. Sitting on the end of the sagging wooden dock, the two of them let their feet dangle into the water.

"So, are you really going to be alright when Ginny goes back to school next week?" Hermione asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"It's definitely going to be weird," he said slowly, "and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss her a lot. Although at least this time, I'll know she's safe. And it's not just Ginny; I'm going to miss you too. Do you know how many years that it's been since the three of us haven't gone together?"

"I'll miss you too. But you'll have Ron, of course."

Harry laughed. "And that'll be a help, but trust me when I say that Ron lacks a few of Ginny's qualities."

Hermione snorted at that. "I suppose for you he does. But for me..."

"No details! Merlin knows I'm happy for you, but there's some things I don't want to know."

"And I wasn't planning on telling you!" She sniffed, kicking a spray of water at him.

"I really am happy for the two of you, you know?" Harry asked, suddenly serious.

"I suppose you never thought it would happen, did you?" She teased.

"Oh, I knew it would happen," he said with a sage nod, "As long as you didn't kill each other first."

"We weren't that bad!"

His eyes bulged out.

"Alright, maybe sometimes, but it was only because-well, neither one of us really knew where we stood, and we weren't very good at just coming out and saying it."

"I don't know how the two of you could miss it; everyone else knew!"

"Well, you could have mentioned it! Honestly Harry, a little help would've been nice!" She snapped, not entirely joking.

He shrugged awkwardly, shooting her a helpless look. "I didn't know what to say; aside from that, I was worried that if I did and something didn't work out, the two of you would want me to pick a side. And since sometimes it was already like being caught in hostile negotiations between two countries..."

Abruptly, the irritation left her, and she reached for a comment to keep things light. "And of course, it wasn't like it didn't take you ages to sort out your own love life, did it?"

Harry must have been spending too much time with the Weasleys, for he blushed. "I know it should have hit me sooner than it did; I should've realized when I smelled the Amortentia, but I didn't."

"The Amortentia? What was it?" Hermione asked curiously. She had always wondered what the others had smelled, but had been too busy hiding her own reaction at the time to ask.

The boards squeaked beneath them as he shifted uncomfortably. "Her hair," he finally muttered, not quite meeting her eyes.

Hermione felt her jaw sag in disbelief; it couldn't be...? Judging by his face, it could. She tried to suppress it, but a high, traitorous giggle slipped through her clenched teeth, and soon she was laughing outright, tears building in her eyes under his indignant glare.

"Oi! Here I was trying to share something meaningful and shite; see if I ever-"

"That's not it," she managed to gasp out, "That-that's what I smelled too!"

"What, Ginny's-"

"No you git! Ron's!"

Understanding dawned on his face, and it wasn't long before he threw his head back for a loud laugh. "You can't be serious!" He wheezed as the two of them swayed together, limp with mirth.

"W-we have the same hair sniffing fetish!" She choked out.

" _Ginger_ hair sniffing fetish!"

"Are you sure we aren't really related? I know I've said you always felt like my brother, but this is too much!"

Harry pulled away slightly, still breathless with laughter, looking at her with sudden realization. "This is why you were always standing behind him and leaning over to correct his work; it had fuck all to do with his marks!"

Hermione couldn't deny it, as she had done exactly that. Oh Merlin-Ron hadn't noticed too, had he?

_Definitely not, he thought with wry amusement. Because at the time, he had been hyper aware of her tits pressing into his back. He could have caught onto what she had been trying to drill into his head a lot faster if he hadn't been distracted by those. Not that he was complaining. As hilarious as this was though, he could have gone without knowing this particular fact about Harry. Of course, it might prove useful..._

"What's going on? Or is that a question I don't want answered?"

Hermione looked up to see Ginny standing over them with an amused smile, Ron behind her looking slightly more puzzled. The sun was glinting off their hair, which seemed more hilarious than it should.

"Ginny, has Harry ever told you-" she only meant to make him squirm; she had no intention of actually spilling his-and her-secret. But Harry took matters into his own hands.

"No you don't!" He cried, heaving her into the pond.

The water was surprisingly cool, and she came up spluttering, her hair hanging in heavy clumps over her face. "Harry Potter, you animal!" She yelled, treading water, "Ron, as my boyfriend, avenge me!"

"Sorry mate, but as her boyfriend, I guess I have to avenge her." Ron said, far too brightly as he planted one large foot between a shocked Harry's shoulder blades and pushed.

Hermione paddled out of the way as Harry surfaced beside her. "Serves you right," she said smugly, as he tried to adjust his glasses.

"Well, if you had to avenge Hermione, I suppose that means I have to avenge Harry. Sorry brother of mine, but-"

Ginny gave Ron a shove, but wasn't quick enough to move out of his considerable rach, and was pulled in shrieking after him.

_Ron watched the four of them splashing about, dunking each other under the surface. By that point he had forgotten entirely to wonder what Hermione and Harry had been laughing about, and had been determined to have a good day. Hermione and Ginny were going to be leaving for Hogwarts soon, and he had wanted to spend every moment he could with her before not being able to see her for weeks at a time. Eventually they had gotten out and dried off, and by unspoken agreement, the two couples had separated and drifted off._

Hermione leaned back against Ron, who in turn was leaning against the trunk of a large tree. They had come to this particular spot often over the summer, as it was conveniently shielded from the line of sight from the Burrow. They hadn't yet started to snog, although Ron was dropping lingering kisses along the column of her neck, and she knew it wouldn't be long before she turned around and began her own assault.

"I'm going to miss this," she sighed without thinking, regretting it when she felt him tense up behind her.

"I was hoping we didn't have to think of that today." He said, his voice vibrating just beside her ear.

"We don't. At least, we don't have to, but it isn't something we can pretend isn't going to happen."

"I don't want you to go back," he said flatly.

At his words a jolt of anger went through her, and she twisted away to face him. "Well that's just too bad!" She bit out. How dare he think that she should just give everything up because of what he wanted?

_That isn't what I meant! Ron thought, watching the scene in dismay. I didn't mean I didn't think she should go-she's Hermione; that's what Hermiones do! Hermione not finishing school was about as natural as him painting himself blue and calling himself a Tornadoes fan. All he had meant was that he hated the idea of them being apart for so long! In retrospect, perhaps he should've phrased it that way; then maybe he would've gotten the proper sort of tongue lashing._

"Do you think I could just-waltz through life, without completing my education?"

She watched his jaw tense, his eyes banked with anger.

"No, I don't suppose _you_ could, could you?"

_He remembered being stung by her words, thinking she was taking a jab at the fact that he wasn't going back, too. It wasn't like he hadn't considered it, but he just...couldn't. there were too many memories, and he didn't want to be away from the family. George had needed him quite a bit, and even Harry had needed him around for company. His future wasn't entirely certain at that point, and he had spent years listening to Hermione harping on and on how you needed an education to get anywhere in life. It felt like she was accusing him of choosing to be...well, to be all the things he had always thought. A useless failure, shuffling along in the shadows that she and Harry cast behind them. Once again, he was taking something someone was saying as if it were about him, Completely ignoring any other option._

"And exactly what is _that_ supposed to mean?" She asked, stung, although she didn't know why.

"You're the smart one, I'd think you could figure it out!" Ron zinged back, eyebrows bunched together like a small ginger hedge.

_He winced at that, along with the accompanying hurt he felt from Hermione. He wasn't thrilled to admit that from the vantage point of someone else's memories, he was seeing how petty and vicious some of the things he said were._

"You don't control me, Ron," she said lowly, her hands shaking at her sides. "This is what I need to do, and you can either support me, or not. But I'm not letting this relationship turn into some sort of archaic, male dominated dictatorship!"

"So who's forcing you? Not me! You can leave anytime you want, and I won't bloody _dominate_ you into staying!" Ron yelled, the muscles of his neck standing out like cables.

"Fine!" Hermione replied, matching him in volume, "I have some packing to do anyway, so I'll just be leaving now!" And with a crack, she suited word to action before he had time to reply.

_He had been caught off guard when she left; he had assumed they'd yell a little, run out of steam, and patch things up. He still hadn't even been sure what they had been fighting about; on his part, he was mainly reacting out of hurt from an imaginary slight._

Hermione landed in the middle of her bedroom, a quick check revealing she was the only one at home. Good. She didn't want the added strain of making safe small talk with her parents. She threw herself onto her bed, letting her face sink slowly into the pillows, ignoring the slight sensation of suffocation. Today was supposed to have been a good day. It had started out a good day. Everything had been fine, until it...wasn't. Why didn't Ron understand? Why couldn't he just accept her choices, and be happy about the things that were important to her? She had never been the sort of person to jump just because someone told her to, and she wasn't going to start now, not even for him.

Spots began to dance behind her shut lids, and she rolled to the side, grimacing as she heard the crackle of static from her hair rubbing along the duvet. A small voice told her that she had probably overreacted, and she should have stayed to talk it out properly. It was the same voice that told her that her problem wasn't entirely with Ron, but rather her own reluctance to go back. And it was true that she was reluctant to return to school; something she had never thought she would be capable of feeling. So much had changed over the past year, and she wasn't even trying to bother lying to herself that she expected to feel anything like a typical school girl once she was there. She had seen too much, done too much... _lived_ too much. Ron and Harry weren't the only ones that didn't want to relive memories there. But she had reasons other than her love of learning. Of course, she was naturally loathe to leave something unfinished once she started. But she had her sights set on a job within the Ministry, and although she had been given word that a place would gladly be made for her, she knew she couldn't accept that if she wanted to do any good. There would always be whispers about how she wasn't truly qualified, and that she was relying on nepotism, no better than the previous regime. And, as much as she hated the fact that Ron and Harry weren't going to be there, she needed that, too. For years they had been her closest friends, and always would be; but she had relied on that too much, and hadn't bothered very much with her social skills. She was fine if she mostly saw eye to eye with the other person, but she was never going to be able to cut it in a professional setting if she couldn't at least be polite with people she disagreed with, instead of rudely cutting them down. She was going to have to work on her tact and diplomacy, and she wouldn't do that if she was easily able to fall back into her old habits.

_Ron nodded, seeing her line of reasoning. He had always just accepted it at surface value, that one simply couldn't keep Hermione Granger from finishing her education. And he had been right, but only partially. It had been a struggle, if he recalled the contents of some of her letters right, and it wasn't something that came naturally to her even now. But he tried to imagine her dealing with some of the things they were still throwing at her, without that practice spell, and he shuddered to think how she would've handled it then. And she had been more right than she knew about the accusations and snide remarks, he thought grimly. He wished she had just told him how she was feeling; he knew he had a habit of blurting things out bluntly, but he at least tried to make an effort when he had more information about something._

Hermione glanced over to her desk, where her stationary was out. Briefly, she thought about trying to owl Ron, but quickly changed her mind. She didn't want him to think there was a possibility that she would change her mind; he could come and apologize when he was ready. They had been supposed to go on a date, a real date, three days from now; he had until then to stop being stubborn about this.

_He felt his eyebrows meet his hairline. She was calling him stubborn? He hadn't wanted to fight anymore than she had; maybe even less. He didn't know what was wrong, had been clueless how to fix it, and had spent the rest of that day and all of the next moping about the Burrow. Harry and Ginny had wormed the problem-or a shortened version of it-out of him, and Harry had told him that he needed to find a way to fix things before she left. Ginny, as bluntly as ever, told him that if Hermione thought he didn't support her, he needed to show her that he did. And that was how, after hours combing through Diagon Alley, he had ended up on her doorstep, practically vibrating with nerves._

Hermione ran a brush through her hair, hissing out a frustrated breath as anything resembling a curl turned into a tangled cloud, its shorter than normal length making it look even bigger. It wasn't like Ron was actually going to show up, she told herself, finally cramming most of it in a clipd low on her neck. She doubted he even remembered they were supposed to have a date, she sniffed, pulling out a pair of low purple heels that matched some of the flecks in her skirt. Jamming her feet into them, she sat back down at her little used vanity, scowling at the small array of cosmetics, before pushing them aside. After three days of no word of apology, she wasn't going to make herself pretty for him. Not that he was coming, anyway.

"Hermione?" Her father's voice called from downstairs. "Ron's here!"

Her own shocked face stared back at her from the mirror, both of them frozen; then she was practically knocking over the small chair in her haste to push it back, grabbing up her wand and purse-not the beaded bag, just a mercifully normal purse-and dashed out of her room and to the stairs. She made it down three before she paused at the bend to get herself together; she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her eager. Forming her face into a polite mask of coolness, she made her way downstairs, where her father was still talking to Ron, her mother having gone out to run a few errands.

Ron, as they had agreed he would do when coming into Muggle London, was wearing Muggle clothes; what looked to be a new pair of jeans, a striped blue t shirt that appeared to have been ironed within an inch of its life (she saw Mrs. Weasley's hand in that), and a pair of trainers that had practically been Scourgified out of existence. His hair had been combed into place, and he would've looked quite nice, if it wasn't for the desperate, helpless expression on his face. It reminded her of when he had a problem he needed her help with, but felt guilty asking because he knew he only needed it because he had messed up.

_Well, that's probably because I had a problem I needed your help with, but felt guilty asking because I knew I had messed up in the first place._

She stared at him, unable to form any of the phrases that she had just been running through her head. In the uncomfortable silence, her father suddenly cleared his throat.

"Well. I'll just leave the two of you to...talk. Ron, it was nice seeing you; say hello to your parents for me."

Ron snapped his eyes away from her, flushing a little as he answered. "Um, sure, I'll do that, Mr. Granger."

She still hadn't said anything, and she saw her father's eyebrows raise as he passed her on his way to his den, but he didn't comment. When she heard his door click shut, she turned back to look at Ron.

"You came. I wasn't sure you would."

He looked slightly puzzled. "Of course I came; we had plans, didn't we?" A panicked, horrified look stole over his face. "Unless you didn't want me to! I could go-we don't have to-"

"I didn't say I didn't want you to. I just didn't think you would, is all," she explained, feeling frustratingly awkward.

"Oh." His shoulders slumped, causing him to look utterly dejected. But as if an invisible string pulled them back into place, he brightened. "I almost forgot! Here, this is for you." He said, handing her a small, untidily wrapped package.

She took it dubiously; he knew her better than to think she could be bought off with a gift, although she supposed that the fact that he went to the effort at least meant something. "Thank you," she said cautiously, working her fingers into the corner of the paper and tearing.

With a loud ripping sound, a slim, dark blue book was revealed. Setting the paper on a table with a vase of her mother's flowers, she examined the book, finding it to be not a book at all, but a ...lesson planner?

"I thought you could use it this year, and you know, think of me," he said almost shyly, his ears like a sunset. "I've filled in a few things already."

Curious and unable to resist, Hermione flipped open the planner, noticing as she turned the pages that Ron's handwriting was scrawled throughout at fairly regular intervals.

'Hermione, put the book down and go eat.' Scheduled five minutes later was, 'Hermione, seriously. Put. The book. Down. I've asked Ginny to make sure you eat, and I assure you her methods aren't as adorable as mine.'

On every page, right after revisions, was, 'write Ron.' She was touched and amused enough to comment, "I'm surprised you didn't have me down to write you first thing.'

His nervous expression cracked into a hesitant grin. "I knew you'd write longer letters if you got everything else out of the way first."

Hermione paged through a little more, her heart warming at the thoughtful and oddly romantic gesture of apology. The fact that he would take the time not only to find a gift she could use, but also to fill it with-she slammed the covers together with a furious blush.

"Ron!" She hissed, keeping her voice down so her father wouldn't hear, "That was crude!"

He snickered. "I'm not sure which one you mean, but c'mon, Hermione! It wouldn't be _me_ if it wasn't at least a _little_ crude. Besides, isn't there some saying about all work and no play?"

"That _isn't_ what it means! And are you implying that there are _more_ like that?"

"It's for a whole year, do you honestly think I'd only have one?" Slowly, the smile melted off his face. "Hermione, you don't really think that I don't support you, do you? Because I do, you know. I reckon you're the most brilliant witch alive-no, don't look at me like that, I do-and that you probably don't even need to go back. But I also always knew that if you could, you would, and I know you'll do amazing...so do we really have to fight about it? I don't want this to be the last thing we do before we can't see each other for weeks and weeks."

Frankly, neither did she. and she wasn't even sure anymore how this turned into a fight in the first place. No, that wasn't entirely true. She had been under a tremendous amount of stress, still healing and feeling as if she had to tiptoe around her parents. She had had no release, and as stupid as it sounded, Ron was the one she trusted most to fight with, because he knew her well enough to know it wasn't really serious.

_That was mostly true, he supposed. He and Hermione could bicker about a trivial subject for hours, and then get over it. They'd snipe at each other, but it wasn't personal. But sometimes when it was a more serious subject, he wasn't always sure where the limits were. If he had known that had been her problem he would've been fine, but he hadn't, and had ended up worrying it was more serious than it actually was. Not seeing her every day, she had been able to hide-not completely, but enough-how much strain she was under._

"I don't want to fight either, so let's just forget it even happened, and try to enjoy our evening," she said, coming forward to rise to her tiptoes so she could kiss the corner of his mouth.

"Really?" Ron asked, looping his arms around her and nuzzling his face into the side of her head. "Because I had in mind a few other ways I could try to apologize."

Hermione darted a look out of the corner of her eye, but she was pretty sure her father was still in the den. "Well, now that you mention it, it might be a good idea for you to make sure you're on my good side," she teased, giving him a longer kiss before pulling away to tuck her planner into her purse; she couldn't leave that lying around down here!

Ron's stomach chose that moment to make a loud growl, and she raised her eyebrows, while he just shrugged.

"I was too nervous to eat today, but I think that means my stomach is ready to face food."

Ron didn't forego food unless it was truly important, which banished any possible thought that he hadn't taken this seriously. Smiling, she took his hand.

"Then what are we still doing here? Let's go eat! I can't have you fainting from hunger on our date, can !?"

With a delighted look, Ron Apparated them away.

_Ignoring the strange sensation of Apparating without a body, Ron mulled over the last scene. It hadn't been anything like their bigger rows, but it had been the first in quite awhile, and also their first as a couple, which had made it feel even worse. And they hadn't even really fixed it. Technically, he hadn't done anything wrong, but he had been the one to end up apologizing. Not that he was mad, or anything, but it also meant that Hermione had to deal with those feelings herself. He shook his head. Just a matter of days ago if someone had told him that he would seriously consider the benefits of discussing feelings and fights, he would have quietly arranged a room for them at St. Mungo's. And while he didn't for a minute think it was ever something he would enjoy, he couldn't deny that it would solve a lot of problems, and maybe even prevent some before they got started._

They landed in the alley beside the Leaky, and Hermione was pleased to see when they entered that it wasn't too crowded yet. There was even a table in the back, which they made their way to amidst whispering and cheerful calls from strangers. They smiled and nodded politely as they worked their way through the room, both sighing a little as they finally sat down and people turned back to their own business.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," Ron muttered, picking up his menu, and angling it so that his face was blocked from the other patrons.

Hermione picked up hers as well, subtly casting a Muffliato to prevent any attempted eavesdropping. "I think it's more annoying when Harry gives us that smug smile about it."

"Yeah, but it's hard to stay mad at him when it helps him not to feel so alone."

The two of them continued a casual conversation, pausing only when Tom came over to take their orders, and again when he returned with their food. It was so pleasant and relaxing that Hermione forgot the stares from the other people, and felt some of the stress she had been under melt away. As she ate, she became aware that she was doing more and more of the talking. Which would normally be natural, since Ron devoted his mouth almost entirely to food when his plate was in front of him. However, in spite of the rumblings that had erupted from his stomach earlier, Ron had hardly touched his food. He had taken a few bites, but was now pushing a mound of potato around his plate, staring at it like it was some disgusting lower life form.

This wasn't like Ron; they had made up, so there shouldn't be anything to bother him...unless something had happened at home?

"Ron? Is everything alright?" She asked, setting her fork down.

His head jerked up, and he started to scoop up some potatoes to his mouth. "No! No, everything's perfect!"

"Now I know you're lying. There are some good points, but things are far from perfect."

_Ron leaned forward. Aside from their fight, he'd had something to tell her that he'd been struggling with for weeks; he had been afraid of her reaction, and the nature of the fight hadn't helped. He knew it probably didn't matter this much later, but he still wanted to see if it had bothered her._

Hermione was alarmed to see every trace of color leave his body, and beads of sweat formed in his hairline, glistening even in the dim light. Her stomach sank. Whatever he had to tell her had to be horrible, for him to be reacting this way.

"Ron, what is it? Your family? Harry?"

He stared at the table, barely flicking his eyes up before dropping them again. "No. Well, sort of. It's...Hermione, please don't be mad about this, alright?"

The situation was deteriorating. What could he have possibly done that would make her mad enough to warrant such a reaction? Nothing of which she could believe him to be capable, surely!

"I...I don't think I can promise that without knowing anything, but I promise I'll at least listen before I do."

The table shifted as he slumped lower in his seat, his knees knocking into hers. "Fair enough," he muttered glumly. "I may as well come right out and get it over with. I...I've decided not to join the Aurors this spring."

Confusion flooded her; why? Ron had dreamed of being an Auror for years. He had been thrilled to be offered a slot in the training program based on his experience, without having to sit the exams, so how could he pass this up? A spark of irritation flickered to life. This wasn't about some foolish notion about not being good enough to join, was it? She knew that idea sometimes got in his head, and how it could lead him to give up on things before he tried. If that was the case, she wasn't going to let it go quietly! Ron was full of potential, and she knew if he didn't do this, he would always use it as an excuse to think less of himself.

_Hearing her think that he was full of potential did funny things to his insides. Somewhere along the way, he had sort of twisted it around to think that being an Auror gave him his potential; for Hermione, it was something he already had, and would continue to have if he chose to do something else. Her beef was the thought of him not doing it for the sole reason of doubting himself._

"It's George. Hermione, I can't just go off and leave him to handle the shop alone; he isn't ready for that. Some days he can hardly go in at all, but I think it'd kill him if it went under. It-it's sort of the last real thing he has left of Fred. The others all have their own jobs, and it's not like it'd kill me to wait until the next admission."

Hermione bent across the table until he was forced to look her in the eye. "And this is your decision? You do still plan to join once George is doing better?"

Ron nodded emphatically. "Of course! I even owled Kingsley about it to make sure the offer would still be open, and he said that If I was willing to study the lessons and show up to be tested on them as well as physical fitness, then I should be able to join up near the same level as the group I'd've joined with in the spring, and if I really push then, I might even be able to catch up!"

She narrowed her eyes, examining him carefully. He seemed genuinely excited, truly excited at the prospect of the plan he was laying before her. It didn't strike her as if he was doing this for the reasons she feared, but she wanted to be sure.

"Just so I understand; you have the option to start training for the career you've wanted since we were about fourteen, but you're not. Instead, you're postponing that to help George manage things until he's alright."

For the first time, he sat up perfectly straight, his eyes steady on hers. "Yeah, thats the size of it. George needs me right now, and putting things off isn't going to hurt any. I know Kingsley was right about Harry and me not being ready to start this fall-we're both too messed up for that-and I could probably join Harry in the spring, but...I think it'll work out better this way. I'll help George and Harry, and save up some money while I study."

Much like the day she had first kissed him, Hermione felt her heart expand until she thought it might burst from her chest. Ron was a man. He was putting the needs of those he loved ahead of his own wants, without any sign of resentment. In fact, he didn't even see it as a sacrifice, but as something he was happy to do, and had even made some extremely mature plans. He was being so caring and compassionate, while at the same time showing a willingness to commit and work for his goals. This was...well, this was everything she had been dreaming about, really. She had always seen seeds and blooms of the man he could be, and now it was like seeing him in full flower, and the effect was to be filled with a surge of love for him.

It was also highly arousing, and any lingering doubts about whether or not she should go home tonight were instantly banished.

_Ron was floored. He had always worried that she had put a good face on her disappointment, that maybe she had wanted him to be more focused on his career. Looking back, it would've been a huge mistake. Training was grueling on its own, and with the added strain of everything he had been through, coupled with the hazing he had received...things would've ended badly. He had needed that period of steady, average work, with enough pressure to keep him busy and not thinking too much, but also with not so much expected of him that he couldn't keep up. As it was, he had been spread pretty thin, and had been closer to breaking down than he'd probably ever admit-he didn't relish hearing from Hermione after she'd seen that. But at least for right now, he knew that she truly hadn't been upset. She had actually admired him for it, and more confusingly, it had turned her on!_

"I think that's a good idea," she finally said, hoping he couldn't tell that fine was an understatement, and she was barely restraining herself from pulling him across the table and having dessert first.

_Bloody hell! This explained the spectacular shagging he got that night!_

"Y-you do?" Ron asked, with the voice of a man that had thought he was going to have a long battle before him.

She nodded, taking a sip from her mug. "Yes, I do. I've seen George, you know. You're right about the shop, and how he'd be likely to take it. I think you could be a huge help to him right now, and it's wonderful of you to even consider it."

"'S'not, really," Ron muttered, turning a deep shade of red and nearly spilling his mug. "It's just the right thing to do. It'd feel wrong to go off and leave him like that. So...you're really not upset?"

Why on earth would he think this would upset her? Gently, she reached across the table and took his hand.

"Ron, I'm not upset. This is something you need to do, just like I need to go back to Hogwarts," she paused as she saw the mournful look flit across his face at the reminder of their imminent separation, "And just like you supported me in that, I support you in this."

_Ah, maybe that's where he had gotten mixed up. He had supported Hermione right enough, but he sure as hell hadn't been what you would call happy about it._

Unable to resist, she ran her foot playfully up the inside of his calf, not caring if anyone saw. The look on his face was more than worth it. "Ron, is your mum...expecting you home tonight?"

His eyes turned a deep shade of blue that she now associated with sunny orchards and far off hotel rooms. "I mentioned I was probably staying with Harry. Why? Do you have plans?" He asked hopefully.

Her foot continued to travel up and down his calf, and she could feel his leg vibrating with each pass as his muscles clenched. "Well, I had thought we might try to find a place to go dancing," she said thoughtfully, unable to miss the opportunity to tease him. Only briefly, before she dropped her pretenses. "But now I think there are better ways we could spend the evening."

"Please tell me they're the same ways I'm thinking."

"Ron, if you're thinking of something crude and entirely unsuitable for what is, technically, a first date..."

His shoulders drooped. "Yeah."

"Then yes, they're exactly the same ways you're thinking."

"Bloody hell, let me get the bill," He groaned, signalling Tom.

The wizened little old man hurried across the room, but ignored Ron when he moved to pay. "Already been taken care of, you two. Enjoy the rest of your evening." With a slight wink, he placed the bill on the table, shifting the scrap of paper enough to show a small metal key. "Number three," he whispered, then glided off to the next table.

Ron stared at the key, then Hermione. "But-he-what?"

"I think Tom has developed a keen sense of his customer's needs in all his years being an innkeeper." Hermione said simply, surprisingly only mildly embarrassed. They were both of age, and it was a perfectly respectable place after all. Of course, once they were behind closed doors, respectability hardly mattered...

_It certainly didn't, Ron thought with a sigh. Hermione had been brilliant that night, and had at least temporarily driven out any doubts that she didn't think he had made the right choice. He'd been nervous as hell that day, not knowing if they were going to make up, or if his news would turn it into an even bigger row. It had ended far better than he had expected, and he was more than a little disappointed not to get to see it, although it was worth coming this far to see how proud of him she had truly been._

_Smoke from a nearby table thickened around him, until he realized he was no longer in the Leaky, but standing on the platform and waiting for the Hogwarts Express. He groaned. This marked the beginning of their separation, which had been hard emotionally and physically._

" _There are some things," he sighed, "That you simply_ can't _do by owl."_


	44. Chapter 44

"The bacon is delicious, Mum!" Ron complimented for the third time that morning, once again receiving only a grunt in reply. He rested the crispy strip of perfection on his plate, frowning. He had known she wasn't going to go down easy about this, but he had expected things to be...louder. His mum could out argue a fence post, so her silence was unnerving, coupled as it was by platefuls of food, all of his favorites. She wasn't trying to nag him into submission. She wasn't trying to bribe him though, either. How was he supposed to win if she didn't let him know what game to play?

"Aherm."

Ron startled at the sound of his dad's cough, before noticing the way he was angling his head at the far wall. That had always meant he had wanted to talk to one of them outside, so Ron gave a small nod back to show he understood. At least his dad was helping. He was going no matter what, but it would be a lot easier all around if his mum was alright with it. Or as alright with it as could be expected, that is. Mainly he was hoping that she wouldn't make Hermione feel guilty, because he knew if that happened she'd try to make him stay home.

Sensing the tension in the atmosphere, everyone finished their breakfast quickly, scooting out of the kitchen as soon as their plates were in the sink. Harry and Ginny bolted outdoors, and Hermione turned towards the stairs, looking over her shoulder at him when she reached the seventh one.

"Ron? Aren't you coming up? We need to start getting our things together."

He heard the outside door to the kitchen creak open, and then shut. "Yeah, I'll be up soon. I just need to go talk to dad, and...stuff," he said, with a significant jerk of the head towards the kitchen, where his mum was washing up.

"Oh. Oh! Yes, that's a good idea. I'll just sort through and put what you'll need in the bag, and you can add anything else when you come up."

Deciding he didn't want to risk facing his mum alone just yet, Ron took the long way around, going out the front door and doubling back around the side of the house to his dad's shed. Hoping this wouldn't be too long-and that his dad hadn't changed his mind and had decided to try to get him to stay-he poked his head inside to see his dad was already sitting at his high bench, fiddling around with some wires.

"Hey, Dad. You wanted to see me?"

"Ah! Good, you managed to get here quickly. Come in and sit down for a bit."

Sitting implied he was going to be here awhile, and while Ron wasn't too thrilled that it was probably going to be a subject he'd rather avoid, he honestly couldn't be too upset. He hadn't had much time alone with his father much recently without pain being in the forefront of everything, and it was nice to finally be able to come out and talk to him again, like he had when he was little. He closed the door to the shed behind him, and took a seat on the tall stool on the opposite side of the bench.

_Hermione couldn't help grinning at the sight. Ron had unconsciously adopted pose of a small child, arms propped up, chin resting on fists, and feet dangling. Perhaps only scant inches off the floor, but still dangling. She hoped one day to see her children having similar conversations with Ron._

"I suppose you noticed that your mother still has some...reservations."

Ron shrugged. "Reservations I can handle; I just don't want to have to fight over it."

Arthur was silent a moment, removing his glasses and cleaning them with a stained cloth from his workbench. "Just to humor your old man, would you mind telling me why it's so important that it's you who goes with Hermione?"

He stared down at the scarred wood surface, finding it hard to talk. Ron knew he could tell his dad anything, he just wasn't sure how to find the right words. At least they were alone for this.

"This is gonna be really hard on Hermione, Dad." Ron began, picking his words over carefully. "She knows they aren't going to be happy when they find out what she did, and that won't be easy to take after worrying about them and not being able to see them for a year. She's already getting herself worked up over it, and it'll only get worse once she's there. She won't rest, she'll forget to eat, and she won't notice half of what's going on around her. And the longer it takes, the worse it'll get."

"Hermione is quite a driven young witch," his dad agreed.

Ron snorted. "That's one way to put it. And I know you're probably thinking why someone else couldn't help, but that won't work either. I'm her friend-well, more than that, but I was her friend first-and she's comfortable enough with me that she doesn't have to be polite and try to hide how she's feeling. Even with me, I doubt she'll actually come right out and say when she needs something, but I can usually figure her out and wear her down eventually."

"So I'd be safe in assuring your mum that this isn't some sort of lover's tryst, then."

"Of-of course it's-we're not-" Ron spluttered, feeling as if his ears would melt right off his head.

His father put on his glasses, and peered over them with an amused expression. "Ron. This might be hard to imagine, but I was eighteen once, too. Your mum and I went on walks of our own." He looked into the distance fondly. "In fact, your brother may actually have been conceived on a-"

"Daaaad!" Ron groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"As long as you have the Charm memorized, I'll spare you any further details."

"...Yeah, I remember. This conversation might've put me off it completely, but I remember."

"And that will last until exactly the next time the two of you stroll out to the orchard. But as happy as I am that you and Hermione are finally on the same page-and I am very happy-I really brought you out here to talk about your mum."

That brought his head up. He was glad for the change in subject, but he wasn't sure he'd like this one any better. "What is it? She's not going to try to make me stay again, is she, because-"

His dad raised a hand to forestall the rush of words. "No, I've got her to accept that much. She'll probably make it clear she's not happy, but she won't try to stop you. But you're going to need to spend some time with her, and I thought it best if I...explained things first."

Well, That was about as clear as mud. "Like what?"

"Ron," his father began, looking somewhat uncomfortable, "I know it's not something we talk about around here in, well, great detail, but your mum was very close to your uncles, and she took their deaths extremely hard."

He found the table suddenly fascinating, shying away as his father brought up a subject that Ron didn't want to go anywhere near. A quick, unintentional glance told him Dad wasn't any happier to be talking about it, and it made him see that there was no getting out of it.

"Yeah, we had always figured out that much," Ron offered, seeing he was at a loss for how to continue.

"I don't think you realize just how bad she was, son. Losing them, hearing what had happened...she had an almost complete breakdown, and we even thought she was going to lose your sister there for awhile."

Ron gaped at this; his own memories were extremely few and so hazy as to be almost nonexistent, but to even think of the possibility now was something he found hard to grasp.

"That made her even worse, as did the fact that we sent you off to family while the Healers helped her. Once your Mum pulled out of it-she's always been an incredibly strong woman-she reacted by pulling all of us close. Family had always been important to her, but then she almost couldn't bear for any of us to be out of her sight; she panicked nearly every morning when I left for work. Your older brothers could scarcely play in another room, and she had you and Ginny with her constantly."

"Well, yeah. If you can see someone, you know they're safe. If you can't, you start to imagine what might be happening to them, even if you know deep down it's not," Ron explained, without realizing how much he had given away.

"I'm sorry you know how that feels, son," His dad said, looking at him sadly. "That was something your Mum and I never wanted any of you to experience first hand."

Ron gave a short, jerky shrug, not liking the almost guilty tone of his dad's voice. "Don't be. it isn't like you had any control over it."

They were both silent, then his dad continued. "Your mum may be handling it better this time on the outside, but that doesn't mean that it isn't affecting her. She needs all of you all of us close right now. Especially you."

That, he couldn't understand. Why not Bill? He was the oldest. Charlie was the one who lived farthest away. Percy was the one she hadn't seen in years. George...George was in as much pain as she was, and was the closest to Fred. Ginny was the baby. So why was he so special all of a sudden, right when he needed to leave?

"Why 'especially' me? It's not like I can do anything any of the others can't! And if she's just trying to use guilt to get me to stay..."

"That's not it!" Arthur barked, his eyes flashing in a way that showed his son got his temper from both parents. "I realize you had an important job to do this past year, but it had your mum eaten alive with worry. She had nightmares nearly every night, and she was terrified she was going to hear your name on the radio every time they listed the dead or captured. She finally has some peace of mind where you're concerned, and it's hard for her to let that go,"

Heat climbed up his neck and rolled over his face. He had always known his family had worried, but he hadn't given thought to just how bad it had been for them.

"Dad, I-I never meant for it to be like that. I just did what I thought Harry needed me to do, but I never wanted-"

"Ron, you don't have to tell me; I know. Your mother knows, too. You did the right thing, and we're proud of you. But it'll be a little while before all those fears are finally put to rest."

A warm glow filled him at the words of praise; it wasn't why he had done it, but he had always wanted his parents to be proud of him. "I was scared, too," he admitted, "I never knew if one of you hadn't been taken in, or if they found where you were staying and had..." he had to stop, choking at the thought. If he had come back to find that, he didn't think he'd have survived that. Fred's death was crushing, but losing them all would have obliterated him.

His dad stood and came around the table, pulling him into a much needed hug. "I know. And I'm sorry to even bring it up. But now that you can better understand how your mum feels, I hope you can be patient with her, and let her spend some time with you."

Ron braced his head on his dad's shoulder a moment before pulling away with a loud sniff. "Yeah, 'course I can. You know I wouldn't hurt her on purpose; I wouldn't go off just for fun-"

"Of course you wouldn't. It's hard when people you love need you to be in different places, but your mum has the rest of us to help, and Hermione shouldn't have to go alone. It's the right choice."

Thank Merlin Dad understood, Ron thought. "Thanks, Dad. I think I'll go in and see how Mum's doing now, if there isn't anything else?"

He clapped Ron on the shoulder. "No, that's all. I think she'll appreciate that."

Ron nodded, sliding off the stool and heading for the door. He was almost there when he heard his father mutter something.

"It seems like there's just one apple left on the tree."

With a puzzled frown, he looked back over his shoulder. "What? But it's not even time to pick them!"

His dad smiled faintly, turning back to his work. "Don't worry about it. I was just thinking out loud."

Well, that still didn't make sense, but he had too much on his mind to puzzle it out. He took a deep breath, and stepped outside.

_Hermione followed along, her heart heavy. She knew that it had been an excruciatingly painful time for the whole family, but sometimes it was easy to forget that for Molly, this was a sequel to a nightmare she had already lived through once. It was really no wonder that she had wanted to keep Ron close, and as glad as she was that he had come along anyway, she was also glad that he had understood. She had felt guilty enough as it was; she didn't think she could have taken it if he'd fought with his family over her, right when they really needed each other the most. He hadn't talked about what had happened that day, but he had been calm when he got back to the room, oddly pleased and sad all at once. It was also good to see that Ron had heard that they were proud of him. It was something he already knew, but hearing it made it feel more real, and direct words were harder to deny when you were feeling low._

He went inside, choosing to go directly to the kitchen, where he expected his mum to be. But it was empty, surprisingly, and he wondered if maybe she hadn't gone back to her room. If she had, he wasn't sure what to do. He needed to spend time with her, but what if she wanted to be alone right now? He noticed the door to the outside was propped open, and he went over to have a look; there he found her, out back hanging the laundry, something she did in the summer for some reason. He'd asked once, and she said it made the clothes smell like sunshine. He hadn't really understood, but now he wondered if doing it this way helped when she was upset. He seemed to recall laundry day came more often when she was stressed out. Slowly, he wandered over to where she was hanging some shirts on the line.

"You need any help?" He asked awkwardly, not really knowing what to say.

His mum paused, and looked at him over one of George's wet shirts. "You must be pretty desperate to get me to say yes, if you're offering to help with chores."

Ron snorted at her tart comment. "Mum, we both know you've probably seen through that one since Bill was about six, so it would just be a waste of time. Besides, it wouldn't make you change your mind about this."

"You're right. It wouldn't. But what I think clearly doesn't count, so what does that matter?"

Normally, that was the kind of comment that would have him bristling, but now his temper didn't even flare at all. He looked at her, her hair filled with more gray than he remembered catching the sunlight, her face thinner, with added wrinkles, and couldn't bring himself to be mad. She was older, she was tired, she was grieving, she was...his mum.

"Mum, please. I don't want to fight with you," He said quietly.

She looked up in surprise, clearly not expecting that reaction. "But you will if I make you, is that it?"

Miserably, he nodded.

She let out a harsh breath, jamming a wooden pin down to hold the shirt in place. "I don't want to fight either! I don't like to always have to be the villain, you know; if you could just do what I ask, for once, we wouldn't have to-"

"Mum!" He broke in, hoping to stem her flow, "You act like we're running of to-go to the beach or something! This isn't a holiday; we aren't going for fun!"

His mum snapped the wrinkles out of another shirt, her lips turned down fiercely. "Oh really? I'm not a fool, Ron. I've seen the way you've looked at Hermione over the years, and now that the two of you are seeing each other, you expect me to believe that you aren't thrilled at the prospect of running away to be alone with her? Getting up to only Merlin knows what?"

With a recently developed level of tact, he decided it was wiser not to mention that they managed to get up to plenty here, without having to traipse around the world for it. "If you'd said that a year ago, then yeah, that's exactly what I'd be thinking," he said honestly, knowing there was no way to deny it.

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, but she said nothing.

"But this isn't last year. You said you've seen how I've always looked at Hermione...and it's true. It's also true that I spent most of that time fu-messing things up. And that didn't stop while we were gone. I-I messed up pretty bad, Mum. I really let her down." He ducked his head, unable to meet her eyes. "I have to show her that I can actually do the right thing when it comes to her."

The once wrinkle free shirt crumpled as her hands twisted. "Hermione's a good girl. She's always had a level head on her shoulders. She would understand if you couldn't go..."

The heat had gone out of her argument, and Ron could hear the pleading note in her voice. He shook his head. "Maybe she would. Even if she did, I'd always hate myself for it. This isn't going to be fun. In fact, it's probably going to be the farthest thing from it. And that's why she needs me, and...that's why I'm going."

She sagged, her eyes closing, and Ron would almost swear that she shrunk an inch as he watched.

"You make it so hard to be proud of you," she whispered.

_Hermione hissed as Ron reeled back, hurt bubbling in him like a fountain. How had he been so calm after this? Ron grumbled most of the time, but his family meant so much to him, and these words...they were crushing him as he stood there._

His mum opened her eyes to look at him sadly, speaking barely louder than she had before. "Ever since you were eleven, you've always been rushing off into some dangerous situation or another. Do you have any idea what it's like for a mother to be proud of her child for something that might kill him?"

The constricting bands around his heart eased a little, and he stepped closer to her. "But Mum, this isn't dangerous. We're just going-"

"You don't know that!" She snapped with a glare. "There are still Death Eaters and sympathizers out there who would love nothing more than to kill both you and Hermione for what you did; it would be just like them to try something!"

Her voice broke on that last word, and Ron found his arms wrapping around her, surprised as he always was to find himself so much taller. "Not that I'd put it past them, but I don't think they've had much of a chance to figure out what we're going to do. And we'll be in the middle of Muggles for the most part, and none of them will have a clue how to deal with all of that." Not that he'd be much better, he thought, but he seriously doubted that Death Eaters would be able to easily track them.

"That doesn't mean it isn't still dangerous."

"Mum, what kind of boyfriend if I made Hermione go alone, after everything that happened to her last year? To a place she's never been, and knowing how upset she's going to be?"

She pulled back to look at him with wet eyes, and raised a hand to his cheek. "Oh, Ronnie. You were always my baby with the biggest heart."

He felt himself turn red, even though there was no one there to see. "Muuuuum!"

That only made her give a small laugh. "Well, you were. It's always been what's gotten you into so much trouble, and," she took a deep, shuddering breath, "It's what has always made you make the right choice when it mattered. I suppose this time isn't any different."

Did that mean what he thought?

"So...you're not going to be mad that I'm going?" He asked hesitantly.

"I'm still not happy about it," she answered swiftly, "But your father was right. You've grown up, and as much as I try to keep you here, you're never going to be a little boy again. I've never been good at letting my boys go, Ron. And it's been harder with you, because I've been losing you in pieces for years, when you should have enjoyed being a child."

Ron didn't know what to say to that. He'd never really thought about it before, what it must have been like to have a kid that was constantly in one shite situation or another. He tried to imagine how he'd feel, if it were his kids going through some of the things he had, and he felt queasy. Bloody hell, no wonder she had always been in a strop! Trying to keep them safe, while not only did they act like they resented her for it, but practically kept running off to get themselves killed!

Until one of them finally did.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he whispered hoarsely. "Maybe I didn't have the...innocent childhood I should've, but...I can't go back now. It's too late."

"...I know."

"But I want you to know, I understand!" He rushed on. "I know what it's like to want everyone to be where you can keep an eye on them and make sure they're safe. I even," he gave a nervous laugh, "Wish sometimes that Bill, Fleur, and Charlie would move back here. It feels like if no one leaves, nothing bad can happen to them."

His mum had pulled back, and was peering up at him worriedly. "But you're going with Hermione."

He nodded. "Well, yeah, of course I am! But like I said, it isn't a holiday or anything, and I promise I'll be back as soon as we can-" He knew he was rambling, but he couldn't help but to try to give her some sort of peace of mind.

She shook her head, not looking nearly as happy as he thought that would've made her. "No. As much as I want to hold you to that, I think your father was right about that, too. I know you're going for her parents, but maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing...to have a few normal days as well." She seemed to shake herself. "After all, just because you've come to an understanding doesn't mean you shouldn't try to court her properly!"

And there she went, happily lecturing him on the proper behavior that she expected from him while he was gone. Behavior that, for the most part, he had no intention of following.

But he was awfully glad to hear it, all the same.

_It wasn't long ago that Molly mentioned something about this, although Hermione hadn't realized it at the time. She had said that she had seen a lot of herself in Ron at the time, and it had worried her. She had admitted that she hadn't coped very well when her brothers had been killed, but she had been able to hide it since she had so many children to take care of. It wasn't remarkable that a woman with seven young kids wouldn't leave the house much, and while that had worked for her at the time, she had known that it wasn't the right path for Ron. Hermione could see that well, she thought sadly. As it was, Ron had spent much of his time supporting his family in whatever way he could, and not taking very good care of himself in the process._

_But first, he had taken care of her._

For about the first twenty minutes or so after arriving in Australia, Ron couldn't tell you a thing about his surroundings. All he was aware of was the sweet, sweet sensation of earth once again under his feet where it belonged. He walked alongside Hermione, slightly dizzy at the pace at which all of the Muggles around them were moving. His head whipped around at things he didn't recognize, uncomfortable at not knowing whether or not they were threats. Hermione didn't seem to think so, though, so rather than make a fool of himself, he tried his best to act as if everything was normal., and he did this kind of thing every day.

This lasted until he noticed they had passed the same building at least three times.

"Um. Hermione?" He asked hesitantly, having to raise his voice to be heard over the traffic.

"What is it, Ron? I'm trying to concentrate." SHe replied tightly, not turning her head.

Uh-oh. He knew that voice; It was her Ron-I Am-Trying-To-Study-For-An-Important-Exam-And-If-You-Ask-Me-To-Play-Chess-One-More-Time-I-Will-Murder-You voice. Oddly specific, but it should be at this point.

"Well, I wouldn't bother you about it, but we've passed this way so often I think a few people are starting to stare."

"That-that's ridiculous!" She snapped, but he could see her face heating up. "Are you saying I'm incapable of finding our hotel?"

He was about to make a sharp reply, but suddenly bit it back. First of all, that wasn't what he was here for. Second, he thought he saw the problem. It wasn't so much that they were lost, as it was the fact that she was probably asking herself how she could hope to find her parents if she couldn't even find a great bloody building that was sitting still.

"No, I'm saying that it would be surprising if you did know where it was, seeing as how you've never been here before. Unless there's some Muggle trick I don't know about. Otherwise, what's wrong with asking for directions?"

She continued to walk half a block before answering. "Alright, if it'll make you happy, I'll ask here!"

Deciding it was best to stay silent for now, he let her walk over to a man running some type of kiosk, and strike up a conversation. While he waited, he looked around, his stomach growling at the mixed scents of food hanging in the air. He hoped they would eat soon, but he didn't want to be the one to bring it up. Now that they were here, he wasn't actually sure what his whole part in this was, and he was nervous about cocking it up.

_She didn't really blame him; had she really looked so furious? She had been so wrapped up in her own fears, she had forgotten what the experience must be like for Ron. She hadn't been good at expressing her needs (or even her thoughts in general during that particular trip), and Ron was left trying to help her while dealing with the Muggle world he had been dropped into, with very little direction._

"Alright, I know where we are now. Are you ready?" Hermione asked, appearing at his side.

"Ah! Sure, brilliant; lead the way!" He said, determined that this time, unlike the last year, he was going to remain cheerful. Absolutely no complaint would pass his lips; he would e supportive, understanding-

"We'll go out and pick up something to eat once we've checked in."

Oh, thank Merlin!

A short busride and two blocks of walking later, they found their hotel, and Ron was pleased to note that he had seen several places to eat nearby. At the very least he knew he wouldn't be starving. As the large glass doors slid silently open in front of him, he nearly jumped back, before seeing that no one else thought anything of it. How did they get it to to that? There wasn't anyone there to push a button; maybe-he groaned loudly.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Hermione whispered, looking up at him with a nervous expression.

"You might say that. I just caught myself turning into my dad."

A small, genuine smile flitted across Hermione's face, gone even as she turned in the direction of the front desk. Ron trailed along behind her, knowing she would have to take care of this part.

"Hello, I was wondering if you had a room available tonight, through at least another three days." Hermione asked, sounding as if she checked into hotels on a regular basis.

The man behind the desk eyed them up with pursed lips, adjusting his already perfectly straight sleeve. "I believe we have something available; that is, as long as you have a method of payment...?"

Ron felt himself flush angrily, and turned away. It was the exact same type of reaction he had been getting all of his life, but seeing it directed at Hermione made him want to reach across the counter and throttle the wanker.

"Yes, just put it on my card."

"Hm. I suppose...yes, here we are; room 317. Are you sure about the dates? With no luggage, I thought perhaps I had misheard how... _long_ you intended to stay."

Ron froze. Surely that man hadn't implied what he thought he had. There had to be some other meaning, or else surely Hermione would've hexed him into oblivion by now. He didn't really think so, but it was the only way he could hold back doing it himself.

_He had been implying exactly what Ron had thought; it had taken all of her restraint not to make a scene. She had been afraid that they would be mistaken for runaways, and while she was glad not to have to deal with that, she hadn't liked the other option much better._

"The airline lost our bags!" Hermione pouted, "I know it's what we get for not taking our own, and Daddy will be furious, but I really wanted to see what it was like to travel as _normal_ people."

At her words, Ron nearly choked. How had she made it sound as if her IQ had taken a nosedive? He hoped he wasn't supposed to play along, because he didn't think he could pull off posh. Of course, it then hit him that he didn't have to; as long as he kept quiet, he could probably pass as the unsuitable boyfriend. Wouldn't his mum be proud? As the clerk became more helpful, he wandered over to a display of brightly colored brochures, pulling out a few of the more interesting looking ones. He opened one at random; only Muggles would think that swimming with sharks was a bright idea. And people paid money for this!

"Ron, we can go up now. Let's go!" Hermione informed him, tugging on his arm.

He allowed her to pull him over to the left, watching as she hit the button for the third floor. "Did he buy it?"

She slumped against the wall as they started to move, closing her eyes briefly. "I think so. He seems to be under the impression I'm some little rich girl running around with Daddy's money, so we shouldn't have much trouble with him. What are those?"

Following the line of her sight, he looked down to find the brochures that were still clutched in his hand. "Oh. I picked up some brochures."

"I can see that," she said with a deep frown, her forehead crinkling, "But what's the point? Ron, you know we aren't going to have any time for-"

The doors slid open on their floor, and he took the opportunity to prevent the lecture he felt sure she was building up to. "Yeah, I know that, but the bloke downstairs needed to think we were tourists, didn't he? I figured it couldn't hurt to throw him off a little."

She paused, her mouth open. "Oh...I hadn't thought of that. That was a good idea; maybe that will be enough to get him to ignore us."

Pleased at the fact that he had been able to at least do something to help, he walked behind her, watching with interest as she used the key on the large plastic keychain to open the door of their room. It wasn't large, but he hadn't been expecting it to be. It wasn't small, either, having a desk, two chairs, a television on a chest of drawers, what looked like a tiny refrigerator...and one bed. Quickly, he averted his eyes. Get your mind out of the gutter, Weasley! That isn't what you're here for-no matter what everyone and their brother might be thinking. This was Hermione's trip. He was here to help in whatever way he could, not to sneak a leg over while they were finally alone. He looked at the bed again. It wasn't large, he supposed, unless you compared it to the one he had at home. Two people could comfortably sleep on it. Two people could comfortably do quite a lot...not that they would!

"Ron? Ron!"

He jumped, nearly tripping. "What!"

Hermione looked at him strangely. "I just asked if you minded if I used the bathroom first."

"No, that's fine. I'll, um, wait out here." Oh, brilliant. As if there had been another option?

The door clicked shut behind her, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, wondering if this was such a good idea. There wasn't Harry here to keep things...well, in check. Not, he thought glumly, that there was anything to _keep_ in check. But he couldn't help his urges, could he? He didn't think it was possible to lie that close to Hermione and not react at all. With great effort he might manage it for one night, but not more than that. He didn't plan on saying anything about it, but would she get mad if she noticed? Would she think he was expecting something? He rubbed his hands hard over his face. He was overthinking this. Obviously Hermione hadn't missed the fact that there was one bed. And it wasn't like they hadn't shared one enough for her to know how his body wasn't always exactly under his control.

It was just...he couldn't ruin this. Not now. This was his first chance, with no one around, to prove he wasn't the selfish git that he had been in the past. He wanted her to know that this was important to her, so it was important to him. He just...wasn't really sure he was going to do any good, and the thought depressed him.

_Frankly, it depressed her, too. It was true that Ron had been a huge help to her on the trip, and he had constantly done things to support her in whatever way he could. But what she needed him to understand is that as nice as all that was, he didn't_ need _to be useful for her to want him with her. His presence alone was enough; anything more than that was extra. She hoped that he no longer thought he had to earn a place at her side. How could anyone live day after day with the weight of the fear of their every action being judged? Ron's support was wonderful, but she wanted him to know that he was her partner, not a support system._

Ron shouldn't have been worried about not knowing what to do, for soon the days bled almost seamlessly into one another, and a pattern developed that required very little on his part. On days they left the room, it was his job to help find the correct building, while steering her out of the line of traffic when she got distracted. He kept track of how long they went between meals, and made sure she at least drank enough to keep her hydrated. He was glad he had at least memorized Muggle money, because he now seemed mostly in charge of buying their provisions, and the last thing they needed was for him to accidentally spend all of their cash in one go. Once sure she had enough food to keep her going, he would then continue to follow her into office after office, watching as she went through the same scripted questions, only to receive several variations of 'no' for her trouble. After the third day, he was sure he could have repeated it for himself.

On days they didn't leave the room, he had even less to do. Hermione would pull the thick, worn book full of numbers towards her, and repeat the same worn out words into the telephone. He would sit beside her on the bed, and pretend to watch the television, while his attention was actually focused on her, and how slow and dispirited her voice began to sound, fractionally worse after each click of the receiver. He would trot out regularly for some food, or just down to the nifty Muggle machines that spat food and drinks out at you if you put in the right coins. One day, as an experiment, he said nothing at all during the routine, and Hermione didn't even seem to notice. Obviously he wasn't needed for his sparkling wit-a thought he quickly smothered, knowing that there really wasn't a good time to talk when she had to keep repeating her question for a new voice on the end of the line. Still, when he would see her start to become too depressed, he tried to distract her with a joke, although he had better luck with asking questions about the things around them. He faked quite a few, but he didn't think she noticed. Nights, at least, she came to him for a cuddle; she would curl up in a tight ball against his chest, and he was more than happy to hold her close. Less happy when she woke screaming from her nightmares, but only because he knew how badly they upset her.

It felt like she was slipping away, and he was afraid. He was sure that they would eventually find her parents, but would she be in any shape to deal with them by that point? And, on guiltier subjects, would it be alright to slip into the other room for a quick wank? While he fully intended to be a gentleman, his body hadn't seemed to get the memo, and was protesting at the sudden cut in recent extracurriculars.

_Ron had worked out his own private pattern, and she hadn't really noticed. Now that she thought about it, he did seem to sort of...calm down after about the fourth day, but she hadn't thought to question it. She had been too worried and too tired to think much behind the comfort of having his arms around her. Until one night, she suddenly wasn't._

Ron spat toothpaste into the sink, rinsing his brush and tapping it on the white porcelain. He wiped his face on the towel, and considered the merits of having a wank; Hermione had rolled over onto her side when he had come in to get ready for bed, so she probably wouldn't notice if he was gone a few extra minutes. But he'd already taken care of that this morning, and thinking of the crushed look on her face from earlier put him right out of the mood completely. Deciding it wasn't worth it, He opened the door and padded back into the bedroom, crawling under the covers on his side of the bed. He was always a little hesitant anymore to be the one to reach out, because he knew sometimes she wanted her space. But he never had to wait more than a few minutes before she turned over, snaking an arm around him or fisting the front of his shirt when he bothered to wear one.

He had barely found a comfortable position on his back when she turned over, hooking one of her legs around his (as if he'd go anywhere!) and resting her head in the curve of his shoulder.

"Sorry; I didn't mean to wake you up," he apologized, actually sort of glad for a few moments to spend with her when she wasn't making calls.

"I wasn't asleep," she said groggily, her slurred words letting him know that it had been a near thing.

"Do you want to try going back out tomorrow and checking some of the ones that weren't open?"

Her head scraped his collarbone as she shook it. "No. The earliest that any were going to be open again is Friday, so what would be the point? I can just as easily be disappointed in the comfort of our hotel room."

"But think of how much we've already narrowed it down!" He tried in a cheerful tone, knowing how weak it was even as he said it.

Warm air puffed across his chest as she snorted, and he took the moment to pat her hair down, which had been sticking to his face.

"Narrowed it down to the rest of Australia, instead of just this small bit. Lovely."

"No, wait a minute," he protested as he wedged his arm under her to hold her against him better.

"You said yourself that they were more likely to stick to the bigger cities, so even if they aren't here, it just means we know where to look next. They're in one spot, so it isn't like they'll pop back up here once we leave."

"So, what; we just travel all over Australia until we find them, no matter how long that takes?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

She wiggled around, and lifted her head to look at him. "Because it's highly impractical, could take months, and your family is waiting for you?"

He wished she wouldn't move so much; it upset her hair. "Well, first of all, it won't come to that, and anyway, they knew when I left that I wouldn't come back without you. I don't care if it _did_ take months. I'm not leaving you."

He knew both of them were thinking about this past winter, and he was glad when she wasn't in a position to meet his eyes as she hugged him silently. He wrapped his arms around hers, relaxing them when she let out a muffled squeak at the tightness.

"But how do you know it won't come to that?" She asked, thankfully edging away from the dangerous subject.

He shrugged, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling. "Because you always manage to figure this kind of thing out when it really matters, so I don't reckon this time'll be any different."

Her body stiffened, and for several heart dropping moments he thought he had said something wrong, before she relaxed again.

"I hope you're right"

So did he. As much faith as he had in her, he knew if they didn't find her parents fast, Hermione would react badly. Would he be enough to help get her through it? For a long time, he lay on his back while his mind ran in circles with all of the ways he could let her down, but eventually he must of worn himself out, because he didn't even remember falling asleep.

_Hermione sat forward on the chair, knowing what was coming. She had needed him so much that night, and while it wasn't what most novels lead you to believe, it had been incredibly special to her. She felt rather embarrassed by her anticipation, almost as if she were some type of voyeur. It wasn't as if she didn't have a perfect right to watch; after all, she had been there the first time. But experiencing it from Ron's perspective made it different somehow._

There was moist pressure at his neck, and Ron felt his head tip to allow it more access. This was going to be one of his better dreams; the really good ones always felt more real. His fuzzy mind let the pleasure flow over him, but he became sharply aware that this wasn't a dream when Hermione sucked his earlobe into her mouth, biting down slightly with her front teeth. Her hand was running up and down his chest, and he felt himself shiver at the sensation, disappointed when she released his ear. Wait, this was a dream, wasn't it?

"Wha-? Hermione?"

"Yes, it's me. Were you hoping for someone else?" She asked, before kissing the side of his neck.

His body arched up, tensing under her hand.

"N-no! I just, um, thought you were asleep..." Never had he been so happy to be mistaken!

"I missed you," she said.

"Oh. Well. I think we can fix that," he answered, smiling. She had missed him! She had wanted him enough to make the first move! How could it get any-

She ran her hand slowly down his body, hooking her fingers under the band of his boxers to rest against the skin of his lower stomach.

"Good. Because...I want you."

His arms, which had reached out to pull her closer, stilled. "You...you want to snog? Brilliant! Feel free to wake me up anytime for-"

"Not just snog."

"Even more brilliant," He said, his mouth going dry at the thought of getting to touch her again.

She gave a little gasp as he pulled her on top to straddle him, one of his hands going behind her head to pull her down for a kiss, the other resting on her hip. The kiss she gave him was different than the ones he had been getting of late; instead of almost chaste pecks, this one had no restraint. It was forceful and demanding and-fuck, if she didn't stop moving like that, he was gonna cum any minute!

He nearly cried when she moved away, relief flooding through him when he realized she wasn't going far. Air sucked between his teeth as he felt her mouth work down his body, and his hands slammed into the mattress when she bit down on his nipple. Merlin, every time she did that, it sent a direct jolt to his dick! As if that wasn't enough, he felt her hand grip him, stroking him almost teasingly.

"Herrrrrrrrrmiiiiiiooone," he moaned, "Are we gonna...it's been so long!"

She giggled, the vibrations tickling his stomach until he sucked it in. "Ron, it hasn't even been a week!"

Was she mental? "Hermione, a day's too long; a week's liable to kill me!"

"Then I suppose," she said, sliding down to tug on his boxers, "we'll have to make up for that, won't we?"

"Fuck yes!" He growled, pushing up on his heels to lift himself enough for her to get rid of the impeding garment. He wasn't sure what he had done to deserve the sudden switch in mood, but he fully intended to enjoy it while it lasted.

His left leg jerked when her hand wrapped around his shaft and began to move, her warm hand sliding over him with the amount of friction that he loved. He heard the sheets rustle, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head as the wet tip of her tongue traced him from balls to head. Without realizing it, his hands were at her head. He wasn't sure why, but it never felt right unless he was touching her somehow, and the sensation of her hair curling around his fingers heightened the experience.

"Ron?" She asked, pulling back slightly.

"Promise I'll be careful," He gasped out, "Just wanna touch you."

He felt her go still, and he started to pull his hands away, but then her mouth descended again, and it was all he could do to keep from slamming his hips up. Fuuuuuuuck! How was it possible for this to be even better than the first time she had tried this? Or even the fifth? It was like she knew exactly where to stroke him with her tongue, and just how hard to suck. He tried to tip his head up to watch her bobbing over him, but any energy he had was concentrated below the waist. He tried to hold out as long as possible, biting his lip until he thought it'd bleed, but when one of her hands slipped down to cup his bollocks and gently roll them, he was barely able to grunt out a warning before he came.

_Hermione had dropped into the chair, panting as she squeezed her legs together. the crotch of her jeans were soaked from his orgasm, and her heart was hammering in time with his. She wasn't sure if she was going to make it through the rest of the encounter, but she was keen to try!_

As the world slid back into place around him, Ron blearily noticed that Hermione had worked her way back up his body, sucking on the flesh of his collarbone. With a surge of energy, he rolled them over, laughing when she yelped in surprise.

"Your turn," he growled playfully, nuzzling her ear.

She gasped as he took revenge by giving her earlobe the same treatment she had shown his, before he ducked his head to greedily suck on her neck. There wasn't anyone here to see if he left a mark or not, and it was always worth seeing how flustered she became when she remembered how she got them. He smiled into her skin at the small gasps she made, taking his time to inch down to her breasts. Merlin, he loved those breasts! So perky; the weight of them in his hands were perfect, and when they bounced...his cock twitched at the thought. Tenderly, he kissed and sucked all around the unbelievably soft flesh, before finally taking a nipple into his mouth and pulling on it firmly. Fuck, it was like a small, warm rock it was so hard-all because of him! Her hands were running through his hair, every once and a while giving a tug. He knew he was teasing her, but he enjoyed taking his time, hating to rush one moment of this.

"Ron, please!" She gasped out, her voice choking on a whimper.

He hummed into her skin, following the same path she had earlier, taking the time to nip at the bottom of her navel-he had no idea why she liked that, but it always made her moan, and he was all in favor of anything that got that reaction. Scooting lower on the bed, he wedged himself between her hips, feeling her thighs quivering. He placed a kiss on each one, before focusing his attention on her center. How should he go about this? It wasn't the first time he'd eaten her out, and he'd gotten fairly good at getting her off. The only question was, did she want it slow, or-Her hand at the back of his head, pushing him closer until his nose bumped her clit, clued him in fast.

Settling his weight into the closest thing he could get to a comfortable position, he tilted his head and took her nub between his lips, flicking it with his tongue. Her reaction was immediate and more than a little painful, as her legs slammed together around his head as she cried out. His face was pushed farther against her, but the last thing he'd complain about was death by drowning in her twat.

_Hermione snorted even as she rocked back and forth. Ron's thoughts were certainly far from poetic, but he was so eager to please her. After some of the talk she had heard whispered around the offices, she considered herself lucky._

Bloody hell, he loved this; he could never be sure which he liked better, Hermione touching him, or her letting him touch her. Just the fact that she wanted him to touch her, and seemed to enjoy it, was almost enough alone to get him to come. He didn't think he'd ever felt as lucky as he did when he had his tongue shoved deep inside her, and her juices smeared from ear to ear.

She was thrusting into his face, and he was finding it hard to breathe. If he wanted to finish her before he blacked out, he was going to have to do something. Using one hand, he pried one of her legs away, and brought the other up to take over when he leaned back to gulp down some air. Carefully, since he couldn't see very well, he worked one finger inside of her, marvelling as always at the way she clamped down on him. once he felt her relax, he added another, leaning forward to give her some attention to her clit with his tongue. He could feel her building up to the point of release, and her sobs were getting more high pitched. But before he could get her to let go, he felt her pushing on his shoulder. In confusion, he looked up, trying not to be distracted by the way her breasts were heaving. He wasn't having much success.

"Ron...Please...up..." she panted, reaching one hand under her pillow and pulling out her wand.

Instinctively, He sat up, wondering what he could have done to warrant her pulling her wand on him, when he realized she was actually pointing it at herself. As he realized exactly what it was she was doing, his mouth dropped open. Surely she hadn't-she wasn't-but then he felt his bollocks tingle, and he looked down to find she had turned her wand on him after all.

"Hermione? What-why-"

"I told you, I want you. All of you." She said firmly, although she dropped her eyes almost shyly.

Rocked back on his haunches, he froze, staring down at her in disbelief. Was she serious? Of course she was; Hermione Granger wouldn't joke about that, and she sure as hell wouldn't perform those spells if she wasn't! His cock had perked up with interest, fully grasping the situation that it was finally, after years of wanking in preparation, going to get to fuck. His head caught up more slowly, and he couldn't help the shudder of excitement that rippled through him. But looking down at her, as she gazed almost nervously back up at him, he knew this wasn't a fuck. It was... _she_ was more than that. This was Hermione; his best mate, the girl who'd driven him mental with frustration since he was eleven, and with whom he'd been in love now for years. This was sex, but it meant more than just two bodies slapping together.

He just wished this was actually going to be good for her, and that he at least didn't come as soon as he stuck it in.

"Unless you don't want to," she said, blinking rapidly. "I just thought-but if you don't-"

"I want! I want! I just-are you sure?"

I'm positive. Ron, I love you, and I...I want to feel it with you."

What could he say to that? He leaned over her to kiss her, both of them moaning as his cock rubbed against her wet slit.

"Love you too. So fucking much."

He rocked against her, gripping himself at the base as he tried to find her entrance. It shouldn't be this difficult; he had just been there!

"Ron, please! Don't tease anymore!" She growled, arching herself into him, pushing against his arse with her heels.

It threw him off balance, and he sank into her faster than he had intended, scrambling to catch himself when she hissed in discomfort.

"Sorry! Fuckthat'sgood-sorry! Do you need me to pull-?"

"No," she gritted out, clutching at his biceps, "It's not bad. You're just bigger than your fingers, and I need to adjust. Oh, stop looking so smug!"

"S'rry."

He actually wasn't; no bloke was at hearing his size praised. On shaking arms, he tried not to move at all, but the muscles clenching around him had his hips spasming. He clamped his eyes shut, forcing himself to stop. This wasn't anything like wanking, and as good as it was, it was even better than when she used her mouth!

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"No. You just feel so much different than-"

"That's fine, you don't have to say it," she replied in an oddly strained voice. "I-I think you can start moving now."

He gave an experimental thrust, and when she didn't protest, he let himself start moving the way his body had been screaming at him to ever since he sank into her. He only managed about two thrusts before he slipped out, and had to line himself up to reenter her, which was embarrassing but he didn't know what he could do about it. This time, he used shorter thrusts; it might not feel the same but at least he was staying inside. Her hands had climbed up his arms to grip his shoulders, and he could feel her nails biting into his skin. The slight stinging pain was the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure he was feeling, and his hips started snapping in an increasingly uneven rhythm.

"HERMIONE!"

Everything exploded in a blinding flash, before fading to black.

When he came to, he was slumped over her body, his limbs feeling heavy and limp. With a sense of deja vu, he rolled to the side.

"Sorry 'bout tha'." He slurred, wiggling enough to pull her against him, uncaring how the sweat made them stick together.

"We'll work on that part," she giggled, sounding out of breath.

"Gimme five minute, love, and we'll do just that!"

"I didn't mean right now, you prat!" she swatted his arm, but she was laughing.

He nuzzled his face into her neck. Merlin, she was brilliant! His heart felt like it would burst through the walls of his chest with love of her. How had he been so lucky?

"'Ermione, you're the best," he tried to say more, but he was interrupted as she twisted to meet his lips in a sloppy kiss. He shrugged mentally as their tongues tangled together. He'd tell her later.

For now, he was more than willing to show her.

_In the corner, Hermione sat up straight. This was the second time that night she thought he had been comparing her to Lavender-which had been the furthest thing from his mind! He had done an excellent job of showing her, but she wished she hadn't been so quick to silence him. Her fears had been the only thing to dim her enjoyment of the evening, and if she had just listened instead of assumed...but she knew, now, and she would always carry this new information in her heart whenever she thought back on that night. Knowing Ron's innermost feelings for her was a gift, and one she treasured._

_Really, it had been the highlight of their trip, and things had taken a downward turn not long after, though Ron had seen it through, and been the key to ending her search._

Ron stretched as they exited the library, happy to be out of there. The librarian could give Madam Pince a run for her money in the Disapproving Glare category, and Ron hadn't been thrilled to be on the receiving end of most of it. He had been quiet, hadn't he? What more did she want? It wasn't like he knew how to work a computer for himself, so he had been left to hang over Hermione's shoulder. On second thought, he supposed it looked like he had been chatting her up, and the enthusiastic kiss he had given Hermione on the cheek when she had found what she was looking for probably hadn't helped. But was that any reason to look at him as if he'd gone down one of the aisles, ripping pages out of books?

"I can't believe we finally found them!" Hermione gushed at his side, holding her sheet of paper with the address as if it would blow away. "Now we just need to check the map, find the closest spot it would be safe to Apparate to, and we can go back tomorrow before they leave for work!"

He caught her arm as she nearly missed a step, waiting for her to right herself. "I told you you would," he said smugly. His stomach clenched, and he looked at his watch. "Let's get a bite to eat, and then we'll check it out, yeah?"

Hermione groaned. "How can you even think of eating at a time like this?"

Sheepishly, he shrugged. He couldn't help it; when he was hungry, he was hungry, and there were lots of things that made him hungry. He didn't mean to be insensitive, and he felt guilty that she thought he meant that he didn't care about what was going on. But it had been the same at school, so he doubted telling her would make any difference.

_Hermione blinked. It wasn't that she ever thought he was being insensitive. Well, not all the time. It was just that she literally couldn't understand how he could think about eating in stressful situations. When she was upset, her stomach twisted into knots, and just the idea of food made her sick. Which she would have told him, if he had just brought it up. How could she clarify a problem if he didn't speak up?_

"Sorry. I'll be able to concentrate better once I get some food in me though, and I know you; if we don't eat now, you'll think of sixty things we need to do before we stop for dinner!"

She rolled her eyes, but held his hand anyway. "Alright, I suppose you have a point. Let's find a place to eat, and I can at least start making plans while we wait for our food."

They walked down the street, winding their way through the throngs of people bustling by on their lunch breaks. They passed two places that looked as if they would be beyond their budget, one that was so packed that it might be hours before they got a table, and one that was closed. They were just about ready to try a different direction when they found a small place that was just busy enough to make them think the food would be decent, and since the sun was out and it wasn't too cool, they were able to get a table outside almost immediately. Ron noticed that Hermione had gotten awfully quiet, and her eyes had that sad look that they had held in those days they had gone from funeral to funeral.

"Hey. What's wrong? I thought you were happy," he asked, gently nudging her leg with his knee.

She gave him a weak smile, before going back to bending the corner of her menu back and forth. "I'm fine. Really. Just...thinking."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No, not really. Don't worry, I'll be fine. Have you decided what you're ordering?"

He picked up his own menu, suddenly not as hungry as he was before. "No, not yet."

He tried not to let it happen, but his feelings from yesterday-most of the trip really-were coming back. Had he really been of any use at all on this trip? Yeah, he had kept her fed (he seriously believed that, left to her own devices, she probably would've undone all of his Mum's hard work while she was gone), and he had helped rub her limbs when they were seizing up. He had even pulled her out of traffic when she had been too distracted to pay attention the other day. Physically, he supposed, he hadn't done too badly. But what about everything else? She was still miserable, and while he'd never expected to make that completely go away, he had hoped to lighten it. He wished...he wished he was better with words. All of his jokes fell flat, and asking questions to try and distract her was just feeling more and more pathetic. And now he could tell she was upset again about something (probably about her parents), and she wasn't talking to him about it. How could he help if she wouldn't open up? Was he supposed to keep asking? What if she didn't _want_ his help? Hermione had needs, and he had no fucking clue about how to fill them. He had managed to do it back at Hogwarts, but he seemed to have lost the skill to make her smile. All he wanted was to make her truly laugh, just for a minute, to make things more bearable for her. He wondered if he'd ever be able to do that again, or if the war had taken more from them than he'd thought.

A tiny, noodle-shaped dog in a dress and hat trotted by at the heels of its owner. A few days ago, he would have pointed it out to her, to try to use it to start some sort of conversation. He said nothing. Instead, he bent over his menu, and tried to pretend that the tears stinging the backs of his eyes were from the wind.

_Hermione had to blink back tears of her own. She had known that it hadn't been a particularly easy trip, but she hadn't realized in what way for Ron. While being friends first had helped to a certain extent, there's always that need to do things right when you become a couple. For Ron, that feeling was magnified by the events of the previous year, and he was almost desperate to prove that he wasn't going to make the same mistakes. And as happy as it made her for him to make the effort, she had already known that-she never would have entered a relationship with him otherwise. As for helping her feel better, he had set himself a nearly impossible task. These were her parents, and two of the most important people in her life. She was dealing with so much fear and guilt, that the moments when she could be happy almost felt like a betrayal. What Ron didn't realize was that as bad as she was, she would have been much worse without him there. She wished she had told him more often, because it was a situation that required assurance. And really, he had done so wonderfully the next day, although she was sure that that was hardly the way one would want to meet the parents for the first time as a boyfriend._

Ron stifled a yawn as they walked up the narrow drive, wishing he had gotten at least another thirty minutes of sleep. Not that he could really blame Hermione for wanting to be out first thing; he'd have been the same way. At least she had let him eat breakfast, although getting any down her had felt like he was getting good practice for a future toddler. She had finally eaten a few bites, and he was happy that at least she shouldn't be passing out before they could get lunch.

With a sudden start, he realized they were standing in front of the door, and had been for some time. Down the street, a man paused to look at them before getting in his car, and Ron noticed that in one of the opposite houses, an elderly woman was staring out her window at them. Turning back, he waited for Hermione to knock. And waited.

And waited some more.

"Hermione? Are you going to knock?" he finally asked, wondering if she even realized how long they had been standing there.

"Of course! Just...give me a minute to prepare. This isn't easy, you know." She answered stiffly, the way her body jerking telling him she had been lost in thought.

"Yeah, I know, and I wouldn't wanna pressure you or anything like that, but we've already been standing here twenty minutes, and some of the neighbors are starting to notice."

"Maybe they're looking at something else," she said doubtfully.

Instead of answering, Ron reached over her shoulder and gave the door a firm knock. One of them was going to have to be proactive, so it might as well be him.

"Why did you do that? I'm not prepared yet!" She hissed at him, her expression indicating she was contemplating bodily harm.

"Trust me, this isn't the sort of thing you're ever prepared for," Ron muttered, shifting away just in case.

There was no time for argument, as the door opened with a small click, and they were greeted with a pleasant, "Hello, may I help you?"

Ron arranged an innocent smile on his face, knowing he only had to let Hermione do all the talking. Only Hermione wasn't talking. She was, however, crying, and Ron saw that her mum was understandably growing alarmed. What if she shut the door in their faces and refused to see them again? What if she actually called the Muggle Aurors on them? With visions of having to explain to his mum why her youngest son needed bail money sent to Australia, Ron grasped the first excuse that popped into his head.

"Ah, I'm sorry about this," Ron cut in, hoping he didn't sound like he was going to cosh her over the head and rob her blind. "My girlfriend's cat went missing, and we've been out looking for him. I know it might sound strange, but there's, erm, sentimental reasons." He wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Don't worry love, we'll find him."

Apparently deciding that they were harmless, Mrs. Granger stepped back. "There have been several cats in the neighborhood recently; would you like to come inside and describe him? You look like you might need to sit down."

"Yes, thank you," Hermione sniffed, "We've been looking for a long time, and it's just seemed so hopeless."

Mrs. Granger patted her kindly on the shoulder before motioning them into the living room. "Well, if he's around here, I'm sure you'll find him; several of the elderly ladies leave food out for the strays. Just a moment, and I'll ask my husband to join us. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

Hermione and Ron both perched on the edge of the couch as her mum stuck her head around the corner and called upstairs for her husband.

"Hermione, now's your chance; you should do your mum before your dad walks in!" Ron whispered hurriedly, not sure they could deal with both of them at once.

Hermione's hand moved towards her wand, but as she pulled it out, her mum turned back around and noticed, peering at the wand in puzzlement.

"What is...that?"

"Oh, this?" Ron asked brightly, "This is part of the cat's toy, his favorite. There's usually a string attached to the end, with a little ball stuffed with catnip. He loves it when you flick it just so, right, Hermione?" He could practically feel his eyes bulging from his head, hoping she'd catch on.

Thankfully it worked, and Hermione flicked the wand in the correct motion, the wordless spell leaping from the tip to connect with her mother, who staggered back. As she began to crumple, Ron leapt to her side, his reflexes faster than any thought of what to do with her once he had caught her. Oh Merlin, she wasn't dead, was she? No, still breathing. Still limp. Still not any help at all with getting him out of this situation.

_She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and was doing a bit of both. Poor Ron! At the time, she had been so wrapped up in what was going on to see the humor of the situation, but looking at it now was like watching a bad comedy unfold._

Hermione hurried over to him, and he hoped to hell she knew what to do, because he was running out of ideas.

"Hermione, was it supposed to happen like this?" Ron asked her, grabbing her mum before she could slip out of the over-stuffed armchair.

"I don't know! It's not like I've ever-"

"What's going on in here?"

A chorus line of curse words can-canned through his head; this looked bad. This looked really, really bad.

"What have the two of you done to my wife? If it's money you want, take it and get-"

"Hermione, now!" Ron shouted, not sure what he expected her to do, but knowing they had to do whatever it was fast.

Hermione snapped out of it, swiftly performing the same spell on her father that she had just used on her mother. He stiffened, and began to sway, his eyes rolling back.

"Bloody hell, not him too!" Ron groaned, running to catch him. He had wanted to be useful, but he hadn't pictured it quite like this.

Her father was bulkier than her mother, and Ron had a harder time leading him the few steps to the ottoman, where he dumped him with a grunt. How was it that an average looking Muggle could weigh the same as a small troll?

"H...Hermione?"

Ron twisted his head to see Hermione's mother coming around, thankful that at least it looked like she was alright. That feeling evaporated quickly as she became more heated, reminding him alarmingly of her daughter. Hermione was getting worked up as well; sweet Circe, they were in for it! He glanced down to see her father regaining his senses, and reached out a hand to help him sit up. Mr. Granger blinked at him, and while he seemed surprised, Ron thought he saw signs of recognition.

"Helen...what's going on?" Mr. Granger asked groggily.

Ron winced at the reply; if he had ever wondered where Hermione got her sharp tongue, he had his answer now.

_She smiled ruefully. Actually, it was a trait she had received from both parents, although her mother had always been quicker to use hers. This was really the first time it had ever been directed at her though, and it had felt terribly strange to be fighting with her mum much like a normal teenager._

Things were heating up, and they weren't even really listening to her. Hermione had gotten sucked into fighting instead of trying to explain, and Ron thought now might be the time to stop sitting there like a brightly colored fungus and speak up.

"I know it's a lot to take in, but Hermione will tell you everything if you just-"

Aaaand that had been a mistake, judging by the reaction he got. On the other hand, at least the attention was off of-no, never mind. While he was guiltily pleased at how she had defended him, he really didn't want to be another point in their fight. Should he say something else? Was there a point? Before he could decide, he felt a tap on his arm, and looked down. Mr. Granger rolled his eyes to the battle, then jerked his head to the side, indicating that he wanted Ron to follow him.

Stepping out of the way as her father stood, Ron looked back at Hermione, who didn't seem to notice he was being lead off to the slaughter.

_Hermione followed curiously; she had always wondered what had happened, but there had been so many other things to focus on, she had never gotten around to asking._

Ron shuffled out into the fenced in yard, nervously eyeing up the likely locations for his body to be buried.

"You've known Hermione long enough to know what she's like when she gets in a strop, so you can probably imagine that it would be best to get out of the way if you doubled that." Mr. Granger said, from where he had sat down in a lawn chair, still looking a trifle dizzy.

_Hermione wanted to be offended, but couldn't deny the truth of the statement._

At the sound of raised voices still coming through the closed door, Ron winced. "Um, yeah, I can see that. But are you sure it's alright to just..."

"Trust me, it'll be easier on everyone this way. Have a seat; it might be awhile."

Hesitantly, Ron sat on the bright green lawn chair that was angled towards the blue one Hermione's dad was in. "So, you're not mad too?" He asked, hardly daring to believe his luck.

Her father gave a short, dry laugh. "Oh, I'm sure I will be when the shock wears off. But Helen and I have learned that it's best if we take turns with our tempers, so I'll let her cool down before I start in. This might be a good time to explain your side of things."

Well, it had been a lovely thought before it died.

Ron explained the situation as best as he could, hoping Hermione wouldn't murder him if he accidentally let slip something she hadn't told him-more than the obvious, of course. Her father was mostly quiet, only asking a question here and there to clarify a point, his frown growing deeper all the time. He finally stuttered to a stop, wondering if he had helped the situation, or had only made it worse.

Mr. Granger let out a deep breath, flexing the fingers of his hands as he stared first at the sky, then down at the ground. "I see why Helen is so upset. Having choices taken away is...a big issue for her. One I can understand, and share to some extent on this-quite a lot, in fact-but it's going to be harder for her."

"Hermione didn't have any choice," Ron affirmed stubbornly. "It was the only way to keep you safe!"

Hermione's father raised an eyebrow. "So discussing it with us wasn't an option? Because we might actually say no? Or was she afraid we would talk her out of it?"

Ron shook his head. "You couldn't have talked her out of it. She had made up her mind, and it was her choice-"

"Yes, her choice. So we were supposed to trust her to make the right one, but we weren't allowed the same consideration? Hermione is our daughter, and for nearly nineteen years-I suppose eighteen would be closer now-her welfare has been our concern. As parents, we at least had the right to express that. But we are also adults, and we had the right to choose what course of action would be best for us. That was forcibly taken from us. Naturally, we're going to be upset."

The quiet words of reproach were far worse to Ron than yelling, mostly because he knew Mr. Granger was right. And so was Hermione. He knew that in the other man's place, he'd be livid, and Hermione wouldn't be any different. But as wrong as it was...

"I know it was wrong," he blurted, "But if I could go back, I wouldn't tell her to do any different. If I could get away with it, I'd have done it to my family. Maybe then Fred-" He cut himself off with a choking noise, embarrassed.

"What about Fred, Ron?" Mr. Granger asked with a penetrating look.

"He-he died. At the end. He...died."

Silence stretched out, and Ron wanted to be anywhere but here. He stared down at the yellowish grass at his feet, focusing hard on one small ant struggling through the blades.

"I had an uncle who was in the military," Mr. Granger said softly. "He and my father were very close. When he was killed...my father was never the same after that. I would tell you how sorry I am, but I know how little that fixes anything."

Ron nodded, appreciating that he was being spared the polite, ritualistic words that death always seemed to bring with it.

"I suspect you haven't told me everything, as far as danger is concerned."

Ron looked up, meeting a pair of brown eyes that looked so much like Hermione's when she was upset that he felt himself jerk back. "Well, um..."

"But I need you to tell me one thing, and I need it to be the truth."

Hesitantly, Ron nodded. "If I can."

"Was it necessary? Really and truly necessary; not a whim, or something that was just between the three of you. Did her being a part of all that _matter?"_

Ron didn't even have to think about that one. "If Hermione hadn't come, we'd all be dead. Or worse, in some cases. This wasn't...this wasn't some kind of fun game. We needed her, and she knew that. She wouldn't have left you if she didn't have to."

Mr. Granger silently took his glasses off, and rubbed his forehead, clearly struggling to come to terms with everything. "I see. Well. I...I'm really not sure where to go from here at this point. Thank you, at least, for being honest with me. I suppose this means you won't get the brunt of it when it finally sinks in." He joked feebly.

"I appreciate that, but if it's all the same, I'd rather you take it out on me if you have to, and cut Hermione some slack. She...she's been through a lot, and I don't want her to be hurt any more than she has to be."

Suddenly, he was being observed with the same intent gaze that Hermione reserved for new books.

"Is that so? Ron, why exactly are you here with Hermione? Harry didn't come as well, did he?"

Oh, bloody hell; how did they light on the one subject he really wanted to avoid? He shifted in his seat, knowing there was no way to avoid it. "No, no, it's just me. Um...well..."

"I see. I think that might be a topic better saved for later." He turned and looked at the house. "I can't hear them anymore, so maybe it's time to go back in and assess the situation."

Ron nearly melted into a puddle of relief, but found enough energy to stand, following Hermione's father inside, hoping things had gone, well, better than they had sounded. He wasn't betting on it, though.

Once they got to the living room, Ron had to peer over Mr. Granger's shoulder, anxious to see Hermione for himself. As he thought, things hadn't gone well. Her eyes were red and puffy, she had bitten her bottom lip hard enough for the skin to crack, and she was standing in what he thought of as her fighting stance. Eerily, her mother practically mirrored her.

"Is everything alright in here?"

Hermione turned to face her father, who was standing in the hall with a nervous looking Ron peering over his shoulder.

"What do you think, Richard?" Her mother snarled, still not turning around.

"Ron, I think we should be leaving now." she said, her voice only wobbling slightly.

"Hermione, you don't have to leave. It might just be best if you and Ron waited in the other room-"

"No. This isn't something that's going to go away if I wait a few hours. I knew that...that things would be bad, and that you'll most likely never forgive me. I'm truly sorry that I couldn't think of another way, but I'm not sorry that I did it. Ron?"

She held out her hand, and Ron squeezed by her protesting father to cross the room, ignoring her hand as he wrapped an arm securely around her shoulders.

"Ready, love?" He asked.

Hermione nodded, feeling utterly exhausted. She hadn't felt up to going into everything that had happened this past year, and she didn't want to have one of her episodes in front of her parents right now. "Yes. Sorry for the wait." She looked back at her parents, feeling her heart break at the distance between them. "Mum, Dad, I love you. I hope...I hope someday you're able to say the same about me again."

She knew she was seconds from breaking down completely, and she leaned into Ron as they turned to go.

"Stop."

Ron wished he'd had a chance to step away before the Grangers decided to get physical, but the best he could do was stand there and pretend he didn't have his hands and face shoved in awkward places. He was happy for the fact that they were making an effort with Hermione, but he was happier once they moved away and he was able to get outside.

Round one was over, Ron thought, knowing full well that this wasn't by any means the end of the...he didn't want to say fight, but he couldn't think of a better word. As they walked outside, he watched Hermione out of the corner of his eye. He knew from personal experience how this kind of thing felt, and he wished Hermione didn't have to go through it. It had been miserable when he had gone back last year, worrying if he would ever be forgiven, or if he was doing enough. There wasn't anything he could do to keep her from having to do the same, though, and she already knew this wasn't going to be easy. But he could be there for her, and he'd defend her if it looked like they were taking things too far. It wasn't much, but he could keep her distracted from thinking too much about it. He only hoped that the little he could do would be good enough.

_It had been more than good enough, Hermione thought. He had talked sense into her that day alone that had likely kept things from being worse, and he never gave her a chance to overthink things. When they were with her parents, he usually stayed quiet until things began to look bad, and then he would cut in and somehow diffuse the subject. She could tell that her parents were torn between irritation at his interruption, and approval that she was with someone who would stand up for her in such an uncomfortable position. Ron had been amazing then, and as well when they all finally went back to England, understanding that she needed to spend some time at home. Of course, he had things to take care of as well..._

Ron heaved another box onto a shelf in the stockroom, wondering why the heaviest things always seemed to go on the higher shelves. At least there weren't very many this time, although that probably meant that inventory was getting low. He'd probably need to get George to buy a few things, or at least sign off on it. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he made sure everything was more or less in order, and went out to the main part of the shop.

"I think that's all up here," Ginny called from the top of the stairs.

He turned to look at her, noticing how strained she appeared. Ginny had been cleaning the small flat while he did the store, both of them working quickly while George was out. Ron didn't envy her the task, knowing that reminders of Fred were still hanging about.

"Was...was his room still locked?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

Ginny rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes, before leaning against the railing and slowly descending the stairs. "Yeah. I don't think George is ready for anyone else to go in there yet. I think we're just lucky he finally let us clean the rest. I don't think he's lifted a wand since the last time we were over."

Normally this would be said with irritation, but Ron could see she was just as worried as he was. George wasn't well-not that anyone thought he would be-and it seemed harder for him to focus on normal tasks. He had gotten to the point where when he was around people he made some sort of effort to appear normal, but when left alone, didn't do much more than sit and stare into space. The shop was barely functioning, and Ron wasn't sure how much longer George could keep it going. Which was why he had come to sort of a decision, but he wasn't sure how everyone was going to take it. Might as well try it out on Ginny and see how it went.

He leaned against the counter, running a finger over the edge of the register. "Gin, have you noticed George hasn't been able to keep up with the shop very well?"

Ginny came over to lean on the counter across from him, giving him a puzzled look. "Of course. You couldn't expect otherwise, could you? I think he's doing all he can to get out of bed, most of the time."

Ron nodded. "I know. And I know that Verity and Lee are helping out as much as they can, but they have other things to do, and it's not really fair. But...I also don't think George could handle it if he lost the place, you know?"

She shook her head, still not understanding. "I get that, but what are you trying to say? It's not like you can make him work more if he isn't ready."

He took a deep breath. "Well...I was thinking. I know you're going back to school with Hermione, and Harry's gonna be busy with Grimmauld Place and getting ready for the Aurors...I thought maybe I'd start working here for awhile."

Ginny flew back in surprise, her eyes going wide. "Are you serious? But...what about being an Auror? You're just going to give-"

"No! I'm just...well, I'm not really ready myself, but mainly, George needs help and I'm the only one that has the time to give it to him. So what do you think?"

Head cocked to the side, she replied, "I think George needs that, to be honest. But are you really sure you want to put off training? And how long do you figure on doing this?"

Ron shrugged. "I wrote Kingsley, and he said we could work something out. I don't think I'd feel right going off and leaving him, and I thought I'd give it about a year and see how he was doing then."

Ginny smiled. "I think it's brilliant, then. I've been worried about what would happen to him once I went back to school and you started training, but I didn't really see what we could do about it."

Great. He had her on his side, at least. "Just don't tell Mum yet; I haven't even talked about it with George, and he'd probably say no if she started in on it."

With a grimace, Ginny nodded. "Got it. What does Hermione think of the idea?"

At that question, Ron felt himself go pale. That was one of the questions that worried him about the whole thing. "I dunno, I haven't told her yet. I haven't been thinking of it very long, and, well..."

Ginny hopped up to sit on the counter. "Well, what? And don't say you haven't been thinking of it long. You've had time to write Kingsley about it, and I know you've seen Hermione in that amount of time."

"What if she thinks it's stupid?" He asked in a rush, needing someone's opinion, but really wishing he could get it without having a conversation.

"Why on earth would she think it was stupid?"

He gave a jerky shrug, not meeting her eyes fully. "You know Hermione," he mumbled. "You know how important education is to her. She'd probably be mad at me for not going back with the two of you, if I hadn't had the Auror thing lined up. She might think I'm throwing my future away or something."

With a toss of her head, Ginny sniffed, "If she does, you can just tell her she can fu-"

"Ginny!" Ron yelped, "I can't tell her that!"

"And she can't tell you how to live your life." Her voice softened, and she continued, "Ron, do you honestly think Hermione isn't going to understand that family has to come first right now?"

He looked down at his trainers, absently noticing that the left toe was wearing out again. "I just don't wanna be a disappointment." He admitted.

"Oh-Merlin's saggy bollocks, Ron!" She snorted, causing his head to snap up. "I won't say you've never done disappointing things-haven't we all-but you've never been a disappointment, and I highly doubt you're going to start now. If someone thinks you're a disappointment for helping family through a rough time, then they have shite priorities."

_She had more than understood. Being an Auror had been a dream of Ron's since at least fourth year, and he had put that aside with no hesitation to help his brother. There was absolutely nothing frivolous or shameful about that! If anything, seeing him step up like that in such a mature and thoughtful way had only made her love him more._

The corner of his lips twitched up. Gin was wicked, in her own blunt way. "Thanks, I think."

She waved him off. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about how to get it through George's thick pig skull that he needs help."

The clock on the wall chimed, and Ginny looked up. "I've got to go; I was going to stop by and drag Harry home for supper so he didn't forget to eat again. Are you coming?"

Ron shook his head. "Nah, not yet. I'm waiting for George. I might as well get it over with. Of course, I plan on doing it whether he says yes or not, but it'll be a hell of a lot easier if he agrees."

Making her way to the office, Ginny laughed over her shoulder. "Good luck with that!"

After a few minutes, he heard the sound of the Floo, and knew he was alone. He pulled up a stool, but he had barely enough time to sit down before the front door opened, and George came in, swaying slightly on his feet, his face stormy. Inwardly, Ron sighed. George was in one of his dark moods again; this might get pretty unpleasant.

"What are you doing here?" George asked, still standing in the doorway.

"Me and Gin came over to clean up, remember? She just left."

George stepped in, letting the door slam shut behind him. "Good. You can join her. G'night."

Ron eyed him closely, trying to gauge his mood. He had been drinking, but he wasn't completely drunk. That was a plus. But the shadows around his eyes were dark, and his robes were rumpled, which meant he hadn't been sleeping. That was a definite minus. Like him, and Ginny as well, George was at his worst when he hadn't slept properly.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something," he said, trying to sound casual.

George stiffened, his eye narrowing. "If this is about opening up Fred's room, then you can just-"

"No!" Ron interrupted, wanting to stop that line of thought before George could work up a good head of steam. "You take care of that when you're ready. You know I wouldn't push you about that."

Looking slightly more mollified, George nodded, rubbing at his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. Alright, what did you wanna talk about?"

Good; first obstacle out of the way.

"It's more of a favor, really," Ron plowed on, ignoring the way George's eyebrows rose. "Living with Harry is fine for now, but, you know, I'll eventually want my own place, and it would be nice to take Hermione out somewhere besides home...so I was thinking maybe I could work here for awhile?" Aside from sounding pretty weak there at the end, he thought he hadn't done too badly. At least, until George opened his mouth.

"And you think you'll have time for that, with training?" George asked skeptically.

Here was the tricky part. "Ah. No. I thought I'd hold off on that for awhile. Things are just now...I just don't feel like jumping into something like that right now." He managed to get out, nearly tripping over his tongue.

"Like hell!" George spat at him, shoving by and heading for the office. "Mum put you up to this, didn't she? Well you can just sod off back to the rest of them and tell them I don't need a keeper!"

Ah, now it was going more like he had imagined. Good thing he wasn't an optimist by nature.

"It's not like that!" He called out, hurrying after George. "Mum didn't have anything to do with this, or anyone else for that matter!"

George sat down heavily at his desk, the chair creaking under his weight. He bent over and yanked open the bottom drawer, pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey and a tumbler.

Just what he needed. George was volatile enough right now without being completely pissed.

"Can we finish this first, while you're still able to talk?" He asked, trying to keep his voice even.

His brother didn't even look up. "We are finished, and I don't need you telling me what to do."

Ron clenched his fists, closing his eyes briefly as he bit back a harsh reply. "I don't have any interest in telling you what to do, George. And what's more, I'm not stupid enough to think you'd listen if I tried."

George gave him a cocky salute with his tumbler, before downing the contents.

"Look, I just want to help with the shop for awhile. Is that really such a big deal?"

With a snort, George poured himself another drink. "I've got the shop covered, ta very much. So you can run along with Harry and get started on your training."

Ron's temper, which up to this point had withstood its testing, snapped a bit. "Do you really, George?" He said loudly, waving a hand around. "Do you have any idea how much you made this month? What products are almost out of stock? How many overtime hours Verity and Lee have been putting in?"

Mouth slightly open, George blinked, clearly not knowing the answers to any of these questions.

"Hell, if they weren't as honest as they are, they could've robbed you blind by now!" He yelled in exasperation.

George slammed the glass down, amber liquid sloshing over the side. "And so ickle Ronniekins has to come to the rescue of the surviving member of the family fuckups!" He snarled.

Building anger checked by surprise, Ron paused in his rant. "What? What are you on about?"

With a harsh laugh, George answered, "Oh, come off it. You and everyone else thought it was only a matter of time until this place failed, whether Fred was here or not. We were always the ones that could never doing anything right, weren't we? So you have to come in and save it."

Ron squinted at George, as if he'd never really seen him before. "What the hell are you saying? None of us ever thought that! When did we ever say you couldn't do anything right?"

George hunched over, giving a sullen shrug. "Well, not actually came right out and said it, but that's what everyone always meant. Pointing out things like our O.W.L.s, how we didn't end up as prefects like everyone else in the bloody family."

Eyes bulging, Ron gasped, "But you didn't even _try_ for good O. , and you wouldn't have been caught dead as prefects! You were always going on about how stupid that kind of thing was. Are you saying you actually _wanted_ all that?"

That got him another shrug. "Not really _wanted,_ but it would've been nice if people were at least surprised that we didn't get it."

"Oh, hell no!" Ron snapped, shaking his head. "You don't get to not even try for something and talk it down every chance you get, and then expect someone to think of handing it to you, or being sympathetic when you didn't get something you wanted! You could've had all of that if you had actually tried!" A horrifying thought struck him; is this how ridiculous he had always sounded when he complained about stuff like this?

_Hermione nodded enthusiastically, pleased he was seeing that. One of the most frustrating things about Ron was that he had always possessed the necessary qualities to achieve the things he wanted, but his baseless belief that he would fail always prevented him unless there was a sharp push. It was refreshing seeing him on the other end for once._

"As if we had the brains for it. Even Mum knew that; knew we wouldn't make anything of ourselves."

One hand reached up to tug his hair, but quickly lowered to his side; this conversation was likely to leave him bald. "Are you _mental?_ Mum never thought you weren't smart! Merlin, that's always what worried her, that you'd find some clever way to land yourselves in Azkaban!"

"Oh, so I'm supposed to feel better that you all just thought we'd go out and do something criminal? How kind of you."

"Grow up, George! You can't act and talk one way, and not expect people to judge you on that. 'Sides, we never thought it would be something really _wrong,_ but more like some out of control prank that offended someone with pull in the Ministry. You can't sit there and tell me that that wasn't out of the realm of possibility."

"No, I guess not," George sighed. "But it's not like you'd know what all of that felt like, having so much to live up to from the others, and never coming close."

Ron wasn't sure whether or not it was enlightening or sad to realize that he and at least two of his brothers shared the same inferiority complex.

"Yeah, actually, I reckon I do," he admitted quietly.

"No," George said, throwing himself back in his seat, turning his face toward the ceiling and running his hands through his hair. "You can't. Look, me and Fred, when we were little, we were mad about Bill and Charlie-even Percy, for awhile. It was hard not to be. They could do anything, it seemed like. They were just sort of...perfect. Then you came along, and we thought that we'd be that kind of big brother too, you know? One you'd look up to and be proud of."

"I-"

"But it didn't turn out like that," George continued, ignoring him. "At first, we were too little to really know how to handle you, or to realize you weren't the same as we were. And then...then we finally realized that you weren't like us, because you were like _them._ You were two years younger than us and already better than we were, and you didn't need _us_ at all."

Silence fell between them, and Ron knew his mouth was flapping in the air. Unless his ears deceived him, it sounded very much as if they had been jealous of him in the same way he had been of them! It was almost more than he could get his head around, but he knew he needed to put that line of thinking to rest.

"I always looked up to Bill and Charlie. I think it helped that they weren't home as often, so there was never really much to fight about. But they had such cool jobs, and had been pretty important at Hogwarts. Kinda hard not to look up to them, like you said. Even Percy was brilliant, although his attitude sort of killed that after awhile. But you know, I always wanted to be like you and Fred, too."

George rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever. You don't have to say that to make me feel-"

"No, seriously!" Ron leaned forward on the desk, making George look at him. "The two of you were always coming up with something brilliant, and you were some of the best Beaters we've had. I would've killed to have been as confident as the two of you always looked, and you were always able to say something funny and smooth, when I always sounded like a giant tit when I tried. Then you went and built a business out of scratch-not a lot of people could do that-and you joined the order, and did some pretty important work. There were times you irritated the hell out of me, but...but that didn't mean that I didn't look up to you."

George was looking up at him with moist eyes, surprise written all over his face, along with a strange sort of gratitude. It struck Ron, suddenly, that all the things he'd wanted to hear from other people had been things he'd never said himself. He found it felt curiously good to get it out.

Neither one were really comfortable with emotional talks, and both eventually had to look away, the mutual throat clearing sounding like a roomful of cats relieving themselves of hairballs.

"Things have slipped around here, haven't they?" George finally asked, his voice sounding almost meek now that there was no hostility.

"Some, but it's not like people don't understand," he answered honestly.

George slumped, propping his elbows on the desk and resting his head in his hands. "I can't do it alone. Some days I can almost manage to get through, but...I'm not there yet, and I don't know when I will be."

Ron knew how much it cost for him to say it. This was his and Fred's dream, that they had worked towards for years, and losing it would be like losing Fred all over again, but doing it without Fred probably still felt wrong too.

"I'll be in Monday," he said lightly, deciding not to make this any harder on George than it had to be. "I'll set up my schedule, and Lee and Verity can cut their hours back. I'll need enough time to work on whatever Kingsley sends me, and I'll be taking whatever day comes up that I can visit Hermione. I'll work well, but I don't come cheap, so don't expect to skimp on my pay."

George stared up at him in shock, before tossing his head back with a laugh. "You cheeky bastard! You're not even going to do it out of the goodness of your heart?"

Ron shook his head; the money, he admitted, would be a very welcome bonus, but he also didn't want George to feel like he was taking charity. None of them had ever been keen on that. "I've known you too long to put up with you for free. So, see you Monday?"

George scratched his jaw, looking bemused but more alert than Ron had seen him in a while.

"Yeah, Monday. I need to check my stocks and see what I need to make up. You can expect to help with that; I plan to test out that 'I'll work well' line." He pulled some parchment over, and picked up his quill, scribbling things down, his lips moving silently.

Ron felt quite pleased; he knew it was far from permanent, but seeing George with some sort of purpose was a relief. With a small smile, he turned to leave, ready to go see what his mum had on for supper. He was already in the hall when George called out to him.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not Fred."

His heart clenched. He hadn't wanted that; he had never wanted to replace Fred, or take over. But there was still a part of him, some grubby little boy way down deep, that just wanted his older brother to-

"But I wouldn't change you."

The band around his heart evaporated, and he walked away with a spring in his step. When it came right down to it, that had been all he had ever wanted.

Somewhere deep inside, a grubby little boy cheered.

_Hermione wanted to cheer as well; she had always known that Ron and the twins cared very much about each other, but none of them had really known how to show it in the way that the other needed. This had marked a turning point in the relationship that Ron had with George, and while both could tease mercilessly, and on some occasions lost their tempers, there was also a new closeness and better understanding. It made her happy, and quite proud, that Ron was willing to stand up and be more open about his feelings. He had never really talked about this, but she knew it was incredibly important to him. Of course, there was still the small matter about her returning to school, and his feelings about breaking this news to her..._

Ron watched as Hermione Apparated away, turning to kick the tree in his frustration. What the bloody hell had happened? He hadn't even gotten a chance to talk about his decision, and somehow he had already cocked everything up! He still couldn't figure out where he went wrong. All he had said was that he hated that they would have to be apart for so long; what was wrong with that?

_That wasn't what he had said! Hermione practically squawked, then paused, mentally running his words through her new 'Ron filter.' Hm. She had taken 'I don't want you to go' to mean he was opposed to the idea and wanted her to stay just because he said so. But from his thoughts and feelings, he had only meant that he wished that the separation part had been avoidable. She should have just tried to talk about it instead of leaping to conclusions, but she had been stressed from walking on eggshells for her parents, and hadn't been thinking too clearly at the time._

Not wanting to go back into the house, he threw himself down against the tree, the bark scraping his skin through his shirt. Was he not supposed to miss her? He noticed she hadn't said anything about missing him. Was she so disappointed that he wasn't going back that it had put her off? And if that was the case, how was she going to feel about his choice not to join the Aurors just yet? He felt sick. He knew education was important to Hermione, but was she always going to look down on him in some way for not finishing his? Just when his life was showing signs of going in the direction he wanted, all the old feelings of not being good enough hit him full force.

_No! She had never thought that! Yes, education was extremely important to her, and naturally she had wanted Ron to have all of his options open to him, but the twins had been proof alone that you could find a way to achieve your dreams without finishing school. And he had been offered his dream job, and she had had every confidence that he could do it. Honestly, it had never occurred for her to think anything of the fact that he-and Harry-hadn't gone back, outside of how much she had missed them. The things she loved about Ron, the truly important things, weren't something that you learned in school._

For several days, he slunk around the Burrow, letting his thoughts fester. He wanted to fix things, but he didn't know how, or even if Hermione wanted to. They had what was supposed to be their first real date coming up, and Ron wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't be hexed off the property if he tried to show up. If only he knew if this was just their first tiff as a couple, or if she had finally woken up to the fact that she could do better.

"You know Ron, if your face gets any longer, you'll trip over it," Ginny said, from where she and Harry were coming out of the broom shed.

He raised his eyebrows at them, for even though they both had brooms, they looked far too innocent to have not been up to something. He pushed the thought away; he didn't want to know.

"Whatever. 'M fine." He muttered.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look, rolling their eyes in a manner so annoying it should be outlawed.

"Ron, you look about as fine as you did in sixth year. Are you ever going to tell us what's wrong, or are we going to have to poison you to get Hermione over here?" Harry asked.

Ron narrowed his eyes at him. "You'd do that, wouldn't you, you wanker? Look, I'll figure it out. Don't worry about it."

"Yes, but will it be sometime before middle age sets in? Honestly Ron, the longer you drag this out, the worse it'll be!" Ginny huffed.

He threw up his hands. "Fine! We had a fight. Is that what you wanted to hear? Apparently I don't support her, or some such shite. That's all I could make out, anyways."

"Well, _do_ you support her?" Ginny asked crossly.

"Of course I do! Even when I don't support her, I support her!"

"Then just show her!"

"And preferably soon," Harry added. "You need to fix whatever's wrong before she leaves for Hogwarts."

Ron slumped. "I would, but I don't know how," he admitted.

"Saying you're sorry would probably go a long way, but it also might help if you did something to show you support whatever she thinks you don't."

Ginny had a point, and he could do the first half easy enough, but didn't know where to even start with the second.

"Maybe a gift would help?" Harry offered.

"Hm. That's an idea. Maybe I'll pop over to Diagon Alley and see if anything strikes me."

"Do you need any help?" Ginny asked, eyes lighting up at the thought of a shopping trip.

"Thanks, but no. I reckon I should probably do this on my own."

_Hermione followed along, interested to find out his thought process behind what he had finally settled on. Ron had gone from shop to shop, carefully weighing his options. He had quickly discarded the usual I Fucked Up gifts, not wanting to look like he was trying to buy her forgiveness, which she appreciated. Several things he had discarded as impractical and embarrassing to buy (if he had bought her the slinky lingerie set, she might have murdered him), and had been feeling more than a little out of his depth._

He had hesitated in front of Flourish & Blotts, not wanting to go with a book, when several school age children pushed past him, drawing his attention to the display in the window, making him shudder a little at all the back-to-school memories. Then he did a double-take; that's what had started this whole mess, wasn't it? With a grin, he threaded his way through the crowds, and found the section of lesson planners. He was reminded of the one Hermione got him that one Christmas, and he laughed to himself as he picked out the one best suited to what he had in mind. Once he had paid and left the shop, he Apparated directly to his room, not wanting to be bothered. Sitting at his desk, he unwrapped the paper from the planner, and flipped it open, pleased that it had so much room to write. Grabbing one of the few quills he still had that wasn't a stub, he uncapped his ink, and dipped it in. He couldn't go with Hermione, and Hermione couldn't stay with him. But, possibly, he could send a little bit of himself with her, to help with the things he wouldn't be there to do himself. With great care, he began to write.

_Hermione smiled fondly; that planner had been incredibly sweet and thoughtful (as well as slightly crude, which just made it all the more perfectly Ron), and she actually still had it. She hadn't thought about it in ages, but it had really meant a lot to her during that year. Sometimes she forgot how much effort Ron actually put into things without making a big deal out of it. He didn't always understand her, and sometimes couldn't quite figure out what he had done to upset her, but the effort he went through to make things up to her spoke volumes. She thought that she forgot that sometimes, mainly because he wasn't flash about it; she wanted to do a better job of remembering that these moments were just as much a part of him as his stubborn ones._

_Ron's room blurred, changing into another bedroom, one which was clean yet devoid of personality._

The room was gray with the first hint of light as the sun struggled at the horizon, but Ron, at odds with custom, was already awake. He was propped on his side, watching Hermione as the increasing light brought more of her features into detail. She was lying partially on her stomach, her fists curled up to her chest and her lips parted. She made little, snuffling snores that Ron found endearing, although he knew he'd be eating a pillow if he pointed it out. Gently, he reached forward to move several tendrils of hair out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. Surprisingly, she didn't stir. He grinned lasciviously; maybe it wasn't so surprising. She had been brilliant last night, almost insatiable as she kept pulling him back for more. He stretched at the memory, and then winced at the pain in his back, before recalling exactly why it was so sore. Merlin, could it get any better than this? She wasn't mad at him anymore, she seemed almost pleased about his choice to work with George, and they had neither evil wizards nor misplaced parents hanging over their heads. Things were perfect.

Well. Not quite.

Hermione was still leaving in a few days, and as much as he knew she had to, and on one level he wanted her to, he hated it. Part of him hated it so much that for a few moments, he seriously considered going back with her. But that wouldn't wash, and he knew it. It was just...easier when she was near. Sometimes there was just so much going on with helping George, spending time with his mum and Harry, and getting things squared away with Kingsley that he felt he might explode. How was he going to cope going so long between visits? How was he supposed to be alone, when he was finally learning what it was like to be with her? He imagined Hermione would say that that was why they needed to be apart, and he supposed it was at least partially right. He couldn't depend on her for everything, after all, and he wouldn't want her to do that with him either.

That alone wouldn't be so bad, if it wasn't for the dreams he was having where she found someone else, or just thought it was best if they split up. He could usually convince himself he was being ridiculous, but what if he wasn't? Things like that happened.

_As if she had ever even come close! Didn't he understand that was a normal fear whenever there was distance in a relationship? She'd had her worries as well, although she didn't think she had ever mentioned them. Had he really worried about it that much? Although, she thought uneasily, she was starting to recall an event that had, in different ways, upset both of them..._

The sky was pink now, and Hermione was stirring and rolling over. Ron watched her, his eyes traveling up and down the contours of her body, desperate to remember the placement of each of her few freckles, every shadow that gathered in the creases of her body.

"What time is it?" She asked, her voice husky from sleep.

"I think it's just gone six."

He knew what was coming next; Hermione would roll out of bed, and briskly inform him that they needed to get going as she went about dressing herself. He thought about Apparating back to the Burrow alone, and suddenly couldn't bear the idea. He stretched an arm out to loop around her and pull her close, nuzzling his face through her hair until he felt the skin of her neck.

"But let's not got just yet, yeah? We can wait a little longer."

The expected protest didn't come, and he sighed as her arm draped over his waist, her hand rubbing his back lazily.

"Alright."

He squeezed her against him, wishing he could slow time down, happy that she wasn't in a rush. Let me have this, he thought silently. Let me know what happiness is, just for a few more hours.


	45. Chapter 45

**A.N. Sorry this has been so long coming; between my wifi dying alternating with docs just plain not working, it's been a struggle! But here I am, moments left of my birthday, popping this up. I think I've missed a few replies, but yes, those scenes you wanted will be included! Story notes will be added at the bottom latter, because this site is a laggy piece of crap right now.**

"Hermione, you're going to dislocate your neck if you keep doing that; don't worry, they'll be here!" Ginny said, as Hermione craned her neck to see over the crowd for the hundredth time.

"I wish I shared your faith, but I'm too afraid this is going to be second year all over again," Hermione sighed, lowering herself from the tips of her toes, which had started to ache.

Her parents hadn't been able to see her off from the station because of a doctor's appointment for her father that couldn't be rescheduled, and Ginny's parents had already left, knowing that the girls would want to say goodbye to Harry and Ron privately. But time was ticking away, and Hermione was beginning to be afraid that she wasn't going to get to see him, and she wasn't sure when the next time would be; it could be months until the Christmas break, or it could be a few weeks at a Hogsmeade weekend. Both seemed horribly far away.

"And if that's the case, then they'll find another completely mental way to get there to say goodbye, so there's no point in worrying," Ginny replied, with a frustrating amount of calmness.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Hermione said, making sure Crookshanks was secure in his basket.

The whistle could be heard as the train neared the station, and Hermione irrationally wondered if there was a spell she could use to slow it down. Had something happened to Ron, or had he just forgotten? If the former, there was no possible way she could board the train. If the latter, she was going to murder him.

_So it's alright if my body is lying in a morgue somewhere, as long as you put it there? Ron snickered, amused by her conflicting thoughts. It hadn't been his fault; it was only that-_

"Oi, Harry! Hurry up! We're gonna miss them!"

Hermione would know that voice anywhere; immediately she stood up to scan the crowd, quickly noticing where it was parting, an unmistakable thatch of red hair bobbing over most of them.

"Told you so!" Ginny said with a smug smile. "Nothing gets in Ron's way when it comes to bacon, or you; heaven help the world if he's ever going for both at once!"

She wasn't listening. Her feet had already started to move, and by the time he and Harry became visible, she was throwing herself at him with a distinct lack of concern for propriety. Her arms were around his neck, and her face was pressed to his shoulder, inhaling his scent of-smoke? she pulled back to get a good look at him, and noticed he was covered in patches of soot, from his face to his feet; Harry was sporting a similar look, with his hair more unruly looking than usual.

"Don't ask," Harry rolled his eyes at her over Ginny's shoulder.

As if that was an option. She turned back to Ron, doing a quick Cleansing Charm on him. "I thought you weren't going to make it! What happened to the two of you?"

"Thanks, didn't have time to do that myself." Ron gave a grimace, "It's all George's fault; if we had missed the train, I'd've gone back and wrung his thick neck!"

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. "Did he have the nerve to pull some sort of-" but Ron was shaking his head.

"Nah, it wasn't on purpose. We were in the shop, and one of his experiments went wrong. There was the usual explosion, but he and Fred had set things up where no one could leave the shop until whatever they messed up was contained. So we were stuck there until he could get it sorted out, but I was just about to blast a hole through the wall to get here."

"He was, too! I thought for a minute he'd do it with George's head." Harry said with amusement, his arm still around Ginny.

"Merlin knows it's hard enough," Ron agreed.

"As if you're one to talk!" Ginny laughed. "Come on, Hermione; switch with me a minute so Ron and I can get the sibling goodbyes out of the way."

Hermione shared a look with Harry as Ginny and Ron made faces at each other, the immaturity fading as they pulled each other into a hug.

At the sight, Hermione felt herself become weepy, and she threw her arms around Harry tightly, missing him already.

"I'm going to miss you both so much," she said, not for the first time.

"I know, but it wouldn't feel right if you didn't go back. Um, Hermione? I...have a favor," he whispered in her ear. "Please watch out for Ginny, alright? Last year was hell for her, and even though she doesn't say it, going back isn't going to be easy."

"I was already planning on it, so don't worry," she assured him.

It was something she had already thought of, by things Ginny had said, and Ron had actually asked her the same thing; the siblings could annoy each other, but they were also extremely protective.

_True enough. On the surface, all of his siblings had a sort of brash, roughish way of communicating. It was mostly for show, and partially due to their own brand of humor that not everyone understood. But when push came to shove, they knew they could count on the others. He might make kissy noises at Ginny while she rushed around to get ready to go out with Harry, but the flipside to that meant that he knew she had as many nightmares and bad memories as the rest of them, and he was going to do what he could to make sure she didn't have to face them alone, even if he couldn't be there with her. Of course, he had pretty much asked the same of all of them, making sure everyone was being watched out for. He'd had an almost painful need to make sure everyone was safe, and it had only diminished to a certain extent even after all this time. He suspected it was something that was going to be permanent._

"Thanks. And don't push yourself so hard, either! Otherwise Ron'll have to Apparate into the library with a tray of sandwiches."

She wrinkled her nose up. "Harry, how many times do I have to tell you that no one can Apparate-"

"Inside the barriers of Hogwarts!" Two voices joined in from behind her.

With a sniff, she said, "Well, I've got you two sorted on that, at least."

"Here, Harry; you can take the brat back n-ow!"

Ginny gave him a false smile after pinching his arm. "I believe it's Hermione getting the brat, thanks very much. See you later, Ron. Write and let me know about George, okay?"

His smile dimmed, but Ron nodded. "Yeah, I will."

As Ginny rejoined Harry, Hermione turned back to Ron. "Are you alright? Is George having one of his bad days?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't...he hasn't been drinking, or anything, but he seemed sort of...off. I'm going to go back later and check."

With a nod, she slid her arms around his waist, laying her head on his chest; she knew how much he worried about his brother, and she wished there was something she could do to help. The sound of the whistle blowing made her stomach lurch, knowing that she had only a handful of minutes left. It wasn't nearly enough time, and all of the things she had wanted to say were trapped behind the lump in her throat.

"Promise you'll write," she managed to get out.

His arms tightened around her. "So much that Pig'll have eagle wings before the month is out," he whispered in a hoarse voice.

She gave a wet laugh, sniffing back her tears as the crowd pushed around them, voices shouting back and forth as a steady stream boarded the train.

"You'd better go," Ron said reluctantly. "The ickle firsties need their Head Girl to boss them around." His tone attempted to be light, but his eyes gave him away.

"I will, in just a moment."

She knew she was being ridiculous; it wasn't as if she was never going to see him again! But she had never been to Hogwarts without him, and their relationship was so new, and-

"Hermione, hurry up! We're going to be the last ones on!" Ginny called to her.

Tearing herself away, she took a step back. "I guess I should get going. I'll write as soon as I get there!"

She turned, knowing that she had to leave now or else the train would start without her. Her feet felt like lead as she moved forward, and she gasped as a hand came down on her arm and spun her around. A pair of lips were pressed down onto hers, before Ron pulled away, his eyes suspiciously damp.

"Let me know when your first Hogsmeade visit is. I'm not waiting till Christmas to see you."

She nodded back, too shocked to speak; Ginny pulled her away, but this time, she felt much lighter. Ron was going to miss her, and somehow, they would find away to be together. It wouldn't be perfect, and she longed for the closeness of this past summer...but he was worth the wait.

_As many times as he had seen it now, it still struck him strongly just how much Hermione cared about him, and how much she was going to miss him when he wasn't with her. Sure, he knew she loved him-all this would be pointless if he didn't believe that-it was just a surprise to see it affect her so strongly. Unless there was a serious amount of pressure on her, Hermione was practical and level-headed, and knowing that her feelings for him were enough to move her like that was pretty powerful. Some people, he knew, had the mistaken impression that Hermione was a cold fish. But that was far from the truth; Hermione was passionate and felt things deeply, though she was usually capable of putting on a mask of propriety if the situation warranted it. But for him, sometimes she just let herself react naturally, and he loved being the one to see that part of her. The separation hadn't been pleasant for either one of them, and although she had said she was fine, he knew things were harder on her than she admitted._

Neat piles of paper were arranged on her desk, but Hermione stared down at them sightlessly. She still had half of an essay she needed to write, as well as writing out this coming week's' schedule for the prefects, but she couldn't bring herself to move. In previous years, she would have thrown herself into these tasks with pride and enthusiasm, but now she found herself alternately being overwhelmed by these now mundane tasks, or struggling to remember that just because these weren't life or death matters didn't mean they weren't important. She wouldn't be tortured if she didn't word her essay perfectly. Prefect rounds were to prevent couples snogging in the halls after hours, and not to be on guard against Death Eaters sneaking in to kill them all. It hadn't been quite as noticeable to her before-or maybe she had ignored it-but she was having difficulty integrating herself into everyday life.

_Ron understood all too well; he had caught himself only feeling comfortable sitting in a back corner at the Leaky with a clear view of the door, and being paranoid of the customers that came into the shop. Sometimes he caught himself taking long pauses while he stocked the shelf, confused as to how something so simple could have any significance whatsoever._

She would have thought she was going mental, if it hadn't been for Ginny and Luna, who were experiencing the same thing, and they had told her that other students that had returned after last year felt much the same. Sometimes she was afraid that she was always going to feel like this; how was she supposed to live like this the rest of her life? Other times, she was angry. Hadn't they given enough of themselves over the years? Was it going to keep stealing from their lives, even now that it was all finally over? She just wanted to feel normal again! Throwing herself back in her seat, she rubbed her eyes, struggling to get a grip on herself. She would finish these projects, take a warm, relaxing bath, and write Ron.

A knock came from Her door. "Hermione? Are you there?" Ginny's muffled voice carried through the thick wood.

With a groan, Hermione stood and crossed the room to answer it; normally she didn't mind the company-they both needed it-but tonight she wanted nothing more than to get her duties out of the way so she could write Ron and go to bed.

"Yes, Ginny? What is it?" She asked, opening the door for Ginny to come in.

Ginny shook her head. "Not me, Mcgonagall," she said, then hastily added as Hermione went pale, "She wants all of the seventh years and of age sixth years that were here last year, or that...fought that night."

Hermione gripped her wand tightly, her stomach turning over at the subject being brought up right at the site. "Did she say why?"

"No, just that we were supposed to report to her office. I've already made sure everyone else is on the way, and then came to get you myself."

"Why didn't she mention it to me first?" Hermione wondered; was she slipping up as Head Girl? Was she not reliable?

"Because it's my night for rounds, and I was already there to ask if I could Floo call home. You know Mum feels better if she can actually see all of us."

Hermione nodded, not mentioning that she knew that Mrs. Weasley wasn't the only one who needed the contact. "Alright, let's go see what this is about."

The two of them made their way briskly to the Headmaster's office, surprised to find the way already open, as if they were expected. A group of students were already inside, seated in the rows of chairs set up in front of the large desk at which Professor McGonagall sat. She nodded to them, and they both took the seats that Luna had saved for them. Once they had settled themselves, McGonagall cleared her throat.

"First of all, I would like to make clear that none of you are in trouble," she assured them, the corners of her lips turning up at the audible sighs of relief. "However, several issues have been brought to my attention, and after discussing matters with Madam Pomfrey, I have decided that some changes are in order. All of you were here last year, or else heavily involved in the war. And while the danger is past, the effects are not. I have alternate plans for the younger students, but as you all are of age, I thought it best to handle this separately. I realize that many have had to discontinue special medical care once the school year started."

Hermione felt the room go stiff, as if a wave of fear of being betrayed was sweeping over them.

"And others, upon returning, have realized that they might benefit from such as well. Still others

are needed by their families, after enduring uncertain separation. This being the case, and with the belief that it would be in the best interest of your health and wellbeing, I have decided to issue you all permission for weekend passes to return home, to attend to your medical needs as well as your family."

Excited murmuring filled the room, quelled at the stern look she shot them over her glasses. "However! As you are still students, I will of course expect you to be on your best behavior, and anyone caught abusing these privileges will have them revoked. Are there any questions?"

Hermione barely registered the buzzing voices around her, as her mind whirled with the new information. She could go home! She could spend time with her family, and work on strengthening the bonds that had been damaged last year. All three of them had been trying, but letters only did so much, and she found it easier to gauge their responses when she could see them, and her mind didn't run wild trying to read things into their letters that weren't there at all.

And, she thought with a delighted little thrill, she would get to see Ron! Waiting for Hogsmeade weekends was agonizing, and there was never enough time; she knew he would still be busy with the shop, but that just worked out perfectly to give her time with her parents, without feeling guilty about leaving anyone out.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione's head snapped up, hoping that she hadn't been daydreaming and missed anything.

"Yes, Professor?"

"As Head Girl, I expect you and our Head Boy to make sure that everyone has returned by check in."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And I would also like for you to gather everyone's forms tomorrow, and make sure that it's filled out with appropriate contact information. Once you are finished, return them to me, and then you may leave."

"Yes, ma'am, and thank you."

Ginny nudged her excitedly, her eyes glowing; apparently she wasn't the only one who was excited. There was a small stampede as everyone tried to leave as quickly as possible, eager to get ready. They waved at Luna, with promises shouted to join her for breakfast tomorrow.

"Can you believe it?" Ginny said excitedly. "This means Mum will be less nervous, _and_ I get to spend time with Harry!"

"I'm just wondering what she considers 'abusing the privilege,' Hermione answered worriedly.

Practically skipping up the stairs to the tower beside her, Ginny laughed. "Relax, Hermione! She won't know you're shagging my brother just by looking at you!"

"Ginny, hush!" Hermione whispered, glancing around frantically to make sure they weren't overheard, as they entered the common room.

"Hermione, you're of age, and no one really cares what you do off of school grounds-unless of course, you're just ashamed to admit you're shagging Ron?" She waggled her eyebrows.

With a sigh, Hermione faced Ginny, her expression serious. "Ginny, I'm not ashamed about being with Ron, in _any_ way; please don't let something like that get out."

Ginny nodded. "Oh, I know you aren't. If you were, I'd scratch your eyes out."

Mouth sagging, Hermione shook her head. "Then why did you just-"

"Because it's one thing to joke about, but another if there was an actual chance Ron would be hurt. We Weasleys may tease mercilessly-and sometimes go over the line without meaning to-but heaven help anyone who means it!"

"I don't think I'll ever fully understand sibling dynamics."

A thin, red eyebrow arched. "Remember how Ron looked after he ate that chocolate cake Mum made us before we started this year?"

Hermione giggled. "He had frosting all the way to his ears!"

"Yeah, and some people thought that that meant he was too stupid to know how to eat right, or too poor to use a fork."

She stiffened, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Who said that?" She hissed angrily.

Ginny grinned. "I lied, but congratulations; you now understand sibling dynamics."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I suppose I get your point. Anyway, I better get upstairs and finish my essay; I want everything done before tomorrow. Goodnight, Ginny!"

Climbing the stairs to her room, she hummed happily; tonight, for the first time, she wouldn't be writing Ron. She would surprise him in person tomorrow instead.

The thought was enough to fill her heart with so much light, that it pushed away the darkness.

_Ron hadn't been sure which of them had been happiest at the news; He had known that Hermione had worried that it would be harder to fix things with her parents when she wasn't able to see them very much, and he had felt pretty miserable running around trying to hold his family together, without her there to brighten his day. When she first showed up, he had almost thought he was hallucinating, but she had energetically assured him that she was real, and he had laid awake most of the night after she had fallen asleep, just holding her. That had been a high point; her second visit had been rather more disastrous._

Hermione sighed as she stepped out of the shower, patting herself dry with a nearby towel. It was nice to have a bathroom to herself without the voices of other girls filling the air-she could technically use the prefect's bath, but she usually was too tired to make the trip and back-and she had taken an extra long shower to enjoy it. She had stayed with her parents last night, and Ron had even joined them for brunch today, which had made her happy, since he hadn't been over much. Not that he wasn't welcome, or that her parents had a problem with him, but she had agreed with them that it wasn't fair for him to have to deal with the usual stress of a new boyfriend getting to know the family while there was the strain they were going through. Things weren't totally fine between them yet, but they were all able to spend several hours together now talking on light subjects without horribly awkward pauses.

She put on her pajamas, then decided, after a look in the mirror, that she should probably use a drying charm on her hair, or else she would soak Ron's pillows. She reached for her wand, but her fingers gave a small spasm and sent it rolling off the edge, where she heard it land in the wastebasket. With a huff of annoyance, she bent over to get it out, careful of what she touched. However, as she pulled out the slender piece of wood, she noticed that there were quite a few glass vials. She frowned. Had Harry or Ron been sick? Tilting her head, she read the label on one: Dreamless Sleep. Biting her lip, she levitated the others into the air, hoping that they would be something else.

They weren't.

Letting them fall back into place with a rattle, she sat on the edge of the tub, holding her head in her hands. Even if this had been spread out between two people, there were too many bottles to account for safe dosages in the amount of time before the trash would be emptied. And her logic coldly cut through the idea anyway, since Harry had his own bath on a different floor. This was all Ron's, and cold terror at the thought sucked all the warmth that had filled her from her shower.

_Ron shifted nervously. He honestly hadn't known it had been quite that bad; at the time, he knew he was taking a little too much, but he had been so caught up in everything else to really pay attention. Seeing it now, with a clearer head, showed him just how lucky he was that Hermione noticed, although he hadn't thought so at the time._

It was quickly replaced with white hot anger.

She sprang up, moving swiftly into the hall, her angry shout loud enough to be heard throughout the house. "RON!"

It took only moments for her to reach his room, where she opened the door so hard that it sounded like the knob left a dent in the wall. Ron looked up in surprise, and she could practically see him scrolling through the possibilities of what he could have done to put her in such a mood.

"WHAT THE _HELL_ WERE YOU THINKING?" She bellowed, feeling that if ever there was a situation that called for swearing, this was it.

Ron had been frozen in the act of taking off his shirt, and it slid from his grip as he attempted to figure out why a Hungarian Horntail disguised as his girlfriend had burst into his room.

"Probably the wrong thing, but you're gonna have to be a little clearer if you want to know for sure," he said cautiously.

She stomped over to him, and grabbed his hand, dragging him out of the room. Ignoring his questions and protests, she pulled him into the bathroom, and pointed at the wastebasket with her free hand, glaring at him accusingly.

"That is what I'm talking about!" She snapped, her voice quivering.

Ron followed her gesture, and turned pale enough to almost become translucent. "Oh shite."

"Hey, what's going on up here? I woke up thinking it was fourth year again," Harry's voice broke in, as he peered in at them from the hall, his hair mussed from sleep.

"DId you know about this Harry?" she asked, her voice shrill as she jerked her head at the bottles.

Harry blinked and adjusted his glasses, surprise spreading across his face, quickly followed by horrified concern. "What the hell, Ron!"

"That seems to be the theme for tonight," Ron muttered, his cheeks splotchy from embarrassment.

"No, seriously mate," Harry continued, his eyes darting between Ron and the trash, "I don't know much about these kind of things, but that much can't be good for you."

Hermione gave a hysterical laugh. "Oh, it could only put him into a permanent coma, or slow his heart to a stop. Nothing serious!"

She felt the world spinning around her, and fought off the urge to be sick.

"I didn't really notice it was that much," Ron protested weakly, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"If you were having trouble sleeping, why didn't you ever say anything?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "Why? Didn't wanna bother anyone, and it's not like I'm the only one who has nightmares and can't sleep. I just...figured everyone else did the same for it. Are you two honestly telling me you haven't taken anything for yours?"

"Ah, no," Harry shook his head, rubbing his neck. "I dunno how to explain it, but since I'm so used to nightmares, I never really thought to."

"I took it a few times," Hermione grudgingly admitted, "But after a problem with a seventh year in another house, all potions are prohibited in the dorms, and we have to go to Madam Pomfrey if we need anything."

"Oh."

Struck by an idea, Hermione whirled around and went to the medicine cabinet, practically growling when she discovered six more bottles of Dreamless sleep. "Are there anymore?" She asked.

Wide-eyed, Ron shook his head.

"There had better not be," she harrumphed, then proceeded to pour five of them down the drain.

"Hey! I still need-" Ron yelped, before being cut off.

"Not that many, you don't."

She didn't even look back as the last of the liquid went down the drain, but pulled her wand on the last bottle, concentrating to get the spells exactly right. The bottle duplicated and shrank into several smaller, single dose bottles, glowed brightly at Hermione's final spell, and then appeared normal.

"What did you do?" Harry asked curiously.

"I divided them into individual doses, and once one is opened, none of the rest will until a safe amount of time has gone by. And until these run out, I don't expect any more to be brought into this house!" She said sharply, fixing her eyes on Ron at this point.

"Yeah, I get it," he said, sounding rather sullen.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'll be better about seeing that he's alright," Harry said quietly, still looking rather shaken.

As glad as she was that Harry was taking this seriously, it troubled her deeply that Ron only seemed irritated. That sick feeling was back in full force; she couldn't stay here. Well, she couldn't Apparate in her condition, either, but she could at least move to one of the guest rooms until morning. Unable to speak, she fled, pushing her way past them and out into the hall, on her way to get her things from Ron's room. She was so busy stuffing her clothes back into her bag, that she didn't hear him come into the room behind her until he spoke.

"Hermione? What are you doing?"

She could hear the hurt and fear in his voice, but she couldn't turn to face him. "I can't stay here. Not like this," she managed to say.

His footsteps were loud as he crossed the room, and she leaned to the side as he pushed his body closer so she would have to look at him. "So, what? You're just going to chuck me, since I'm not as strong as you and Harry? Well I'm sorry for being fucking _weak,_ Hermione, but-"

His words pushed her over the edge; loud, angry drumming pulsed through her head, and she spun to face him, gripping the his arms, since he had no shirt, and shaking him.

"You just don't get it!" She sobbed, knowing she sounded like a hysterical mess, but too caught up in the feelings to stop it. "Why can't I make you understand? For years I've been living in terror that we weren't going to make it. But we did! It's over! As many times as I thought I was going to lose you, I didn't. You're alive, and you're not going to die on me now! I won't let you!"

If Ron had looked shocked before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. Whatever frustration he may have been feeling had left his face, and he now looked rather worried. That didn't stop him from putting his arms around her as her knees sagged from the barrage of emotions, and she found herself crying into his bare chest.

"Hermione," he began tentatively, "I'm not-I wasn't...I'm not gonna die, alright? Honest, I wasn't trying to...you know. I wasn't even thinking about it."

"Then how could you be taking that much?" She asked, the fight going out of her, feeling his chest rise and fall as he sighed.

"C'mere and sit down. I can feel you tightening up; your muscles are giving you hell from being upset."

She allowed him to pull her onto the bed, his arms going around her as he propped himself against the headboard so she could lean back on him.

"I know it sounds pretty stupid now, but I really didn't know I was taking that much. I got so busy with everything, I'd just take some when it was too much and I thought sleeping might help. Sometimes the nightmares would be so bad, that I'd still wake up, so I'd go take more. Most of the time I couldn't remember if I'd taken any, and since I didn't want to risk it, I'd go ahead and have a dose just in case."

Hermione closed her eyes; carelessness and dependency were bad, but she would take them over depression and addiction any day. He might have been headed dangerously close in that direction, but she prayed that it had been discovered in time.

"Ron, I think you're doing too much," she said softly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know that you've been running back and forth with everyone in your family, trying to help everyone after...after everything that happened. You've been doing the same with me and Harry, too. Then you have a job on top of that, and trying to keep on top of studying for the Aurors, building up the physical training...it's all too much."

"I won't say it's easy," he admitted, "But it's not like I can give any of it up."

She rested her hands over his, giving them a squeeze. "I'm not saying you have to do that. You just need to stop driving yourself so hard with it. You don't have to be everywhere for all of us at once, you know. You can take a day for yourself sometimes." She leaned forward so she could twist her body to face him, one of her hands leaving his so she could cup his cheek. "You give so much of yourself, Ron. It's okay to take, when you need it. Let us help you as much as you help us."

Ron pulled her closer, his forehead lowering to rest on her shoulder. "I'll try. I just feel like a tit about it. Everyone else can keep it together, but then there's stupid Ron-"

"You're not stupid!" She snapped, a bit too close to his ear, for he winced. "Harry's so messed up that it actually feels normal to be miserable, and I panic over stupid things and can't think straight half the time, as well as having nightmares. And honestly, if anyone is 'keeping it together,' it's because you've been there to help us. But as much as we appreciate that, none of us want you to break yourself doing it."

She felt a shudder run through his body, and she rested her head against his.

"I don't think it's real for me yet," he admitted, and she waited for him to continue. "What you said, about it all being over. It feels like...it feels like it could all still be taken away, and I can't let it, Hermione! I can't lose anymore..."

Tears soaked into her pajama top, and she felt her own sliding down her cheeks to join them. "That's how I felt, tonight."

"I'm sorry for making you mad like that."

"I wasn't mad, I was scared to death! Do you know what it would do to me to lose you?"

"Sorry. All I could think of was getting through one day at a time in one piece; never really hit me about the long term side of things. I promise I'll do better, so...do you think you can hold off on chucking me?"

How could he even think that?

"Ron, I wasn't chucking you. I was just upset; I was only going to another room for the night," she explained.

"Do you still have to?"

She could hear the worry in his voice, and honestly, she didn't want to. After her initial burst of fear, she had calmed down enough to realize things could be fixed if they just kept their heads. Ron hadn't been doing it on purpose, he was aware of the problem, and measures had been taken to prevent future slipups. Now waves of exhaustion were hitting her, and she just wanted to be close right now. Well, right after she...

"Do you promise that you won't hide it when you're not doing well anymore? And I don't care who you tell, as long as it's someone and we don't...end back up here."

He met her eyes, his expression serious. "Look, I'll do you one better; if things get bad and I feel too stupid to talk about it, I'll go to St. Mungo's. Is that alright?"

She blinked. That was better than she had hoped for, really. She was still going to worry and watch for signs that he wasn't doing well, but she would feel much better knowing that he was serious about getting help instead of hiding the fact that he needed it.

"Really? You'd do that? No putting it off?"

"Yeah. I hadn't-I hadn't really realized how much I was taking the stuff until I saw it all together. I know it sounds mental, but that's the truth. I don't want to die, Hermione. It's been hard, harder than I thought it'd be, but I have things to live for, and I'm not letting this get me after all the other shite we went through."

"Good. As long as you remember that."

"I reckon you'll be reminding me."

"You reckon right."

It had been an emotionally draining night, and although Hermione would have spoken more on the subject, her eyes and limbs grew heavy, and her thoughts began to wonder. She didn't protest When Ron scooted down and rolled them to their sides, spooning behind her. She heard him fumble with something, and then the lights went out. Although she was exhausted, she still needed physical, non-sexual comfort, so she rolled to face him, twining their legs together. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions, but it eased the lingering pain in her heart. Ron had been right; she was going to keep an eye on him.

He was too important to lose.

_The night had been embarrassing for him, but it had also been the wakeup call he had needed. He knew people went off the rails a little after tragedies, but he had thought that it happened like with George, who was more blatantly self destructive in his behavior. He hadn't realized that for some people it was more subtle, and could creep up on you. He had no idea how much he had started to lean on the stuff until Hermione had exploded, and then he had felt like the world's biggest tit. It had taken him awhile to see that other people weren't handling things as well as he thought; it just came out in different ways, like Harry not being able to sleep, instead he'd go for long rides on his broom, and he was always chewing his nails to bloody stumps. Hermione would drive herself so hard with schoolwork that she would send herself into a panic attack, having to sit in a dark, warded room alone to calm down. It hadn't been easy for him; the stuff stayed in his system quite awhile, and his temper was short and he had screaming headaches for a long time until his body adjusted. He'd been a right monster with George one day, and they had nearly gotten into a fight before he blurted out what his problem was. George had cuffed the back of his head, and told him to start taking better care of himself (the hypocrite). Something good had come out of it, though. He had told George that he'd do better, if George would ease off of the drink. George had rolled his eyes, but Ron noticed that afterwards he did a better job of reining himself in, and slowly began to have more steady days than not._

_While he was dealing with the stresses of his own life, Hermione was battling hers. He had known that she was having problems, and it had been one of his biggest sources of worry that he wasn't able to help. He wrote daily-sometimes only a few lines-but there was only so much you could do in letters. And although she had finally been able to get weekends away, sometimes their schedules meant that they only saw each other for twenty minutes, or not at all. But Hermione had been a fighter, and she had found some way to get herself through it all. She always wore a secretive smile when he asked how; it looked like he might finally find out._

"...So if there are no more questions about this weeks' schedule, I think that's all. Anyone?" Hermione asked, waiting for the small group of prefects to shake their heads.

"All right then, this meeting is concluded," she said, hiding her own relief as everyone fled, following them at a slower pace.

Merlin, she had never realized what a headache being Head Girl was going to be! She was constantly trying to work around everyone's schedules. Someone was always dropping out sick, or forgetting to show up for rounds-so of course, she would have to do them to make sure it got done on time. Hermione believed in rules. She really did. While some may seem silly and pointless, she believed that the structure was for the overall well-being of the students. But sometimes she found it very hard to care; so what if a couple was snogging in an empty classroom? She had very nearly died before she ever got a chance to kiss the boy she cared about, so why did she have to prevent someone else from having the same opportunity? Of course, logically, she knew why, but she found herself delivering detentions in a very half hearted manner, when once she would have given them an enthusiastic lecture on top of it. She rubbed her head, hoping to dispel the high pitched buzzing noise.

"I'm telling you, it's impossible to create food from nothing! If you'd actually do some research instead of coming up with these wild fantasies-"

Oh, Hermione thought, the buzzing wasn't in her head, after all. It was the voice of Ermengarde Highwaters, who appeared to have three of her fellow second years trapped against a wall as she lectured them. The bespectacled girl with tight black braids brightened when she saw Hermione coming, and Hermione stifled a groan, knowing that as Head Girl, it was necessary to be patient with the younger students.

"MIss Granger, Miss Granger! Please tell them that it's impossible just to conjure up food out of thin air!"

Hermione walked closer to the group, hoping it would get the girl to keep her voice down. Other students were turning to look at the noise, but most quickly scurried away once they realized the cause. The three trapped second years were red with embarrassment, the two boys and one girl looking as if they wished a conveniently placed secret tunnel was behind the tapestry beside them.

"Yes, that's true, although that isn't in any of the second year material," Hermione confirmed, trying to make it clear that there was no reason for the others to know any different.

"But I was right!" Ermengarde protested, appearing rather affronted that Hermione didn't seem to be on her side.

"You can be right without making other people feel stupid about it," Hermione said, perhaps more bluntly than she should have, but she was fairly certain it wouldn't get through otherwise.

"I don't make them feel stupid! Isn't that right?" She turned, appealing to the others.

She was met by stony faces, and blinked.

"You always have to make a big deal about it, even when we're in front of other people. It's embarrassing." One boy finally said, scowling.

"Even when we're just joking around, you have to turn it into some sort of lesson," the girl, slightly taller than the others added.

"And it doesn't matter when we're right about something, because you just say that whatever it is isn't important."

Ermengarde spluttered at these revelations, as if completely surprised by their feelings. "That's not-I never-"

"Oh come on, let's leave before she tells us we're wrong about what we _think!"_ The first boy spat, pushing away from the wall and stalking away, the other two following him.

Hermione felt a spark of sympathy as she watched the young girl deflate; had she ever been that bad? She suspected the answer was yes, and she cringed. She knew what it was like to want to share information, and the desire to be right in any situation. But seeing it played out from this side made it exceedingly clear why few ever listened.

"I didn't know they felt like that," Ermengarde said, her voice quivering and moisture gathering at her eyelids.

"I know it feels nice to be right," Hermione said gently, "but you can't forget the feelings of others to do it. I was lucky enough to find people that accepted that about me, but I also hurt them, and others, pretty often without meaning to. I'm still working on not doing that. Sometimes you have to let others be wrong, and sometimes, you have to accept that you don't know everything about every subject, and that doesn't make it stupid."

"I...But...I don't know how," Ermengarde admitted plaintively.

"It takes work. But apologizing to them would be a good start."

Ermengarde nodded, and walked in the direction the others had gone, moving much slower than her usual brisk pace. Hermione added checking on her later to her already too long list of things to do.

"Excuse me?"

Hermione turned to find Fiona, a fifth year Ravenclaw standing behind her.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"I was just supposed to tell you that Cecil won't be able to do rounds tonight; he's come down with some sort of stomach bug."

"Alright, thank you for telling me. I'll work something out," Hermione replied, struggling to remain pleasant.

The girl nodded and went on, while Hermione rubbed her head once again. This was the third time this month Cecil had been struck down by a mysteriously convenient illness, while remaining in quite robust health on any day that he wasn't required to do something. She was going to have to pin him down for a very firm discussion in the near future. She also had three tests to revise for, two essays to write, and another career meeting to attend. Her parents wanted her to go on an overnight vacation with them this weekend, and she still needed to squeeze in dinner Sunday night with Ron, Harry, and Ginny. All of which should have been simple-for her at least-but now whenever she made plans, she kept looking over them for some unseen danger, her mind listing all the possible way things could go wrong. It had been a beneficial way of thinking in the past, but now, it was ridiculous and exhausting.

"Did you just survive an encounter with Ermengarde?" Ginny asked, coming up beside her.

"She's just a second year, Ginny. She isn't that bad."

Ginny gave her a disbelieving look.

"Oh, alright; she's a bit much, but she'll grow out of it. I told her she needs to...tone it down a bit, so hopefully she'll take my advice."

An impish smile burst forth on Ginny's face. "I wish Ron could hear you say that; can you imagine what he'd say?"

Hermione sniffed. "Probably something highly uncomplimentary about pots and cauldrons," she said.

She could just imagine him saying that, too, his eyes lit with unholy glee at the thought of her dealing with a miniature version of herself. Irritation faded into amusement, and she had to laugh; it would give him enough material for weeks.

"That's a good sound," Ginny commented, "I don't think I've heard you laugh in ages."

"Of course I laugh!" Hermione protested, although to be honest, she couldn't really recall the last time...

"If you do, it's never at school, " Ginny said, growing serious. "Are you alright, Hermione? Sometimes it...it seems like you have a hard time being happy."

Hermione paused. That wasn't true, was it? She was happy. She was rebuilding things with her family, who were blessedly, wonderfully alive. There was no need to worry about Voldemort coming after Harry anymore. The Ministry was being weeded out and heavily scrutinized. She was finally in a loving, stable relationship with the man she had been waiting on for years. Her marks were at the top of the class, and she even held position as Head Girl. Yes, she was happy. It was just...sometimes, she got so distracted that she forgot to experience it. There were so many thoughts rushing around inside of her head.

"I am happy, really," she finally replied, "I just have a harder time seeing the lighter side of things. For some reason, I always get so focused on what needs to be done, or what needs to be fixed."

Ginny nodded. "I guess it's because I've always been used to seeing you with Ron. He's always been the one that could snap you out of that-and I know you've needed that more after last year. But...Ron can't always be with you, and I hate to think that you're missing out on enjoying things while they're happening."

"Don't worry, Ginny. I'll work on it, I promise."

"Good."

Ginny was right; Ron wasn't always going to be with her, and she couldn't let herself sink into a miserable funk just because he wasn't there to lift her mood. On the other hand, he was there, wasn't he? After all, you carried the people you loved in your heart. Hadn't she laughed just now, merely by imagining what Ron would say?

Over the next week, Hermione tried something. Whenever she felt herself becoming frustrated, or she found herself obsessing over lists and schedules, she sat back, and imagined what Ron would say about some of the events in her day. While it didn't always work-some days were just too bad-she found herself seeing the humor in situations more often, and being reminded that one small thing not going according to plan wasn't the end of the world. It was a trick, she found, that especially helped her in dealing with people that irritated her. She would practically hear Ron's drawled comment, and it diffused her enough that she was able to deal with them without losing her temper. It was a freeing sensation, this gift that Ron had given her without knowing.

_Ron was at a loss. He had hated the fact that he hadn't been able to be with her to help much that year. But to think that just thinking of him, and imagining things he would say, would have such an impact on her...it was amazing. While there was nothing better than making her laugh after a shite day, he had never wanted her to have to rely on his presence to be happy. He knew there were times when they would have to be apart because of his job, and although it was true he wanted to be missed, he didn't want her to go for weeks at a time without any joy in her life. The fact that she had found a way to see the lighter side herself because of his influence in her life was something that left him a little choked up._

_A thrill of excitement shot through him, which he recognized as Hermione's; he was back in the Head Girl's room again, as she flew around getting ready._

Hermione went over her mental list again, making sure she had everything packed for the weekend. Her parents were visiting friends they had met in university, which meant she would be staying at Grimmauld Place until it was time to come back. She hadn't seen Ron at all last week since he had to go to a trade show with George, and she missed spending time with him. She was also in desperate need of having him take her mind off her impending N.E. . Ginny might have helped, if she wasn't in the same boat.

Standing in front of the mirror, she gathered her hair up and held it behind her, trying to decide if it would be better up or down today. Hm. She'd been having stress headaches lately, so she wasn't too keen on wearing a tight band. Luckily, fate had decided to be kind. and it was less fluffy than usual. Down it was. Grabbing her bag, she zipped out the door, practically bouncing as she made her way downstairs. The smell of hot breakfast food tempted her, but she was too excited to sit down to eat. She would see if Ron wanted to pick something up-even if he had already eaten, he wouldn't turn down a second breakfast. She giggled; he was rather like an extremely tall hobbit, in that regard.

"...seriously, with Ron Weasley?"

Hermione paused at the sound of Ron's name. People were still talking about the events of last year, and while she enjoyed hearing Ron actually getting his fair share of praise, she wasn't above stepping in if comments were less than complimentary.

"That's right. I met him in his brother's shop last month, and he was quite eager to start an... _.intimate_ friendship, if you know what I mean."

Hermione felt her lips curl into a sneer. Oh, one of _those._ She tried to get a better look; the speaker was a sixth year, she thought; Hufflepuff, by the tie. Did girls like that know how pathetic they sounded, making up-

"Go on, I don't believe you! He already has a girlfriend, from what I hear; what would he want with you?"

At least one of them had sense, Hermione thought, not liking the sly glint in the other girl's eye.

"What do you think he wanted? And quite often, at that. Near wore me out, and made me promise to meet him again! If you don't believe me, just ask him whether or not he's got three freckles on his left bollock; that'll teach you to call people liars."

Hermione backpedaled around the corner, a sick, dizzy feeling creeping over her before she turned and fled back up the stairs. Once back in the safety of her room, she locked the door and tottered over to the bed, falling down on it in a boneless heap, her bag sliding to the floor.

It couldn't be true.

But then, how would that girl know about those freckles?

Ron would never, ever do something like that to her. Even if he had decided that...that it was best to break up, he would have done that before he got involved with someone else.

So then, how did she _know?_

Desperately, she wracked her brain for a reason, _any_ reason, that would explain that girl having that particular bit of knowledge. Try as she might, nothing even remotely plausible came to her. She hugged her pillow close, her tears soaking right into the thick featherdown. There was a tug of war going on inside her head; the side of her that trusted Ron implicitly, warring with the side of her that demanded that she not ignore facts. She didn't know what to do. All she knew was that until she decided, she wasn't going to be able to see him. If it wasn't true, he'd be horribly hurt. And if it was true, then she would be losing something even deeper than a lover or a best friend; she would be losing the ability to believe in her own judgement, something that had already been feeling precarious in the past year.

She...she would figure this out. All she needed was a little time, and the solution would come to her.

It had to.

_Just when Ron had started to think he was immune to surprises by this point, something like this comes along and proves just how wrong he could be. Numbly, he sank onto the bed beside her, shocked by this latest revelation. First of all, he was completely baffled how this had happened, and slightly worried. Because the truth was, he did, in fact, have those particular freckles in question-Hermione had made rather a habit of tracing them with both fingers and tongue. Second, he was a little frightened. The three of them had endured a certain celebrity after the battle, and some people were downright scary with how invasive they could be. He knew he hadn't been with anyone else, but the thought that someone might've managed to get through his defenses enough to see him with his bits out made him shudder._

_There had been a twinge of hurt that Hermione didn't immediately know he hadn't done it, but he quickly realized how stupid that was. For one thing, when it had just been a verbal claim the other girl had made, Hermione had dismissed it right away. There was a big, big difference in believing in someone, and being ridiculously blind to evidence. Honestly, given Hermione's typical pattern of trusting in cold, hard facts, it was a miracle that she hadn't taken them at face value. This wasn't some bint just claiming that he had shagged her; this was a bint that had very personal information, and no other reasonable explanation for having it. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out how she knew. Hermione had never mentioned anything like this, and he started to wonder how she had handled it, when something clicked in his brain, and he groaned. He knew exactly when this was; it had been during the two and a half most miserable weeks of that year, when he had been convinced that she was going to chuck him._

Hermione looked out her window, watching students walking around the grounds in pairs or small groups. Some were taking the path to Hogsmeade, where they would Apparate home for the weekend. She hadn't made that trip in almost three weeks. She bit her lip, glancing over to the desk, where Harry's most recent letter lay.

'Hermione.

You know I don't often step in between you and Ron (that might be an undertatement, but bear with me), but this time I have no choice. I have no clue what's happened, and from what I gather, neither does Ron. The only clear fact I have is that Ron thinks you've 'finally wised up and thrown him over,' and no matter how many times I tell him that can't be true, I can't get it through that thick ginger skull of his. He's not sleeping, either. I've been keeping an eye on the Dreamless Sleep situation, and now it looks like he won't touch the stuff-and he could use it, because I hear him wandering around the house every night. It's a good thing he has that freakish metabolism, because he's stress eating. Hermione, you don't _understand._ Kreacher, Mrs. Weasley, and all the stands in Diagon Alley combined can't keep him fed; the first two are going to go broke trying, and the last will be able to retire before they're thirty. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't smile. And I swear to God, if I have to hear him moan one more depressing Celestrina Warbeck ballad, murder will be done in this house.

Please. I'm begging you. Come back and fix things with him. Do it through a Floo call, if you have to. At least answer one of his letters. Just do something before things get worse-although I shudder to think how that would be possible.

Harry.'

Hermione sighed, rubbing her forehead. She still hadn't been able to decide, and she hadn't told anyone else, either. Aside from a few short, falsely bright notes to let Ron know she wouldn't be coming, she had felt too bad to reply to any of his letters. But she had read them. They started out understanding, with the usual humorous stories of work and grumbling about same; news about Harry, and his family, and of course, how much he missed her-that last cutting at her conflicted heart. Then irritation began to creep in, and she could detect a slight amount of hurt at her lack of response, which she would have felt as well, had she been in his place. Now, his letters were short, but mournful; asking if he had done something, and attempts to get her to meet him. She had felt horrible, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to go until she had come to some sort of plan. But Harry's letter told her quite clearly that she couldn't keep going on like this. It wasn't fair to at least give Ron a chance, or to cut him off cleanly, instead of leaving him hanging like this.

What was she to do? Her head, or her heart? Both were important to her, and both had failed, as well as benefitted her before. She sat on the edge of her bed, stealing another glance at the letter. Hearing how much Ron was suffering made her chest ache; the pain was enough to almost drown out that felt from the poisonous words she had heard. Closing her eyes, her heart filled with resolve. She would ask him, point blank, if he had been unfaithful. If he had been...well, Ron wasn't very good at hiding things. If he had, it was over, no going back. But if he said he hadn't...she would believe him. As damning as the evidence was, she would put her trust in him, and let this go.

_Ron knew that this was one of the memories he would be able to use for a Patronus for the rest of his life. It was also one that made him angry-or maybe angry was too strong, but at least deeply upset. Why hadn't she told him all this? The chance to defend himself aside, he could have really used this information. After the war, he had beaten himself up over leaving them; his mind wouldn't let go of alternate scenarios of what could have happened, and he was tormented by dreams of letting them down again. Even though Harry and Hermione had both forgiven him, he hadn't forgiven himself, and he couldn't see how they could still trust him. To know that Hermione, who believed in facts and evidence with an almost religious fervor, had chosen to trust him that much...it would have given himself something to hold onto on the days that the doubts in his head became too loud. He was also rather confused, because according to his own memory, Hermione never got around to asking him._

Briefly, she felt the peace that came from finally making an important decision; it was quickly replaced by nervousness at how this would go. With a sharp shake of her head, she grabbed her bag and marched downstairs and out of the castle, only mildly surprised not to see Ginny on the way. Ginny had been a bit cool lately, but Hermione didn't blame her. As good of friends as they were, Ron was her brother, and was being needlessly hurt to all outward appearances. She would deal with that once she got things squared away with Ron. Once she was past the first bend on the way to Hogsmeade, Hermione took a breath, and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

Arriving just outside of the bustling crowds, Hermione took a moment to check herself over for any sign of Splinching; goodness knew she was nervous enough for it. Everything seemed present and accounted for, so she stepped out into the throng of people and began to walk in the direction of the shop. It appeared to be doing a considerable amount of business, and part of her wondered if it might not be best to wait until he got off this evening. No. She would never be able to stand the wait. Stiffening her spine, she held her head high and did her best Head Girl march down the sidewalk, not even registering how people instinctively moved out of her way. She entered the shop with a large group, ducking into an aisle to get her bearings. She hadn't seen Ron, but knew he had to be here. But, now that she was ready to do this, the question of exactly where to do so presented itself. It wasn't exactly the type of conversation meant to be held in public, but she couldn't exactly take him away from work, could she?

"Hermione?"

She whirled around, coming face to face with George, whose look of surprise quickly morphed into almost stony suspicion.

"What are you doing here?"

"I-I'm here to see Ron," she stuttered in response to the blunt question.

George grunted. "Oh, so you finally got around to doing that? And just what was it, exactly, that made you decide today of all days not to ignore him? Has he done something _worthy_ to be in your presence?"

A gasp escaped her at his harshness, and her tension found release in righteous anger. "How dare you! I've never thought he had to earn my attention, and you shouldn't go running your mouth off about things you know nothing about!"

"I know Ron's been dragging around here like his heart's been torn out, more miserable since he's been since the funeral, all because of you. What more do I need to know?"

"And how do you think I've felt, with someone going around saying that Ron's shagged-" Eyes widening, she slapped a hand over her mouth.

George's expression of anger turned to cold disgust. "And you believed that Ron would actually do that? You've got nerve, Granger, to come in here and tell me you'd buy the lies of some attention seeking bitch over everything you know about my brother."

His words cut deep, because they were exactly what she had been telling herself. Pain tore more of the truth from her before she could stop the words.

"What am I supposed to think, when she knows about the freckles on his-um, his..." she trailed off, her face flushing deeply.

George squinted at her. "Knows about the what on his what now?"

She stared at the floor as he leaned in to catch her mutterings, jerking her head up as he lurched back with a groan, slapping his hand to his forehead.

"This bird, she wouldn't be a couple inches taller than you, blondish, with an upturned nose? Hufflepuff?"

"Yeeeessss?" Hermione answered slowly, alarm bells going off in her head.

George went deathly pale, and then flushed a deep red, letting out a strangled moan. "Oh shite. Of all the...Hermione, this is my fault."

Eyes blazing, she pushed herself forward, her hand tightening around her wand. "Was this some sort of _prank?"_ She hissed.

"No, no!" George denied, waving his hands and taking a step back, shooting a quick, sickly grin to a passing customer that glanced at them curiously.

"It wasn't a prank, it was just-shite." He ran a hand through his hair, giving it a sharp tug. "I came to work a little tight-big surprise, I know-and in a foul mood. I wasn't in any shape to be around customers, and Ron had tried to keep me in the back so I wouldn't make a bloody fool of myself. Well, naturally that hacked me off, so I came out to work the register alongside him. Things hadn't gone too bad, or at least not as bad as I'd been on other days, until that girl came to the counter to pay. I was running my mouth, and somehow or other, the subject got around to Ron. She asked if we were close, and in a supremely witty moment, I said we were so close I knew him right down to the three freckles on his left bollock. It set him off, and he stormed out for the day. The girl giggled and paid, and I didn't think anything more of it."

Hermione felt her jaw sagging, and she shut it with a snap, before she growled, "What in heaven's name possessed you to say something like that?"

George shrugged, his shoulder sagging, his face taking on that aged look that he had worn since last spring. "I dunno, Hermione. You know I don't mean half the crap I spew at the best of times, but lately...lately I can't seem to tell anymore what's funny and what isn't. Jokes used to come so easy, but now..."

She felt tears of relief and frustration pricking her eyes. "Do you have any idea the trouble that thoughtless nonsense has caused?"

"Of course I do! And I've hated to see him like this, honest. I didn't mean for...I just wanted to show him he couldn't boss me about in my own shop."

It sounds as if you needed it," she said frostily.

He nodded. "Yeah. And I think that's why I was mad, really. "I'm sorry about this. The whole damn thing is my fault. Ron's in the back, since he's been too upset to work out here-in the last two weeks he's knocked over six displays and made two little kids cry with the expression on his face-so do you think you could go back and make things up?"

Hermione sighed. "Of course I can. I knew there had to be some...well, I just couldn't believe it of him. I feel like an incredible fool, but we'll work things out. But George, you've got to get ahold of yourself. I know things aren't right for you, but you can't go on like this. You're going down, and taking everyone else down around you."

She knew she was being blunt, but while she understood George's reckless, almost self destructive actions, they were affecting those around him, and she was truly afraid of what might happen.

He nodded, looking like an embarrassed eight year old, unable to fully meet her eyes. "Yeah, I know. I've been trying to put the stopper in the firewhiskey more often than not, though, and Lee has an uncle who, well, knows how to handle this sort of thing. I'm not sure how much good it's doing, but I'm trying. I wouldn't hurt Ron like this on purpose, you know. He's been...bloody brilliant, really, dragging my sorry arse around and putting up with my shite."

As much as she wanted to, Hermione couldn't find it in her to stay mad. George had been erratic for the past year, and Ron had told her that there were days he would start a fight, only to come back and apologize an hour later. And this time, he might have meant to annoy Ron, but he hadn't meant to cause trouble on anything remotely close to this level, and she could tell just by his body language that he was truly sorry. It also sounded as if he was finally making more of an effort to move on and get the help he needed. If he was actually doing that, she couldn't see holding a bad day against him. Maybe not on his level, but she'd had her share herself, and she knew how much harder it was when you had to deal with guilt on top of everything. As long as no permanent harm was done, she would let this go. Right now, her main concern was Ron.

She shifted the strap of her bag, which was digging into her shoulder, and gave him the ghost of a smile. "I know. I wish it hadn't happened, but I'll let it go as long as it doesn't happen again. Ron is in the storage room, right? I know he's supposed to be working, but I think it's only fair that you let me go back and fix all of this."

George nodded rapidly, looking relieved. "Sure, sure. Go on back. If his face gets any longer, it'll be as tall as he is. I know he'll wanna murder me later, but it's better than seeing him like that."

Leaving him in the aisle, Hermione set out for the back room, her emotions swirling within her. She had been right! Her faith in Ron hadn't been misplaced, and she had a new respect for Luna's opinion that evidence didn't always mean everything. Those feelings buoyed her to the door, where she heard shuffling behind the thick wood. Peering in, she found Ron, slowly moving jars from a box on the floor to stack them on shelves, letting out a gusty sigh in the process. He must have heard her, because he turned around, his eyes going wide. They were ringed by dark circles, and the desperate, hopeful expression in them nearly knocked the air from her lungs. She knew he had been hurting, but to see it...

Without stopping to think, she launched herself across the room, her bag falling to the floor as she entered his arms. She heard him grunt, and she buried her face in his neck, wrapping her arms tightly around her neck to help pull herself up.

He pulled back a little. "Hermione? Wh-what are you doing here?"

She began peppering his neck and face with small kisses, speaking as she moved from his jaw to the corner of his lips. "I missed you, and I've come to spend the weekend with you."

He made an attempt to keep his voice light, but Hermione heard the pain, as well as the fear. "Really? I thought...I thought you might've come to break things off."

The very idea tore her up to think about; after everything they had been through, finally being with him, after coming so close only to fail at the last minute several times-it hit her. For weeks she had been wondering how she could possibly doubt Ron, but now she realized that her doubts had nothing to do with Ron himself. In the past, she had gotten her hopes up so many times with Ron, only for something to happen to dash them. Part of her had felt that finally being with him was like living in a dream, that it was too good to last. As if something had to go wrong, because it always had before. Well, not this time! They were together, and she didn't plan on letting anything change that.

"Don't be ridiculous. Who would remind you to hang up your wet towels, and make sure you didn't make yourself sick with Chocolate Frogs?"

She felt him bury his face in her neck as he lifted her closer, his laugh sounding almost like a sob.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said quietly, "I've been overthinking some stupid things, but I promise, I've never wanted to break things off with you."

He paused, moving his head back to search her eyes. What he saw must have reassured him, because he kissed her, his lips moving against her hungrily. Hermione put all of her feelings for him into that kiss, determined to make it very clear to him during this visit just how much she loved him. Ron's hands had dropped to her waist, before sliding around to cup her bum. His fingers dug into the flesh, pulling her close enough that she could feel the unmistakable shape of his erection through his trousers. His touch wasn't gentle, but neither was hers. With an almost savage movement, she yanked his jumper over his head, the salt from his skin burning her tongue as she bit down on his collar bone.

She needed to be close to him; she was desperate to reassure and be reassured, to re-establish the connection with him that had been neglected for too long. The need was intense enough to drive any concerns about whether or not this was a good idea right out of her head, and Ron tugging at the zip of her jeans did nothing to help. She wiggled her hips to try to make it easier, and he groaned as she brushed against him. Absently, she toed her shoes off and kicked her jeans aside. Her hands darted over his body feverishly, across his chest, and up and down his arms as she sucked and nibbled along his neck. The air was cool on her legs, with goosebumps prickling her thighs. They were quickly warmed by Ron's hands, as he slid them over her, before suddenly gripping them by the backs and lifting her up. He turned quickly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pushed her against the shelves. His face was flushed a deep red, and he wore an almost drunken expression. His eyes, though, were filled with a swirl of emotions. Lust. Need. Adoration. Fear. Love. She gripped his hair, and pulled his head closer for a bruising kiss.

Her teeth vibrated with the harsh, growling sounds he was making, and she couldn't help but whimper in response when he ground himself into her. With a gasping breath, Ron dropped his head to rest on her shoulder, the muscles under her hands tense.

"Fuck!" He hissed, pressing her down harder on himself. "Hermione, you feel so...I can't...need you so much! If you wanna stop, you're gonna have to tell me..."

Stop? Why on earth would she want him to stop? She thought hazily. "Want you. Now."

His head snapped up so he could look at her, and her spine dug into the shelves behind her while his shaking hands undid his trousers. It was uncomfortable, but that faded to the back of her mind as he slid into her. Their movements were jerky and short, but neither seemed to mind. All Hermione cared about was the fact that they were finally together again. All of the worry, all of the pain she had been carrying around was finally melting away. Ron was here, with her. He loved her, and she loved him-she refused to let anything get in the way of that again. Her resolve caused her muscles to clench, and Ron yelled her name as he came; throwing her head back, she joined him.

Hermione slid down as Ron lost his grip a bit, and both of them, on shaky legs, managed to retrieve their clothes. They smiled at each other as they performed Cleansing Charms, giggling a little at the absurdity of their situation. Hermione was just about to tell him that she would meet him at Grimmauld Place later, knowing he needed to get back to work, when there was a knock on the door right before it opened.

"Hey, I was just checking to make sure-" George started, poking his head around the door. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, his gaze darting between their guilty expressions. "You didn't just...Oh come on! You just desecrated my work room, didn't you? Before I had a chance to do it _myself?"_

"We didn't desecrate anything," Hermione sniffed, striving to look less embarrassed than she felt. "Did you want something?"

George rolled his eyes. "I was just going to check to make sure everything was alright with you, but clearly, things are fine."

"Sorry," Ron mumbled, "It was just, we...and then..."

"Stop! I don't need the gorey details. Look, why don't you take off early? I can't decontaminate the place while you're still here."

"Wait, seriously?" Ron asked, as if looking for a catch.

"Yes Ron, why don't you? I think he owes you a day off, at least," Hermione cut in, shooting George a meaningful look.

He raised his eyebrows, but she shook her head slightly. Everything was fine now; no sense upsetting Ron again by getting George in trouble.

With a rustle and a clinking sound, George tossed Ron a small bag he had pulled from his robes. "Here, why don't you take her out, Ron? It'll make up for the, um, sandwich earlier."

Ron's eyes bugged as he saw how many Galleons there were. "This is too much! Here, take some-"

But George just waved his hand. "Keep it; it's about time you had a bonus, anyway. Now go on, before I recover from my generous impulse!"

Hermione picked up her discarded bag, and smiled at Ron. "So, where are we going to go eat?"

He opened his mouth, and suddenly paused, looking surprised. Then he smiled at her, taking her hand. "You know, I'm not very hungry right now; you go ahead and pick."

She frowned. "Well, if you're really not hungry..." Was something wrong?

His eyes gleamed wickedly, and he leaned closer to whisper. "Don't worry. I suspect my appetite will pick back up. For dessert."

She blushed, then smiled brightly. No, nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong, at all.

_Only that wasn't quite true, was it? Ron mused. He had been so happy just to be back with Hermione, that he had never really pressed about what had been wrong. Maybe, for some people, that wouldn't have been a problem. For him, though, not knowing had affected him, even if it was subtly. He had tasted the fear of losing her. He had always known it was possible, but for the first time he knew what it felt like. No warning, no reason, just suddenly cut off. It had never, he realized, fully left him. Sometimes he was gripped with the knowledge that it could all be over, and he might never know why, or have a chance to fix it. He knew why she hadn't wanted to talk about it. He understood it. But he had needed to know. To know that he hadn't done anything. To know there had been a reason. If he had at least known that she had needed time to think about something that was bothering her, it would have helped. The make up sex had been incredible, and he couldn't deny that they both had needed it, but they shouldn't have used it to replace talking things out. They had skipped ahead a step, and had never gone back and corrected that. It was something, he knew, that they would fall into the habit of doing more often than not. It was something that was going to have to change. Not, of course, that he planned on cutting the sex part out. They just needed to...prioritize a bit._

_That had been one of the lowest points of that year, but that didn't mean they all were; in fact, some things had changed for the better, and he was glad to see a happier memory after the strain of this last one._

Hermione picked up the large covered bowl of bread from the counter and followed Ginny, who had the tray of ham, to the long table set up outside the Burrow. The excitement of graduating was finally starting to die down, and she had just returned from a short trip with her parents to France. They had had a nice time, marred only by one small incident where Hermione had accidentally pointed her wand at her mother while they were in the rental cottage; it had hurt watching her mum have a panic attack, but she had seemed fine once she had calmed down and had a nap. It was a reminder that things still weren't quite the same, but her mother coming in to fuss over her hair before they went out for dinner that night helped to reassure her that her mum wasn't holding it against her.

Loud voices outside brought her back to the present, reminding her that there was much to celebrate. Harry had joined the Auror academy this spring, and Ron, after months of late night studying and physical training on top of his job with George, would be joining him this fall. Ginny was in negotiations with the Harpies, and Hermione had been offered a job in the RCMC that would start in October. It was strange, in away, that after having felt old for so many years, to finally be entering into the realms of normal adulthood. Each of them were excited about this new phase in their lives, and she found that the only thing marring it was Ron's odd behavior. He was acting shifty and skittish, almost as if-

"Spiders." Ginny said, putting down the platter near the head of the table.

"Sorry?" Hermione asked, thinking she had missed something.

"Ron. He's acting like he's walking through a room full of spiderwebs, the way he's ducking and dodging. Do you know what's up with him?"

Hermione shook her head, placing the bowl alongside the gravy boat. "Not a clue; he's been that way since I got here, and I get the distinct impression that he's avoiding me."

"Which is strange, because he can't seem to stop staring at you," Ginny gave an amused nod towards their topic of conversation.

A glance up at Ron had him jerking back alongside Bill, as if she wouldn't be able to see him at all.

"I was hoping he might want to do something after dinner, but I guess not. I'd feel awfully foolish walking down one side of the street with him on the other."

"Well, something's definitely up. Potter got all shifty-eyed when I asked him earlier; I'll see if I can squeeze it out of him tonight, if Ron hasn't cracked by then."

Their conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley calling everyone to eat, and she soon found herself sitting next to her very jumpy boyfriend. It became quickly apparent that conversation would be useless, since Ron was consuming food at an alarming rate. She became suspicious that he was doing so on purpose, because every time she turned to him, he shoved a large bite into his mouth. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the strangely smug smile that Harry couldn't quite suppress, and she made a mental note to tell Ginny not to use the pleasant methods of information squeezing. Still, at least it couldn't be too bad; Harry wouldn't be smiling like that otherwise. She just hoped that Ron planned on sharing whatever it was with her soon, before she was forced to march him down to her parents' office and strap him into a chair.

Once dinner was over, and she was standing to help clear the table, she felt a tug on her wrist, and looked down into Ron's upturned face.

"Go for a walk with me?"

"But shouldn't I-"

"Don't worry, Harry'll help clear up. Please?"

She felt bad about leaving, but if doing so would mean finding out why he looked like he had swallowed a frog...

"Alright, then."

Nearly knocking his chair over in his haste to stand, Ron gave her a crooked smile, before taking her hand and leading her towards the small, wooded area at the far end of the property. The sun was quite low in the sky, and the air was filled with the sounds of crickets chirping, and the frogs in the pond croaking back and forth. Once they were out of sight of the Burrow, Ron stopped, turning to face her, his hand tightening around hers. He licked his lips and took a deep breath, and she watched the muscles in his throat strain as he swallowed.

"I w-wanted to ask you something," he said, his voice squeaking at the beginning before steadying.

She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that; they had to come all the way out here, just for a question? "What is it?"

He shuffled his feet before speaking. "I know you haven't made plans yet, and I wanted to ask before you did," he took another deep breath, "I was hoping that you'd move in with me at Grimmauld Place, temporarily."

"You mean, with you and Harry?"

But Ron shook his head. "No. I mean, yeah, Harry is there too-it is his house and all-but you'd be with, well, _me."_

"Then what did you mean by temporarily?"

"Just that...you'd move in there with me now, and then...and then move with me into our own flat in about a year."

Visions of a small but cozy flat flashed through her mind; coming home from work, and the two of them throwing dinner together in the kitchen. Both of them cuddled on the couch in the evenings, talking about their day. Her heart sped up at the thought, and the possible implication of his question. Was he asking her to marry him?

"Ron...are you proposing?"

He jumped, nearly dropping her hand. "What? No! I'm not-well, I'm not right _now._ I know I'm not the most romantic bloke, but I'm gonna ask better than this when I do!"

She was surprised to find herself mildly disappointed. While she wasn't quite ready to get married, she found that she didn't mind the idea of a long engagement. But disappointment was quickly replaced by the thrill of knowing that while not today, Ron was planning on asking her. Tucking that thought away to enjoy later, Hermione focused on the question at hand. She could say yes to moving into Grimmauld Place with no hesitation, and she would even be happy about the flat idea, except...

"Ron, I would love to," she started, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

"I'm sensing a 'but' in there somewhere," he said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping.

"It's not that I don't want to!" She hurried to explain, not letting his hand fall away from hers. "I just don't see how we could save enough to get a flat in just one year."

Surprisingly, Ron grinned. "We don't need as much as you're probably thinking. It turns out that Lee's cousins own a building, and they prefer to have people that they know. One family is going to be moving out next year, and Lee says the place isn't anything big or fancy, but it's clean and in good repair. If we promise to keep an eye on his grandfather, and do things like run errands for him, and maybe play chess with him once a week or so, we can get a really good discount."

She blinked. "Really? That's all? No other catch?"

He shook his head. "Apparently, tenants that won't cause problems are pretty important to them. The only other thing is we have to furnish it ourselves."

Having seen a few examples of the horrors passed off as 'furnished,' that sounded more like a luxury to her.

"So Harry's alright with me moving in, then?"

Ron scoffed. "Of course he is-wait-does that mean you will?"

He looked so excited, so _happy_ at the prospect that it made her heart swell. Somehow she had gone from being a nightmare, to being someone he wanted to build a life with. She wished, for a moment, that she could go back and tell the girl she used to be in fourth year and tell herself that things weren't as hopeless as they seemed. That Ron would look at her not just the way she had dreamed, but in dozens of ways she hadn't even imagined.

"Are you officially asking me to live in sin with you?" She asked, unable to keep the laugh out of her voice.

His eyes sparkled, and his lips curved into the smile that always meant that she was about to be thoroughly kissed. "I expect there to be a fair amount of sinning, yeah. But I figure it'll be balanced out with you telling me to hang up my robes and trying to keep me from eating biscuits in bed. So, will you?"

Stretching up on her tiptoes, she placed a tender kiss on his cheek. "Yes," she said softly, and it meant so much more than the answer to the question he had asked.

_Warmth surrounded him like a warm blanket, his feelings mixing with and reflecting hers. He had been a nervous wreck, and had expected her to have more reservations about the idea. The ease with which she readily accepted him had surprised and delighted him, but that was nothing compared to feeling it first hand. For Hermione, there had never really been a question of being with him or not; there had only been the matter of logistics. He was part of her future, part of her life. To her, it was only natural that they would start moving in that direction together, becoming more of a unit as time progressed. A natural first step was leaving her family, and, later on, moving away from Harry into their own place. And, best of all, she wanted all that with him with the same enthusiasm that he did._

_As he watched the two of them, though, the smile that had formed on his face slid away. When had things changed? Not their feelings. Those, he was willing to bet everything he had on, were as strong as ever. It was just...somehow, along the way, they had gotten used to things being good. Which was an odd thing to say, but true. In the beginning, they'd been amazed that they had lived through everything, and had needed each other's help with coping afterwards. There had also been the mutual thrill that they shared the same feelings, and it had taken them awhile to get over the amazement that they were actually together._

_In some ways, he regretted that they had._

_Not that he ever wanted to go back to the hell of unresolved feelings. But wouldn't it be a good thing, if they remembered every so often, just how much they had wanted to be together, and how afraid they had been that they never would? He wanted them to be comfortable, not complacent. He knew, by comparing these memories to how things were now, that they had fallen into some bad habits. It was nothing dramatic, and in a lot of ways it wasn't even as bad as when they had been children. Still, he knew they could do better. He wanted to do better. He didn't want to feel the way he sometimes did, and he didn't want to make Hermione feel that way, either. Mistakes were inevitable, but you could do your best to see that they didn't happen as often, and that when they did they were dealt with the right way. Part of him was reluctant to watch the memories coming up, knowing that both of them were equally responsible for the problems they had. Experiencing first hand how she felt always made him feel even more ashamed when he messed up, but he was going to have to deal with that. At least this way he was going to know what he actually did, as well as the reasons behind the things Hermione had done._

_It wasn't going to be entirely pleasant. But as he watched himself and Hermione, both looking so happy, the two of them together against the world...he knew it was worth it._

**Story Notes: I just wanted to addressa few points without ruining the story. Some might wonder why Ron still seems insecure. It's because that doesn't just go away when someone loves you. Ron still has years of thinking to change, and it will take awhile. Now, he doesn't think anything like he did when he saw the locket, but sometimes he can still get down on himself. This is especially common with people who are goin g through a stressful time, and the more stressful situations pile up, the easier it is to slip. Some might not understand the problem with the Dreamless sleep, but it does happen. Just with my own medication, I've nearly sent myself to the hospital a number of times, without meaning to. Others are going to wonder why Hermione didn't just talk to him, or why she didn't trust him unquestioningly. First, because Hermione isn't stupid. There's a line between trust and denial. If you noticed, she didn't believe someone's claim and was perfectly willing to dismiss it-that's trust. But evidence without being able to come up with even a weakly believable scenario? That's usually denial. As for why she didn't talk to im sooner, it's more common than you might think for people to avoid that. In this past year alone, I can't count the number of people whom I've tried to get to talk to their partner about a problem, but they always balked for awhile. Some just decide that they KNOW what the other person is feeling, or how it will turn out. Others take awhile to build up to handling the strain they know the conversation will be. It's stupid and pointless and-everyone does it at one point or another. Spme of you are thinking, wow, George can be a dick, but wasn't that a little much? Yup, it was. And I know that not everyone handles it that way, but the more people you deal with who are experiencing deep grief, the more you'll come across those that will say horrible, horrible hurtful things, and it's usually worse if they've been drinking. It isn't pretty, and it isn't 'them,' but it's an accurate part of the process. If I can clear up any other questions, let me know!**


	46. Chapter 46

_Hermione found herself standing in Diagon Alley beside Ron and Harry, who seemed to have just arrived. The weather was warm, but there was just enough crispness in the air to hint at early fall._

"Are you sure you want me to come in? I can meet up with you at the station, if you'd rather," Harry asked, as they paused at the front door of George's shop.

"Nah. No sense in standing around there all morning. Besides, you're family, and he sounded like he was having one of his good days when I Floo called him earlier." Ron said, pushing the door open, and calling out a hello.

"I'm in the back, come on in!" George shouted.

"He sounds sober, at least," Harry whispered.

Ron nodded. "Maybe that means he'll come."

They had stopped by to see if George would come to the station to see Ginny off, since he hadn't come to dinner last night. George hadn't been very sociable outside of the family in a while, apart from his pub crawls, and Ron was hoping to remind him that there were reasons to venture out that were completely unrelated to Firewhiskey.

They found him in the workroom, his robes tossed over a bench, and his sleeves pushed up past the elbows. Jars and boxes were strung out on the table in front of him as he peered into the small cauldron he was stirring.

"Would you like us to run back out and pick up breakfast? I didn't think you hated yourself enough to eat your own cooking," Ron said, making a face at the putrid yellow liquid that was slowly bubbling.

George rolled his eyes. "Keep making comments like that, and I know who I'll be using as a test subject."

"I don't think you pay him enough for that," Harry commented, shuddering at the wet popping sound as a thick bubble broke on the surface. "What is that stuff, anyway?"

Pinching a bit off of something dried and decidedly dead, George answered, "I thought it was about time the Skiving Snackboxes got updated. People get bored if you never change things up."

Ron shared a quick glance with Harry; this was excellent news! George hadn't worked on anything new since Fred had died, and even if he was just revamping an old product, the show of interest was encouraging.

"So, what brings the two of you by? I've been fed recently, and my nappy is still clean," George asked, a slightly false note of brightness in his voice.

Hm. So maybe he wasn't doing as well as originally thought. With a frown, Ron suddenly noticed the way his brother's hands were slightly shaking. Nope, not good.

"We stopped by to see if you wanted to go with us to see the girls off," Ron said, pretending he didn't notice that anything was odd.

George seemed surprised by the offer, but shook his head. "Thanks, but I went over this morning and saw her; I didn't think my ego could take competing for her attention in public with Harry."

"Curse my dashing good looks," Harry said dryly.

Ron considered pressing him to go anyway, and then figured that if he had already made the effort to see her, and was working on top of that, then that was enough for one day. "There's only room enough for one devastatingly handsome ginger on the platform anyway," Ron smirked, knowing he made the right choice when some of the tension left George's shoulders.

"Oh? You didn't tell me Bill was going," George tossed back, his expression innocent.

With a glare, Ron shot him a rude hand gesture, and looked up at the clock mounted on the wall. "Harry, what do you say we ditch this git and go check out the Quidditch gear? We've got another half hour before we need to leave."

George glanced up at the clock. "Um, no. That clock is about twenty-five minutes slow, so you'd better get moving."

Ron shared a panicked look with Harry, who seemed to think as he did; their girlfriends would murder them if they didn't show up in time.

"That's strange," George muttered, "I don't think it's supposed to look like that."

Momentarily distracted, both Ron and Harry leaned towards the cauldron, the contents of which had begun to froth and hiss.

"Huh, that looks like one that Seamus did one time in-oh _shite!"_ Ron yelled, yanking Harry back with him just as the infernal mess exploded, burnt, semi-gelatinous bits hitting the walls and ceiling with a squelch.

All three of them came up coughing, and Ron winced as he felt something drop from the ceiling and slither down the back of his collar. He ignored it, not wanting to know.

"Is everyone alright?" George wheezed, emerging from under the table.

"Yeah, Ron was right. It was like Potions all over again," Harry said, standing up and digging something out of his ear.

"Damn, Harry, we gotta go now!" Ron yelped, alarmed by how much time had passed without realizing it.

"Sorry, but you can't," George said distractedly, frowning as he examined jars, and shook some of their contents into the still smoking cauldron.

"What the hell do you mean, we can't?" Ron shouted, his temper flaring. "Look, I'll come back and help clear this up, but I've got-"

"That's not it; you literally can't. Fred and I set it up that if an experiment goes wrong, everything locks down until we sort out what went wrong."

Ron groaned. "Of all times for you to actually have some kind of safety measure!"

"Let's just try to help so we can get out of here," Harry said tightly, with a pointed look at the clock.

_Hermione shook her head as the three of them rapidly went over the process George had used for the potion, taking several attempts before they realized he had been stirring clockwise, instead of counterclockwise. Once it had finally been sorted out and the protective wards dropped, both Ron and Harry Apparated to the station, landing near the entrance to platform 9 3/4._

"Oi, Harry! Hurry up! We're gonna miss them!"

Ron pushed through people as politely as he could, muttering apologies as he stepped on more than a few feet. Just as he was beginning to worry he wouldn't find them in time, he glanced down to see wild brown curls speeding in his direction. His arms opened to catch Hermione as she threw herself at him, and he pulled her close, relieved that he was going to get to say goodbye. There was a twisting feeling in his chest, at the thought of her boarding the train this year without him, and he tried to fight off the wrongness of the thought. He knew she had to go, just as he knew that he wouldn't be able to face being in the same place Fred had died, every day. He was so lost in his thought that he almost missed the way Hermione's face was wrinkled up, as if she had smelled something rotten.

"Don't ask," Harry rolled his eyes at her over Ginny's shoulder.

She turned back to him, doing a quick Cleansing Charm on him. "I thought you weren't going to make it! What happened to the two of you?"

"Thanks, didn't have time to do that myself." Ron gave a grimace, "It's all George's fault; if we had missed the train, I'd've gone back and wrung his thick neck!"

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. "Did he have the nerve to pull some sort of-"

Ron shook his head to prevent her going off to hunt down his brother.

"Nah, it wasn't on purpose. We were in the shop, and one of his experiments went wrong. There was the usual explosion, but he and Fred had set things up where no one could leave the shop until whatever they messed up was contained. So we were stuck there until he could get it sorted out, but I was just about to blast a hole through the wall to get here."

"He was, too! I thought for a minute he'd do it with George's head." Harry said with amusement, his arm still around Ginny.

"Merlin knows it's hard enough," Ron agreed.

"As if you're one to talk!" Ginny laughed. "Come on, Hermione; switch with me a minute so Ron and I can get the sibling goodbyes out of the way."

He stuck his tongue out at Ginny, a gesture she promptly returned. Both of them laughed, but grew serious as he leaned down for a quick hug.

"You sure you're gonna be alright, Gin?" Ron asked, watching her eyes closely.

They flickered for a moment, before she lifted her chin. "Of course I will. Do you really think a few bad memories would be enough to make me back down?"

His shoulders hitched in an awkward shrug. "Maybe not; they were for me."

Ginny seemed to deflate at his words, looking more vulnerable. "I wasn't...I didn't...I didn't see it happen. I saw after, and maybe if it had been different I wouldn't be able to, but if I don't think about it too much..."

"even if you don't think about that, there's still a whole year of hell that you're gonna remember. You won't be able to help it. I...I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you."

She shook her head. "That wasn't an option. Harry needed you, and you're his friend-"

And I'm your brother!"

"Yeah, you are. And in some ways, it would have been nice to have you there. I missed you, and I was worried. But I also know that with your mouth, you'd have been one of the Carrows biggest targets, and...I couldn't bear to watch that. You were where you needed to be, Ron. I always knew that."

She was right, but it didn't really make him feel better. Still, now wasn't the time to go into it. He glanced over at Harry and Hermione, who looked like they were still in deep conversation. He didn't think it would last much longer though, so he needed to hurry.

"I hate to ask you again, but would you please watch out for Hermione? She does fine, unless she pushes herself too much, and you know how she gets with things like exams, and whatever being Head Girl has her doing."

Ginny nodded. "Don't worry, I will. Since I'm a prefect anyway, it'll be easier to help her with things without her thinking that I'm babying her or something. And yes, before you ask, I know that means making sure she doesn't dive so deep into a dusty old book that she forgets to eat."

"Thanks. And...she doesn't always like to talk about...everything, and I don't want you to push her or anything like that, but-"

"Listen if she needs it. Don't worry, that's basically what I've been doing with Harry all summer, so I know how to handle it."

While Ron still hated the fact that he couldn't be with her, he knew that if anyone could help, it was Ginny. Like she said, she knew how to handle that sort of thing with Harry, and she was smart and funny enough to make sure Hermione lived a little, instead of smothering herself with her books.

"Of course," Ginny continued in a darker tone, "I suspect that you've asked Hermione to watch out for me, like I'm some little kid, which I'm not."

Ron sagged. Of course he knew that, but-

"But things were bad, and I'm nowhere near being completely better. Sometimes it gets to be too much, and...I need someone. So thanks."

He was surprised and relieved when she wrapped her arms around him for a tight hug that he quickly returned. For a minute, he couldn't breathe; all he could think about was her pale face and wide eyes after her first year, and the sick feeling in his stomach knowing he had almost lost her...he took a deep breath, trying to remind himself that all of that was over now.

"Come on, let's get back to the others before they feel left out," Ginny teased.

He smiled at her, and as they got closer to Harry and Hermione, he heard her familiar, exasperated rant. He traded a grin with Ginny, and they finished it for her.

"Harry, how many times do I have to tell you that no one can Apparate-" Hermione started.

"Inside the barriers of Hogwarts!" He and Ginny chorused.

With a sniff, Hermione said, "Well, I've got you two sorted on that, at least."

"Here, Harry; you can take the brat back n-ow!"

Ginny gave him a false smile after pinching his arm. "I believe it's Hermione getting the brat, thanks very much. See you later, Ron. Write and let me know about George, okay?"

His smile dimmed, thinking of the way George's hands had shook this morning, but he nodded. "Yeah, I will."

As Ginny rejoined Harry, Hermione turned back to Ron. "Are you alright? Is George having one of his bad days?"

He shook his head. "I don't...he hasn't been drinking, or anything, but he seemed sort of...off. I'm going to go back later and check."

She nodded, but didn't say anymore on the subject, and he wished that the two of them could go on standing there holding each other. Fuck, he was going to miss her!

"Promise you'll write," she said, her voice sounding as if she was trying not to cry..

His arms tightened around her. "So much that Pig'll have eagle wings before the month is out," he whispered against her hair.

She gave a wet laugh, sniffing back her tears as the crowd pushed around them, voices shouting back and forth as a steady stream boarded the train.

"You'd better go," he said, not wanting her to, but trying to make it easier for her. "The ickle firsties need their Head Girl to boss them around."

"I will, in just a moment."

"Hermione, hurry up! We're going to be the last ones on!" Ginny called, and Ron couldn't help giving her a small glare.

.

"I guess I should get going. I'll write as soon as I get there!"

His arms felt achingly empty without her, and he knew he had weeks, if not months, of feeling that way until he could be with her again. The thought made him sick; there was only so much he could take! Before he could finish the thought, he had darted towards her, pulling her around for another kiss. How could he be expected to go that long without her taste? Without hearing her voice, or feeling her hands against his chest when they cuddled each other to sleep?

"Let me know when your first Hogsmeade visit is. I'm not waiting till Christmas to see you."

She nodded at him, her cheeks flushing a deep red, and while he couldn't be sure, he thought she was pleased. He watched, sadly, as she turned and hurried to catch up with Ginny, bending to scoop up the basket that held Crookshanks as she went. Ron didn't take his eyes from her, watching until the very tips of her hair disappeared into the train. He let out a loud sigh, and felt a hand thump down on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Ro. Both of them are strong; they'll be alright."

He nodded, unable to speak. He knew his sister and Hermione, and while he knew that it was going to be harder than either one would like to admit, he knew they'd be fine in the end.

But, he had to wonder...would he?

_Her heart ached for him; Ron was the sort of person who went around quietly doing things to help people. Small kindnesses, quiet personal sacrifices. She knew that, so why was it that she often seemed to forget? How many times had she told him to grow up, when it was clear he already had? It was, she supposed, because he didn't do it with a lot of fanfare-he had probably done things she never even knew about-and he also kept up a cheerful front. But even though he was generally a cheerful person, sometimes that humor and carelessness was a deflection from how he was really feeling. In those early days, he had taken so much upon himself that it was truly a wonder he didn't crumble completely. And he had done it in such a way that no one had really seen just how much he was truly hurting. Smoke from the train filled her vision, signalling that it was time for another change-hopefully a memory that was happier._

_Hermione looked around with interest at the office they were now standing in; she had been there a few times herself, but at this point in time, the new Minister was just settling in. Kingsley was seated behind a large, dark wooden desk, paperwork sorted neatly into piles for him to deal with. Ron and Harry both sat across from him in low leather chairs, and she could feel Ron's nervous excitement._

"Well, Ron, I'm happy to tell you that you've passed the physical-not that I expected anything else. You're still a little underweight, but I can see that you've already adopted a physical regimen since the last time we spoke, so you should be putting on muscle."

Ron felt his ears turned red, but kept his voice steady. "Yeah, I figure it couldn't hurt to get a head start, since you said I'll have to meet the requirements whenever I check in."

Kingsley nodded approvingly. "That's right, and it's an excellent show of initiative. You'll have a checkup every two weeks when you come in to take your exams; speaking of which, I have your books right here, with a lesson plan in each one."

Ron watched as Kingsley levitated a stack of books over to the desk, where they landed with a heavy thump.

"Bloody hell, Kingsley," he said, spirits dimming, "Do I look like Hermione to you?"

The man in front of him let out a loud laugh, his head tipping back. "Hardly, since I imagine Hermione would be more enthusiastic. Has it made you change your mind?"

He shook his head quickly, reaching forward to pick up the book on top. "No. I can't say it'll be my favorite part, but I'll get through it."

"You might think otherwise once you join the others next year," Kingsley said dryly.

Ron flipped the book open, meaning only to skim the pages, but finding himself becoming engrossed in the strategy being outlined.

"Don't look now, but I think Hermione's rubbed off on him. Next thing you know, he'll be off to the library," Harry joked.

"Oi! Let's not go overboard!" He protested.

"Kingsley, remind me again why Ron has to do all of this, but I don't?" Harry asked, with what Ron thought was wistfulness lacing his voice.

Kingsley sobered, leaning forward and steepling his fingers on his desk. "Harry, you'll be starting on time with the other recruits. I think you know enough to realize that they'll be looking for special treatment; you've got a reputation, and many will be wanting to test themselves against you. Your experience already gives you an advantage, but it'll do them good to see that you're expected to buckle down and learn just like the rest of them."

That doesn't explain Ron," Harry countered stubbornly.

Ron remained quiet, hoping this wasn't going to be a sore point between them.

With a sigh, Kingsley continued to explain. "Ron is going to have a different, yet similar set of problems. He's going to be dropped in the middle of everything where everyone else has gotten used to the routine, and the pecking order is established. He's going to have to be able to keep up with the rest, or else-"

"Or else they'll think he's getting a free pass, because he's my friend and what he did in the war," Harry finished, slumping.

"Harry, you know I'd join up with you if I could. I wish...But George isn't ready, and neither am I, really. Hey, you know I wouldn't crack the books any sooner if I didn't have to," he finished with a weak joke, hoping that Harry would understand.

Harry returned the smile; it was small, but genuine. "Yeah, I know. I just hate that after all this time, we won't be starting something together. I'd almost wait to start with you, but I think I'm going to go mental waiting for spring as it is."

"You needed the break, Harry," Kingsley cut in firmly. "You've been going all out for years, and you need the time to adjust. You know I think you're starting too soon as it is."

Ron only half listened as Harry muttered his protests. He agreed with Kingsley, but he also knew that even though it wasn't exactly healthy, after so many years of the things he had been through, Harry was sort of geared to run on full blast. He'd had one goal or another set in front of him since he was eleven, and without one, he was sort of lost. It had been easier when Ginny was still here; he had been able to put a lot of energy into helping _her._ Really, Ron was surprised that Harry had taken a break at all, but he must've realized deep down that everyone was right.

To be honest, he wasn't sure how he felt about his own new schedule. It left him with very little free time, a fact that might have annoyed him at one point. Now, it was a sort of relief; when he had too much time to think, he was nearly choked with the lingering effects of last year, along with the ache from the loss of Fred. His dreams were worse now, without Hermione there to comfort him when he woke, and now that he was no longer able to spend hours at a time keeping his mind focused on helping her with things, his mind was becoming more insistent about his own problems.

Thinking of Hermione made him glance down at the books again. She would've been dying to go home and read them by this point, and would probably have several chapters memorized before bed. He was rather surprised that, for once, he actually found himself sharing her enthusiasm. The bits he had skimmed a few minute ago actually interested him, and he thought he had found at least one subject he could enjoy. He was going to miss having Hermione around to keep him on track, but, in a way, he needed this, just like he needed to be slightly out of step with Harry on joining the Aurors.

For years, he had always floated along on the assumption that he only managed to get by with their help. Both of them had argued pretty hard against that, but he had brushed that off as them being good friends. Now he had the chance, once and for all, to prove to himself that they had been right. Hermione had let him have it pretty hard when they were younger that she knew he was capable of great things if he would just apply himself, and he wanted to live up to that. If he could get himself through this, it would make it harder, in the future, to tear himself down and think he was worthless without the others.

In the last eight months or so, he had taken the risk of putting himself forward more; voicing his ideas, being the one to make a decision when no one else would. And it had paid off. He had come up with good plans-things that had actually helped quite a bit-and just the way Hermione had looked at him alone for it had made him feel twelve feet tall. While that was a reaction he'd never get tired of, he didn't want to need it to feel confident. If he could do this, he would feel more comfortable within himself, and he wouldn't make as many mistakes as he would if he let his insecurities get the best of him. Hermione and Harry were always going to be large, important parts of his life, and he didn't want to go off and create a whole new life without them-the way he figured it, these few months would show him what he was made of. Once he had it all sorted straight in his head, he could believe in himself to be the kind of friend and boyfriend that they needed. Not the one that walked out...

_Hermione sat on the arm of the chair-something she never would have done had she been visible-and stroked her fingers in a motion that would have brushed his fringe off his face. She was so incredibly proud of him! The desire to believe in himself, and the effort he was determined to put into trying was incredible. It wasn't easy for him, but he wasn't going to give up on himself. Feeling his reaction to all the times she had made it clear she was impressed with him gave her a warm glow, but she didn't want that to be the only time he felt good about himself. She wanted her thoughts and feelings to matter, but she didn't want them to be the basis for his self worth._

_But she hated the fact that he was still beating himself up over leaving. It had been a horrible time for all three of them, but she and Harry had both already forgiven him, and it was an isolated act, rather than a pattern of behavior. That, actually, had been what had made it hurt so much; it had been an act that went against everything Ron usually was. Growing, and seeking to better yourself as a person was a wonderful goal, one that Hermione had great respect for. But she didn't want him to think that the 'real' him was some untrustworthy monster, as he seemed to feel afraid of becoming._

"Ron? You alright there, mate?"

Ron jerked his head up, flushing when he saw Harry staring at him in concern. "Uh, yeah! Sorry 'bout that; my mind was on other things. Did I miss something?"

Harry gave him a look that said he didn't quite believe him, but only said, "No, I was just asking if you were ready to go."

"I think so, Unless..." He trailed off, looking at Kingsley to see if there was anything else.

"Unless you have any questions, I think we're done; you'll be receiving an owl letting you know when your first test is scheduled. Just report here, and someone will be here to meet you."

Ron stood, and leaned forward to shake Kingsley's hand. "Thanks, this...this really means a lot," he said. This was a huge opportunity, and Kingsley was going above and beyond to arrange things this way for him.

The Minister's grasp was firm, and his eyes steady when he answered, "You're welcome, but don't think that this is a purely altruistic gesture. Big changes are happening around here, and none of the departments can afford to carry excess fat. If I didn't think you were going to be a damn fine Auror, this wouldn't be happening."

"I...that's...I won't let you down," Ron promised, knowing that Kingsley was taking a risk, letting himself be opened up to accusations of favoritism.

"I know you won't."

His simple assurance made Ron smile. He was nervous about the pressure to perform well, but the fact that Kingsley had enough faith in him to go through all this trouble...it made him even more determined. As he and Harry made their way into the lobby, he only had one worry left. He knew well enough what it was like to feel that your friends were moving on without you. And, although technically they would come out even in about a year, that wasn't much comfort to Harry _now._ He couldn't leave his family and join Harry when he went, and he also couldn't just put his own training off to spare Harry's feelings. But even though their lives were changing, he was still Harry's best mate; that was something that would _never_ change.

"You know you can have a look at my books, if you'd like," he offered.

Harry glanced over at him, as if assessing whether or not he meant it. He must have passed the test, because Harry relaxed a bit, giving him a small smile as he shook his head.

"Nah, Kingsley is probably right. There's going to be enough friction as it is, without people thinking I had outside help."

"True. But you know," Ron wheedled, "There's gonna be plenty of gits who'll try to test themselves on you. And he may have said that the books were out, but he never mentioned you couldn't exercise with me, or duel..."

Harry shot him a grin, which held a lightness that Ron didn't think he had seen on his friend's face since their first years at Hogwarts. "Yeah, he didn't, did he? Well then, let's grab some lunch, and then I'll beat your arse in a duel!"

"Oi!"

As Ron laughingly popped Harry in the head with a book, he felt a surge of happiness, eager for everything that was to come. Life had been hell, but now...now it was going to be alright.

_Hermione watched them fondly, her eyes getting a bit misty, as they always did, when she saw the sibling-like bond between those two coming through particularly strong. Ron was constantly beating himself up over the night he left, but why couldn't he see that this, right here, was his natural behavior? That even though he had a lot going on, and even more on his mind, he would make it a priority to make sure that Harry didn't feel left out? It was such an automatic thing to him, that she didn't think he realized just how much people loved him for it. She wiped her eyes, sighing. It would have been nice, if Ron could have kept that feeling, but she knew, quite well, that while things were getting better...'alright' was still a long way off._

Life was hell, and nothing was alright.

Ron coughed as he stumbled out of the fireplace, having accidentally inhaled some Floo powder on his way home from the Burrow. Harry had stayed behind to talk to dad, about, of all things, home renovation (Ron wanted to take Harry aside and tell him to take a good, long look at the Burrow and make sure that was really a wise choice, but had ultimately left him to it).

Besides, with Harry out of the house, Ron felt like he might be able to get an hour or so of sleep, which he desperately needed. Harry hadn't been able to sleep for the past two nights, and Ron had ended up having to go out with him on their brooms, something Ginny was no longer there to do. And it wasn't that Ron minded-his nightmares had been acting up again-it was just that Harry seemed to forget the fact that while he could come home and sleep into the afternoon if he wanted, Ron had to get up and drag himself in to work.

Although he had to admit, some days he just wanted to lie in and leave George to it. With a loud snort, he clomped up the stairs, removing his robes as he did. Just when he'd think George was doing better, he'd lose ground again. Ron wasn't sure what was worse; the hours he'd have to spend listening to George ramble drunkenly about Fred, or the days after, when he'd be hungover and snappish. Some days he just wanted to scream at George to pull his head out of his arse, but then he'd immediately feel guilty. He knew George was hurting. He was hurting, too. Sometimes he envied George the ability to drown himself in it. But he knew if he did that himself, he'd be another for the rest of the family to worry about, and it would hold him back from all the things he was trying to do. Besides, it didn't really seem to help George much, anyway.

As much as he understood, it still made a lot of extra work for him at the shop-he was almost willing to bet he knew the inventory better than George by this point. Verity and Lee were a huge help, but he couldn't take advantage of that, and as George's brother, he also felt like it was up to him to at least make sure _some_ Weasley was running the shop. At least the books were in good order, he thought, changing into the pajamas that were balled at the foot of his bed, and staggering into the bathroom. Merlin, he needed to sleep! If he took a dose of Dreamless, he might get a much needed full night of rest, he thought, pulling out a bottle, and measuring out the correct amount.

_Hermione drew in a sharp breath, wanting to reach out and stop him. This had been something that had scared her deeply when she had discovered it, and it scared her now, knowing how badly things could have ended. Even though he could go months without using it, she still hated to have it in the house, and she had felt like a hypocrite the few times she had allowed herself to use it when she had been desperate. Mentally, she knew it was perfectly fine, if used as prescribed in moderation, but it had disastrous effects if misused. Ron was precious to her, which, she had discovered, made her feel fiercely protective, and she despised anything that hurt him. Silly, in some cases, but in this one she felt justified._

He put the bottle back in the medicine chest, wincing at his reflection in the mirror as he squirted some toothpaste on his brush. He gave his teeth a few swipes that he knew wouldn't satisfy the daughter of dental professionals, rinsed, spit, and made another face at his reflection. He didn't think it was possible, but he actually looked paler than normal. He had deep circles under his eyes, and his skin looked dried out, his lips cracked. That was probably from biting it so much, although he never noticed until he tasted blood.

It was happening quite a bit while he tried to keep up with his Auror courses, he thought grimly. Strategy was a breeze, and even History of Aurors wasn't giving him any difficulty. What was really worrying him were Potions and Field Medicine (which in his opinion was just an extension of the other), and for that, he firmly blamed Snape. He couldn't even approach the books with the right attitude to learn their contents, and because of his years at Hogwarts, he wasn't entirely confident enough to experiment without an example. Merlin, he wished Hermione was here; she'd have him at least halfway through the book by now, and she'd have done it without nearly blowing up the kitchen. Twice. If he just had more time to concentrate, then maybe...

He leaned forward, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against the cool glass. But he didn't have more time. He had to make sure that Harry got out enough so he didn't have time to overthink things and get that guilty look. He needed to go spend some time with his mum, since he hadn't in a few days, and he knew it was hard on her, being without any more children left at home. He also needed to go see Percy, who had been rather quiet a dinner, as he shot pained looks at George's empty chair. George, right. That meant he also needed to be at work early, to make sure George was home, and kept upstairs until he had slept it off, while he added up the sales from today. Somewhere in there. he needed to squeeze in his exercises, because while he could tell a noticeable difference in his muscle tone, it was still a depressingly slim figure in the mirror. Listing it all made him almost want to cry, but he shook himself, and told himself to get a grip. Hermione was dealing with all the shite she had been through, and was going to school and working things out with her parents, on top of it. Harry was dealing with survivor's guilt, and trying to define himself after so many years of having to be The Chosen One. They were doing just fine; how could he look himself in the eye if he couldn't do the same?

He pushed himself away from the mirror, the motion making him dizzy. What had he come in here for, anyway? He should be trying to get some slee-oh yeah. He opened the medicine chest, and pulled out the bottle of Dreamless Sleep. He'd do a lot better if he could actually sleep while he had the chance; good thing he hadn't forgotten it. Measuring out a dose, he swallowed it down before heading back to his room.

_Hermione nearly snapped her neck looking back and forth between the cabinet and Ron, before scurrying to catch up with him, trying to process what she had just seen. Ron had always told her that he hadn't realized how much he had been taking, and while she had wanted to believe him, she hadn't seen how that was possible. However, his actions just now, and some research later on her part had just confirmed it. She had read that it wasn't unusual for someone who had gone through a traumatic experience to have problems with medicine schedules, which could be compounded by stress, anxiety, and being new to medication. Ron had the first two in spades, and prior to this, had rarely ever needed any type of medicine. Some people couldn't remember if they had taken something, and others forgot to take it at all, and Ron fell into the first category. She had also learned that there were some medications, Dreamless sleep being one of them, that people could build up a tolerance if they took too much over time, requiring stronger doses to work. Dreamless Sleep had the added strange property of making a person resistant if they took some and then didn't sleep it off, as Ron doubtless had to do quite often, between Harry and George. As much as Hermione hated seeing him in this kind of pain, she was also relieved to know that it had been an accident, and reaching for a bottle of something wasn't his default reaction when things got too much for him to handle._

Ron flopped on his bed, glancing over and Pig's cage, finding it empty. Hermione must not have sent him back yet, but he figured the little featherhead would be back by morning with her reply. His eyes traveled to his bedside table, where today's letter was smoothed out on the surface, and he smiled, the first real smile he had worn all day. He didn't think she knew how much he lived for her letters; some days, they felt like the only bit of sun he had. When he read them, he could hear her voice, he could see her expression shifting with each sentence. Unconsciously, he reached to what he now always thought of as 'her' side of the bed, wishing that the scent of her skin hadn't faded weeks ago. He would give anything right now to feel her arm slide across his waist, but for now, he would make do being wrapped in her words. Tomorrow, he would wake up in time to read the latest one, slowly, at least twice, before he sat down to write back.

Dashing around the shop, helping customers and straightening the shelves, Ron paused every few minutes to look up at the clock. It was the weekend, the beautiful, glorious weekend! Not that that had mattered much before, but ever since Mcgonagall had the brilliant idea to let students who were of age off with a weekend pass...he was so happy, he could've kissed the woman. Well, he thought with a grimace, not really, but he was damned appreciative. Letters, he had found, only went so far. Having Hermione around, where he could actually see and hear her- _touch_ her-brought much needed light into his dark days. With her around, it was easier to remember that things weren't always as bleak as they felt. With her around, he could actually sleep. He winced, both at the thought and the feel of his skin being pinched by a Fanged Frisbee. He swatted it to make it let go, and straightened it in a stack of others on one of the higher shelves, out of the reach of curious tykes.

What had he just been thinking? Oh yeah, sleep, and Hermione. He thought everything was ending that first weekend that she had gone off on him about the Dreamless Sleep, but aside from her asking more often how he was and if he was sleeping alright, she didn't seem to hold it against him. He had thought she had been overreacting until he had gone off the stuff, or, rather, gone back to what a normal dose was, and had realized just how much had built up in his system. That had been an experience, and he hadn't been very pleasant to live or work with for awhile. Now he was extra careful about taking the doses that Hermione had set up for him, and even tried to put it off as long as he could. Of course, that meant his sleep was shite, and for a little while he was seriously considering going to St. Mungo's to see if there was anything that they could do to help.

But then he had gotten a break by being able to see Hermione nearly every weekend, and things had been much better. Now he could see for himself that she was still alive, and he could talk with her while they ate lunch, or just sit with her of an evening while he played chess with her or Harry. They could shag themselves cross-eyed, and afterwards, he could fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, knowing he would wake up with his face buried in a bushy head of hair. He was still stretched pretty thin, but between having something to look forward to, and her actual visits, he had been able to keep himself together.

And today was Saturday, and since Hermione's parents were going to visit someone or other, and Harry was taking Ginny somewhere, he was going to have her all to himself! He wished she could have gotten out of Head Girl duties in time to come last night, but he wasn't going to ruin what he had by being greedy. He hummed tunelessly to himself, unable to hide the smile that curled the corners of his mouth. Alright, he was planning on being a _little_ greedy. With Grimmauld Place to themselves, he planned on making use of their privacy-they wouldn't be going anywhere until she had to report back to Hogwarts. No, that wasn't true; there was one exception. He'd scrimped a bit, and he was planning on taking her out for a nice dinner. Nothing swank, but something a step above the Leaky. He wished he could do more. Hermione deserved more. She deserved...well, everything, really. And while he couldn't give her everything, he at least wanted to treat her to something special every once and awhile, to show her how much she meant to him. Another glance at the clock, as his smile widened. She'd be here in an hour.

_Hermione made a muffled sound of distress. This could only be leading up to one thing, and she was almost afraid to watch. She had been so stupid! She hadn't meant to hurt him, but she had been so confused, and didn't know what to do. Part of her had known she should have talked to him, but she couldn't deny that in the past, her track record of trying to communicate when she was upset hadn't been stellar. She hadn't wanted to mess up, thinking things would be better for both of them if she waited until she had a clear plan. Which wasn't really the wrong decision to make, per se; it was the fact that she had taken so long to make it that had been the bulk of the problem._

She didn't come.

At twenty minutes, he didn't think too much of it. It wasn't like she had to show up exactly on time. At forty-five minutes, he was a little impatient, but figured that she got held up having to do some Head Girl type of thing that, knowing Hermione, she wouldn't delegate to someone else. After an hour and ten minutes, he was worried and frustrated. She was coming today, right? He couldn't have gotten the dates mixed up, could he? No. He'd read the letter several times, and he had it marked on his calendar. He was just thinking how he could manage a Floo call to find out what was going on when Pig flew in through the window reserved for owl deliveries. Making sure Verity had the customers in hand, he tore open the letter, tossing Pig a treat from the jar. As his eyes flew over the parchment, his heart sank. She wasn't coming. In a few oddly stilted sentences, she said that she needed to stay and revise this weekend. Was. She. Serious? He snorted bitterly. Of course she was; she was Hermione. Waves of sadness and anger washed over him, and he slammed the letter down on the counter, the parchment crackling in his fist. He took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down. Alright, the weekend was ruined. It wasn't like she had done it on purpose-he had wanted to surprise her, so she hadn't known he'd had anything planned. It wasn't the first time she'd had to cancel, and it wasn't as if he hadn't had to a few times, either. It was bollocks, but throwing some sort of tantrum over it was only going to make things worse. If he didn't watch himself, he'd end up putting his foot in his mouth, and then who knows how long he'd have to wait to see her. Jamming the letter into the pocket of his robe, he shuffled, with marked lack of his earlier enthusiasm, to the back. It was almost time to feed the Pygmy Puffs, and if he remembered right, he had a secret stash of Chocolate Frogs back there.

He planned to eat them all.

_TIme sped up around Hermione, flashing different scenes; in each, Ron was more visibly upset. His smiles became rarer and rarer, until they disappeared completely, and he was almost constantly nervously nibbling something, trying to draw comfort from food. Letter after letter was written and sent, and most replies were watched for in vain. The few that did come were torn open with a feverish desperation, before his shoulders would slump, and his eyes would fill with an unspeakable sadness._

Ron Vanished the empty crisp packet, and sighed loudly, mentally berating himself when he saw Harry stiffen at the sound. He knew he was depressing to be around lately, but he couldn't bring himself to go up and sit in his room alone. It was eating at him, what he possibly could have done to make Hermione not want to be with him anymore. They hadn't fought about anything, and try as he might, he couldn't think of anything he'd done recently that would hack her off. Was she just...tired of him? He sighed again.

This time it was echoed by Harry, who put down the issue of Quidditch Weekly to look at him. "Something wrong, Ron?"

He hadn't really talked about it much, but he suddenly found himself blurting, "She's chucked me, Harry. She's finally come to her senses and given me the heave."

To add insult to injury, Harry didn't look very sympathetic, as he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come off it, Ron! Hermione hasn't chucked you-I won't believe that unless I hear her say it, and even then, I'd suspect Polyjuice. She said she had a lot of revising to do, and you know Hermione; once she's settled into the library, you practically have to blast her out."

"For this long, Harry? And without even writing as usual?" He shook his head. "Even Hermione doesn't reach that level of swottiness. No, something's up, I'm sure of it."

Harry tosses his magazine down, but his tone was kinder when he said, "Look, Ron. I admit she might be acting strange, but that doesn't mean it's about you. I've seen the way she looks at you, and she's mad about you. If she didn't give up on you when both of you were acting like gits, then she's not going to now that she's finally happy. But if you don't stop thinking like this, you're going to go off half cocked like you used to, and then things _will_ get bad. Just wait until you actually know what's going on before you do anything."

Miserably, Ron nodded. He knew Harry was right, in as much as he shouldn't do anything to make things worse. But he also knew Harry was wrong...being with Hermione was like a dream, and things that were too good to last usually didn't.

"Yeah. You're right."

Harry didn't look like he fully believed him, but he must have decided that a change of mood was in order, for he pushed himself to his feet. "Come on, I'm starving; your mum stopped by earlier today and dropped off a roast...wait, why are you looking so shifty?" Harry dropped back into his seat. "Ron. Mate. Tell me you didn't..."

"I was a bit peckish while you were out," Ron muttered.

"Peckish? Ron, that was a whole fucking roast!"

"It was a small one!" He defended himself.

Harry rubbed his face. "Merlin, no wonder you were winded on our run this morning. If this keeps up, you can just roll over the enemy."

Ron glared at him, not mentioning the fact that it had actually been his second run of the morning; he hadn't slept well, and had just gotten back from his first when Harry had joined him downstairs, thinking he was just going out. He'd run twice the distance Harry had, so it was small wonder he was breathing hard by the time they got back. And all that exercise demanded extra fuel, he consoled himself.

With a shake of his head, Harry stood back up. "Alright then, I guess I'll go out to eat, since Kreacher isn't in tonight; don't worry, I won't go by the Burrow, since I know your mum'll have your head for eating my share."

Ron rolled off the sofa, jamming his feet into his shoes. "Where're we going?"

"We? don't tell me you're still hungry!"

Shrugging, he finished tying his laces. "I ate that hours ago, and it's past dinner time."

"FIne, let's go; just make sure I get something before you eat the place out of business," Harry joked.

Ron gave him a halfhearted shove, but didn't say anything. In truth, he probably could have gone to bed without eating again, but he wanted out of the house. He had sent another letter with Pig off this afternoon, and he was putting off going upstairs as long as possible.

He knew there wouldn't be a letter waiting for him.

_a choked sobbing sound welled up from the back of Hermione's throat; she had know that it had been hard on him, but it was worse seeing it. In small doses, Ron's tendency to eat everything in sight when stressed could be seen as endearingly humorous-right before he had proposed, she had noticed that they were going through groceries at an alarming rate-but seeking comfort in food was something he seemed to do to take him back to his early childhood, to where he felt safe and secure. That he was in a constant state of needing that was awful, as was the massive hit she felt that his self confidence had taken. Ron had just started to get used to thinking well of himself, but the belief that she had left him and brought all of his old insecurities bubbling to the surface. As badly as she hurt for him, and as much as she wished that this had never happened, she honestly couldn't see any other choice that would have been better. She believed that honest discussion was a key to a good relationship, but she didn't think that would have worked well at that particular time. If she had gone straight to Ron without taking time to think, she knew she would have sounded shrill and accusing no matter how much she tried not to, and Ron would have been hurt, and resented her apparent lack of trust._

_In truth, it was because of her trust in him that she had waited. If she had believed for one minute that he was capable of cheating on her, he would likely still be experiencing whatever curse she would have used on him. It was her confusion that had slowed her; she had been torn between her deep faith in him, and her lifelong belief that facts were facts, and that once you had proof of something, that was it. Facts told her one thing, but her history with Ron told her another. She had nearly strained her brain to come up with a logical reason why that girl would know such an intimate detail about Ron, but she couldn't come up with something that didn't sound like a person trying to avoid the truth. Had it been better to withdraw while she got her thoughts in order, or should she have risked a fight they might not have recovered from? She still wasn't sure of the answer, and that worried her._

The crate containing the last of the Skiving Snackboxes rested on the floor at Ron's feet, and he stared at it blankly, unable to recall if they were supposed to go out front, or be kept as backup if George decided the new model was ready for sale to the public. He crouched down and opened the lid, deciding he might as well put them on the storage shelves since he had been banished from the front of the shop. Not that Ron could blame George; that had been a tricky to set up display he had knocked over, and it was going to take awhile to fix. He wasn't even sure that he could keep himself from accidentally knocking it over again. Luckily George was on one of his good streaks and was able to stay out front. Which was a relief, since he'd been a supreme git for the past couple of weeks up until a few days ago. But he had apologized for it, and Ron had mostly been suffering second hand embarrassment over George's inability to control his mouth, rather than really caring what George had said. It had been irritating, but Ron had known he hadn't meant any of it, any more than he had meant it the times he said he hated Fred. As someone who often said some pretty stupid things when he was hurt and angry, Ron didn't feel as if he was in much of a position to judge.

"Well, it's nice to see the room is still standing," George commented from the door, although there was no trace of snideness in his voice.

Ron turned a Snack Box over in his hands. "Sorry 'bout earlier," he muttered.

George waved a hand, closing the door behind him as he came further into the room. "Don't worry about it; it's not like I haven't done worse. Besides, it actually gave me a few ideas."

Narrowing his eyes, Ron searched George's face for any sign that he was lying, or taking the mickey. But George didn't have that forced angelic look; instead, he wore the oddly thoughtful expression he got whenever he was working on finding a solution to pulling off the trick he had forming in his head. This could be very good...or very, very bad.

Hopping up to sit on the work table that Ron was leaning against, George brought his attention back from wherever it had started to wander to focus on Ron. "So. What's up with you? You haven't been this clumsy since growing into those feet of yours."

Ron gave a noncommittal shrug. The same thing that'd been wrong with him the past three weeks, is all. The feeling of his world falling down around him. Trying to avoid the subject, he asked, "Why are you suddenly so curious about it?"

George rolled his eyes. "Well, since the _good_ brothers aren't here, I thought I might stand in." He dropped his gaze and ran his hand through his hair, shifting uncomfortably. "BIll and Charlie were always just enough older to be the cool brothers to help when you needed them. And Percy, well, he always had some kind of advice, even if you didn't want it. Fred and me...we were never really good with words, and stuff like that. But I reckon...I reckon it's time to work on that."

For nearly a year, Ron had gotten used to being the one to help George; while he was moved by the effort his brother was making, there was an ugly little part of him that resented being in the position to need it, and he wasn't going to make it easy.

"What's it like, when a girl throws you over?" He asked bluntly. If George wanted to tackle the hard stuff, then Ron wasn't going to ease him into it.

Surprisingly, George remained calm. "When you're not ready for it to end, you mean? Well, you feel lousy for awhile. A little hurt, a little angry. Then after awhile, you're over it. But that's when it's _a_ girl, not _the_ girl; I don't know what it's like to lose _the_ girl-and neither do you, you git." He gave Ron a light punch on the shoulder.

"Really? Because I've got a lot of unanswered letters and empty weekends that might disagree with you," Ron bit out.

"And just because you don't know the reason for that, doesn't mean it has to be the worst case scenario. Don't give up until you actually know what's going on."

Ron grunted. "That's what Harry says. Why do you both seem to think that she hasn't? And what if it's exactly as bad as I'm worried it is?"

"Well then she isn't nearly as smart as everyone says she is, is she?" George snapped, anger leaking into his voice.

"Or it proves she's smart enough to get away from me," he countered.

"Bullshit. Hermione's wanted you for years, even after watching you go through the miserable phases that everyone has growing up. And even though she could tell you about every magical and Muggle law that says it's impossible, she still looks at you like you can make the sun rise."

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it again. He'd give anything for that to be true, but the longer this went on, the harder it was getting for him to believe she had ever loved him at all.

"Look, even if the impossible happened-and I still think you're wrong-then there are plenty of witches out there right now that would give an arm, leg, and most of their teeth to go out with you. After a few months to get over things, your only problem would be which one to choose."

Ron placed a box on the shelf, taking his time in positioning it to keep his back to George. He knew there were witches out there. There were even some, once you had weeded out the ones that were only interested in him because of his part in the war, that might have poor enough judgement to consider him a prospect. The trouble was, he just couldn't see himself taking anyone up on their interest. Hermione, be believed, was it for him. And he hated how that sounded-like some fourteen year old melodramatically weeping, "I'll never love again!" and then having a crush two days later. It was just...after everything they had been through together, and the level that they knew each other...the way all of their good and bad points fit together...for him, nothing else was ever going to measure up to that. Sure, he could see someone, even marry them. But how fair was it, knowing himself like he did, to do that to someone that might really care for him, when he couldn't put all of himself into doing the same? He would always, even if he tried not to, be comparing them to Hermione in one way or another. So what was the point? To make himself feel better? To prove that he could? He'd already done that with poor Lav; the thought of doing it again made him ill.

No, he wouldn't fall apart forever, doing nothing but pine for her until the end of his days. He'd do the best he could with his career, he'd probably join one of the non professional Quidditch teams, and he'd have his friends and family to fill most of his time-he'd probably end up competing with Charlie for the title of Cool Single Uncle. Of course, Charlie was that way because he wanted to be, but the point was, he'd still have a happy and fulfilling life. It would just be...lacking in that one specific area.

"Ron, come on. Things'll work out."

Ron turned, wishing wholeheartedly that people would quit getting his hopes up when there was nothing they could do about it. "Oh yeah? How do you figure?"

George shrugged, his brow furrowing hopelessly. "Something has to, right? I mean, after everything...something has to go right somewhere."

At the sight of George's obvious distress, Ron softened. He was trying, after all; the last thing he needed to do was give George a reason to be depressed. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

"I get the feeling your heart wasn't really behind that. Look, just hold on for a little longer, alright? You'll figure out what's going on, and it'll probably turn out to be something stupid, that doesn't even matter. Ask Lee if you don't believe me; had a similar problem with his girl last year, and now everything is coming up roses."

"Maybe I should pop 'round Hogwarts this weekend, and see what's up for myself," Ron mused, the idea beginning to grow on him.

"Brilliant! Why don't you go ahead and go tomorrow? I know you were planning on coming in, but if you knock over one of the more volatile displays..."

"You sure you wouldn't mind?"

"Nah; Ange said she was thinking about stopping by, and I can always smooth talk her into helping if things get busy."

Ron made a noncommittal noise. For one thing, Angelina wasn't nearly as easy to slip something over on as George made it out, and for another, seeing her sometimes had an odd effect on George. Ron had his suspicions there, but wasn't stupid enough to press. He'd just be sure to check in on him on his way home, to make sure.

"Sorted; I'll go tomorrow after breakfast at the Burrow with Mum and Dad."

George clapped him on the back. "Good. You'll be back to your lovesick mooning in no time, then." He glanced at his watch. "And now. I think I'll eat that sandwich I had saved."

With a quick glance at the table, Ron winced, and took a step away. "Um, sorry about that...I'll go out and get you another!"

George whirled around, his eyes falling on the crumb covered plate. "Ron," he said slowly, "Please tell me that you didn't eat that."

"I said I was sorry!"

"No, but you will be pretty soon; that was laced with the newest addition to the Snack Box. I had to slip it into the sandwich, because I can't add the flavoring until everything else is right."

Ron felt his stomach drop, and his eyes bulged. "Oh shite."

George nodded. "Exactly."

It shouldn't have been possible, but Ron felt his eyes get bigger. "You mean...?"

"You've heard the expression, 'shitting bricks?'"

"Yes," Ron squeaked, feeling his arse clenching in fear of what was to come.

"Well, you'll be shitting waterfalls."

"Why did you leave something like that lying around? You know how I've been lately!" Ron bellowed.

George snatched a piece of parchment off the table, and waved it in Ron's face. "Pardon me for thinking this note saying 'DO NOT EAT!' would make sure, oh, I don't know; that you wouldn't eat it!"

Ron scowled at the note. "You probably meant that to trick me into eating it anyway."

His brother groaned, throwing the paper back onto the table. "Not this early in development, I wouldn't. You know me and Fred always tested things out while they were in the early stages and potentially dangerous. We only passed them along to anyone else when it was just the possibility of weird side effects."

"It's been nearly thirty minutes since I ate it, and nothing's happened. Maybe it isn't going to work?" Ron asked hopefully.

A loud gurgle from his stomach made them both stare at it warily.

"No, It's set to go off at about that time, actually." George dug around in his pockets. "Here, now's as good a time as any to see if the antidote works. But even if it does, you should keep an eye out for anything strange, and get to Mungo's if it looks bad."

Ron took the offered lozenge, barely chewing before swallowing. Almost immediately, he felt his stomach calm. "I think it worked," he sighed in relief.

George rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Good, you could tell right away? That's promising. Our first batch, there was an, um, significant delay. Still, I think it's best if you stay back here while I work the front. If it didn't take, flooding the floor with that wouldn't be good for business."

His eyes narrowed into a glare at George. "Your sympathy is overwhelming," he gritted out.

"Hey, you brought it on yourself, with no help from me. Just be glad I had the antidote, and hadn't decided to see how long it would run its natural course today."

Not being able to argue the point, Ron just grunted, cautiously poking his stomach.

"I'll be out front, but call if something happens," George said over his shoulder, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him.

For about twenty minutes, Ron worked on the shelves-not that the job required that much time, but he kept becoming so lost in thought that he would forget to move. Now that he had a plan, he was sort of dreading tomorrow. At least right now, he had hope, even if he couldn't believe in it. After tomorrow, he might not even have that. What was he going to do, if it turned out the way he feared? Yeah, he knew that eventually he'd straighten himself out, but what would happen to him before he reached that point? He wouldn't be in any shape to help his family. He might not even care much about his training, which was bollocks after Kingsley had done so much to work things around for him. He just knew he'd have a period of not being able to put much effort into anything, and even though he could see how badly that could go for him, he knew that wouldn't matter to him until he was done wallowing-and by then, the Aurors might decide that he wasn't fit to join.

Some people might say it was stupid to get that hung up over a witch, and to some extent, they were right. For him, though, it stood for a lot more than that. It affected his belief in himself, and the belief that good things could actually happen in his life. And, as much as he didn't want it to be true, it would affect his friendship with Hermione. He didn't want her to force herself to be with him if she didn't want to be, but it would just hurt too much to be around her very often while he still had feelings for her that she didn't return.

He would always have feelings for her.

It was surprising that he heard anything over his next sigh, but he just made out the slight creak of the door, and turned to see if George needed help with something. He had just enough time to wonder if whatever had been in that sandwich earlier had caused him to hallucinate, before a very solid feeling Hermione launched herself at him. It brought to mind a year ago, when he had suddenly found himself holding onto what he had thought he could only dream for; now, hope unfurled in his chest again, sharper than all those months ago. Wanting had always been painful enough, but it wasn't anything compared to having her, and thinking he was going to lose her. But...she wouldn't do this if she was going to break things off, was she? Surely she wouldn't be touching him at all, if that was the case.

He pulled back a little. "Hermione? Wh-what are you doing here?"

She began peppering his neck and face with small kisses, speaking as she moved from his jaw to the corner of his lips. "I missed you, and I've come to spend the weekend with you."

He made an attempt to keep his voice light, but Hermione heard the pain, as well as the fear. "Really? I thought...I thought you might've come to chuck me over."

"Don't be ridiculous. Who would remind you to hang up your wet towels, and make sure you didn't make yourself sick with Chocolate Frogs?"

She felt him bury his face in her neck as he lifted her closer, his laugh sounding almost like a sob.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said quietly, "I've been overthinking some stupid things, but I promise, I've never wanted to break things off with you."

He hardly dared to believe; were things really alright? He looked into her eyes, trying to find any sign that she didn't mean what she had just said-that she wasn't staying with him just to be kind. There was nothing there but honesty, and the realization that everything wasn't crashing down around him propelled him forward into a highly enthusiastic kiss. To his delight, not only didn't she protest, but she participated in a manner he didn't believe could be faked. It was alright. Everything was alright. He hadn't messed up. He hadn't lost her. She was right there, warm and alive against him, not shutting him out.

It was impossible to get enough of her, he thought, as his hands wandered her body mindlessly. somehow they ended up gripping her arse, but it felt too good to let go, especially when it pressed her up against him like that. Every sound, every movement sent a jolt straight to his cock, and he felt his eyes roll back when she yanked his jumper over his head-and he nearly came when he felt her mouth on his collarbone! Everything happened in a sort of mad blur of skin, soft fluffy hair, and her hot wet mouth. That wasn't the only thing that was hot and wet, he thought with a low groan, as he lifted her up. Merlin, she was practically scorching him through the thin material of her knickers as she wiggled in his arms; it was all he could do not to drop her. He leaned back to look at her, his cock throbbing at the look in her eyes. She wanted him; there wasn't any way, in this moment, that he could deny that. Whatever had been wrong earlier, it didn't seem to matter now-it was almost like it had never happened. His introspection was brought to an abrupt halt when she gripped him by the hair and yanked him in for a searing kiss, her tongue darting along his teasingly. It all became a bit much, and he had to break the kiss to drop his head to her shoulder, the mental haze parting enough to remind him exactly where they were, and what they were doing. He needed her, but would she be mad if they continued? He couldn't be the one to bring it to a stop. If it was going to end in anything but a roaring orgasm, she was going to have to be the one to say so. He really hoped she wouldn't.

"Fuck!" He hissed, pressing her down harder on himself. "Hermione, you feel so...I can't...need you so much! If you wanna stop, you're gonna have to tell me..."

"Want you. Now."

The command was a throaty purr, and there was no way he could resist. fumbling, he tried to brace her against the shelves while he tried to undo his zip; fuck it all, he was almost as nervous as his first time! He held his breath as he slid her knickers to the side, and pushed himself inside. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. This was brilliant! She was brilliant! He'd missed her so fucking much-could she possibly know how much? The overwhelming need to be close to her made it impossible to even think about controlling his thrusts, which were short, hard, and erratic. But judging by the pleased noises she was moaning as she bounced on top of him, and the way she was practically pulling his hair out, she didn't mind. He wished he could make it last longer, but it had been awhile, and he was so on edge...he'd be embarrassed, if it wasn't for the way she was bucking against him, telling him she was close. He tried to stay quiet, but it was impossible. His head was so full of Hermione, that there was no way to stop himself from shouting her name when he finally came. Hermione didn't seem to have the same problem, but that was probably because she had chosen that moment to bite down on his neck. Fuuuuuck, he loved it when she did that!

His training had been paying off, but his arms were feeling rubbery, and he wasn't able to keep holding her. He did manage to slide her down until her feet touched the ground, although he was afraid for a moment that his knees were about to buckle. Nervously, he remembered where they were, and that they hadn't put up any Silencing Charms. He looked over at Hermione as they picked up their clothes and cleaned up, but she smiled at him, letting out a little laugh. It was contagious, and soon he was giggling like an idiot, over how close they had come to being-

There was a brief knock, before the door was shoved open. "Hey, I was just checking to make sure-" George started, poking his head around the door. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, his gaze darting between their guilty expressions. "You didn't just...Oh come on! You just desecrated my work room, didn't you? Before I had a chance to do it _myself?"_

"We didn't desecrate anything," Hermione sniffed, tossing her head. "Did you want something?"

George rolled his eyes. "I was just going to check to make sure everything was alright with you, but clearly, things are fine."

"Sorry," Ron mumbled, "It was just, we...and then..." Oh crap, was Hermione going to be mad that they'd been found out? He couldn't take a fight right now-the sex had been good, but he still needed to be near her, to really drive home that these last few weeks were over.

"Stop! I don't need the gorey details. Look, why don't you take off early? I can't decontaminate the place while you're still here."

"Wait, seriously?" Ron asked, as if looking for a catch. What, George wasn't going to take the mickey? Was he sick or something?

"Yes Ron, why don't you? I think he owes you a day off, at least," Hermione cut in, glaring at George strangely.

With a rustle and a clinking sound, George tossed Ron a small bag he had pulled from his robes. "Here, why don't you take her out, Ron? It'll make up for the, um, sandwich earlier."

Curiously, he peered into the bag, and nearly choked. This was almost a month's pay! "This is too much! Here, take some-"

But George just waved his hand. "Keep it; it's about time you had a bonus, anyway. Now go on, before I recover from my generous impulse!"

Hermione picked up her discarded bag, and smiled at Ron. "So, where are we going to go eat?"

He paused. The almost constant need to munch had miraculously faded, and while he could eat, he wasn't ravenous.

"You know, I'm not very hungry right now; you go ahead and pick."

She frowned. "Well, if you're really not hungry..."

Her eyes looked troubled, and that was the last thing he wanted. A small, sick sort of panic slithered through him, whispering that he was going to somehow ruin things again. He swallowed it back, determined not to bollock it up this time. With an exaggerated leer, he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Don't worry. I suspect my appetite will pick back up. For dessert."

She blushed, and smiled up at him. His heart unclenched; good. Things were going to be alright now. He'd make sure of it.

_Hermione was enjoying the afterglow, but Ron's thoughts were like a bucket of ice water, and she realized that she had made a mistake. A well intentioned mistake, but a mistake. He had needed-and deserved-an explanation, reassurance, and closure, and she had denied him all three. She had only meant to avoid hurting his feelings more than they already had been, and to move on. But Ron had no idea what was going on, and was left with the horrible belief that it could happen again. To be blunt, she had distracted him with sex, and avoided the problem. That was...really not good. There had been times that she had wanted to talk something out, only to let him sweep her off to bed to forget, and as nice as making up was, that way left the door open for whatever the problem was to happen again. Both of them tried so hard to avoid making things bad between them, but the way they did it somehow ended up making things worse than they had to be. She supposed a lot of it stemmed from before they had gotten together, and the near misses they had had. She couldn't help but wonder how much this had affected some of Ron's actions; it had to be horrible, feeling like you were about to mess up at any moment with no warning. Even though he was doing better, she knew he still had a problem with his self esteem, and could get nervous. She needed to learn to tell him when she was upset and needed to think, and to make sure that he knew that it was just so she could figure out the best way to handle things, not that she was considering leaving him._

_Not all decisions had been bad ones, however; not long after that near fiasco, she had made one of the best decisions of her life. Apparently, Ron felt he had as well, although in a more nerve wracking manner._

Columns of number written in an unusually tidy hand marched across a roll of parchment, checks and balances meticulously lined up, finally ending in a satisfactory amount. Ron sighed, and stretched his stiff neck until it popped loudly. He had checked and double checked, and even gone back to triple check. It was a little tight, but perfectly manageable. Through careful budgeting and a stroke of luck, he was actually going to be able to ask the question he hadn't expected to come up for months yet. Now all he had to do was convince Hermione that this was a good idea. He groaned.

"Everything alright there, mate?" Harry asked, looking up from the paint samples he had been studying.

The sight gave Ron pause; a year ago, who would've pictured The Boy Who Lived fussing over what color to paint a kitchen? 'Course, all the renovations had been Harry's way of keeping himself from going mental without something to do, and a good decision in the long run; even if Harry chose not to stay here permanently, he'd get a much better price on the place if it was fixed up enough not to come straight from the cover of Villainous Residences Quarterly. And while Harry had asked his and Hermione's opinions often enough, it hadn't escaped his attention that the one he consulted most often was Ginny. He bit back a smug smile at that; he was more than pleased by the way that relationship was working out, but it wouldn't do to let them know that. It was too much fun to make Harry all nervous every once and awhile with the protective big brother routine, and what kind of brother would he be if he didn't pester his sister about her love life (something she enthusiastically returned)? Besides, Ginny had a rebellious streak, and since Mum and Dad were both overjoyed with Harry, he knew she got a thrill doing something that he didn't 'approve' of. Of course, she knew better, but it was all part of the game.

"Oh! Um, I was just looking over a few things," Ron said, jerking back to the present when Harry slowly waved a hand up and down in his line of sight.

"So, are you going to ask her then?" Harry asked, grinning.

"If it's still alright with you," Ron replied, even though they had already talked it over before.

"You know it is; I would've asked her anyway, since it wasn't like she wasn't going to spend most of her time here. Besides, I doubt she'd be lucky enough to find a flat by herself, and that would sort of...limit you two. I don't think Hermione would be all that pleased to have a near stranger walking in on you."

Ron nodded agreeably. "True, we do prefer to keep it in the family."

Harry wrinkled his nose, and threw a throw pillow at Ron. "Wanker!"

With Keeper reflexes, Ron snatched it out of the air before it hit him, and grinning smugly, waggling his eyebrows. "Not so much anymore."

"Ugh, you're going to make me regret this, aren't you?"

Immediately, Ron sobered. "You know it'll only be for about a year, right? I mean, it's brilliant of you to let us stay, but it wouldn't be permanent or anything."

With a wave of his hand, Harry answered, "You know it's not a problem; hell, I'd even let you stay a year and a half, if you needed to."

"You have a huge heart, you know that? But seriously, thanks. You know I wanted us to have our own place, but I don't think we'd have been able to swing it for about two years, if this offer hadn't come up."

Harry sat up, looking like he had just thought of something. "You did have a look at the place, right? Not that I think Lee's family would try anything shifty, but-"

"Yeah, Bill and Charlie went with me to check the place out, and they said everything looked right-a bit old, and maybe not exactly visually appealing, but everything works the way it should. Bill said he was a little jealous-his first flat was a nightmare."

"You're really excited about this, aren't you?" Harry asked with a funny little smile. "It's...I dunno, odd, seeing you so...domestic."

Ron chucked the pillow back with a laugh. "Says the tit who spent four hours worrying about whether to wallpaper the hallway or paint it!"

"I'm still not sure the wallpaper was the best choice," Harry said sulkily, "I like the stripes, but it makes the hallway darker."

Flopping down onto the sofa, Ron groaned.

"Alright, alright! I'll leave it up. For now. No, what I meant was...all this planning, for a flat, for Hermione, for a future. It's almost like-like you're nesting."

"The mark of a Weasley," Ron said dryly, "we make a big fuss about leaving the nest, but it's really so we can be in charge of our own. And anyway, what's wrong with being domestic?"

Harry shrugged, letting the pillow fall to the floor. "Nothing at all. It's just I guess most people our age are out looking for thrills and excitement, or whatever."

"Harry, I've had thrills, excitement, and whatever since I was eleven. It's not exactly all it's cracked up to be, you know? I'm kind of looking forward to something that isn't trying to kill me. And who says it's not exciting, anyway? Hermione always gives me a thrill when we have a tiff, and even more when we-"

"I don't wanna know!"

"I reckon there'll be enough in the danger and excitement department once we get out on the job, and as for the rest...I just want to be happy, you know? And Hermione makes me happy."

"You make her happy too, you know? I know you don't always believe that, but you do."

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, mildly embarrassed. "I try," he muttered. "And what about you? Are you saying that Ginny isn't exciting? Should I tell her you need more thrills?"

Eye bugging, Harry waved his hands frantically. "Merlin, no! I do good just keeping up with her now, and who knows what she'd come up with if you said something like that!"

The two of them laughed, but as it faded, Harry asked, "But if things are going so well, why did you groan just now?"

At that, Ron sprawled back bonelessly, his hands coming up to cover his face. "Because now I have to convince Hermione that it's a good idea, and she probably has seventy million ideas why it's not. I think I've covered everything that could possibly be a concern, but...what if she just plain doesn't want to? Nothing I can do then 'cept tuck my tail between my legs and slink away."

"How can you even think that she's going to say no? She's said herself that she doesn't really want to stay with her parents full time, but she's not thrilled having to look for a place, either. I know there was the idea of her and Ginny getting somewhere for awhile, but with as often as Gin would be away, it's not exactly practical for her to get a place. Even if the two of you weren't dating, I'm sure Hermione would move in here."

"Gee, thanks Harry. Now I'm just a _sensible option."_

"You know what I mean! She'd be moving in with people she knew, and even if she ends up in your room more often than not, she'll still have her own when she wants her space. I know she won't agree to stay for free, but she can chip in on the groceries; between the two of you, that should almost be enough to feed _you."_

"Funny. Veeeeeerry funny. Maybe we should switch; you can go work for George, and I can putter around here putting in sink fittings the wrong way round."

"A mistake anyone could've made!"

"Five times?"

"Oh, shut up. Anyway, about Hermione. When are you going to ask her, so I have the satisfaction of saying I told you so?"

Ron sighed. "She's still with her parents in France, but she's supposed to be at the Burrow Saturday for dinner. I thought I'd ask her then."

By the time Saturday came, Ron was a nervous wreck. He didn't think he had given anything away in his owls, but Hermione had an uncanny knack of knowing when he was up to something. Aside from a quick kiss on the cheek when she had arrived, he had done his best to stay out of her way. He knew she would help Mum in the kitchen, so he figured he was safe if he blended into the crowd of his brothers. He might have to stomp on Harry's foot though, since his expression was a dead giveaway something was up; he'd already seen the way Ginny was looking at both of them.

"Ron, if you were planning on keeping this a secret, it might help if you didn't look as guilty as if you'd robbed Gringotts," George said with amusement.

"Technically, he has," Bill pointed out.

"Come on Ron, show a little confidence, that's half the battle!" Charlie encouraged.

"I though half the battle will be when he explains it to Mum," Percy chipped in his two Knuts.

Ron glared that them all; unhelpful wankers, the lot of them.

"He's just worried she's going to say no. He'll be fine once it's over," said Harry, completing the set.

"Maybe today isn't a good day," Ron began, worriedly, "Maybe I should wait for a better time, or take her out somewhere, or-"

"No!" The others chorused, and Ron jumped, looking around to make sure no one else noticed.

"You know things have only ever gotten worse when you've put something like this off," Harry said, obviously thinking of their Hogwarts years.

"If you don't ask, we will," George promised.

"You wouldn't!"

His brothers shared a significant look

"Merlin, you would. Fine, I'll do it. Have the Firewhiskey ready when she shoots me down."

"That's the spirit, Ron. Glad to see you aren't going to be melodramatic about it," George said with a roll of his eyes.

Ron was spared having to reply by their mum calling them to dinner, and he silently shuffled over and dropped into the seat next to her. That was a mistake. This close, he could smell her hair, reminding him that they hadn't been close like this in over a week. Maybe he should've sat across from her. No, because then he'd be looking at her. Icy cold sweat prickled along his spine, and he knew he was just about to vomit or blurt the whole thing out right there. Quickly, he shoved a bite of something into his mouth and began to chew. People continued to talk around him, as if he wasn't sitting there, slowly melting into a puddle of ginger colored anxiety. A thousand possibilities flashed through his mind; some probable, some ludicrous, none of them good. He'd worked himself up to the point where it was no longer a matter of her saying no or not, but how she would say it.

This was, technically speaking, the first time he was putting himself out there like this. Hermione had made the first move in their relationship, and he'd been glad of that, for the most part. But now it was his turn to take things to the next level, and he was scared spitless he was going to muck it up. At this point, the best he was hoping for was that she said that while she loved him, she wasn't ready to move that fast. He could deal with that. Mostly. Except he knew his stupid head would try, over time, to twist it into meaning that she was trying to find a nice way to let him down slowly. But what if it was worse than that? What if she went the whole, 'maybe we need time apart' route? What if-what if he missed his chance, because he hadn't been paying attention! Everyone was already standing up to leave the table, and he knew if they went inside now, it could be hours before he got her alone again. With a lurch, he managed to grab her wrist.

"Go for a walk with me?" He croaked. Oh, smooth! It was just like asking her to dance at Bill's wedding all over again.

"But shouldn't I-"

"Don't worry, Harry'll help clear up. Please?"

He saw her hesitate, but knew it was more her unwillingness to be impolite than it was any reluctance to go with him.

"Alright, then."

Exhibiting his usual grace, he nearly knocked over his chair as he stood-he was just thankful he didn't yank off the brightly colored tablecloth his mum used when they ate outside. He smiled at her nervously, taking her hand. He knew at least one family member would be watching, so he didn't say anything as he lead her farther away, to the strand of trees that would block anyone's vision. He turned to face her, and found her looking up at him expectantly. His mouth went dry, and all of his carefully planned out openings evaporated from his mind.

"I w-wanted to ask you something," he said, his voice squeaking at the beginning before steadying.

She cocked her head curiously. "What is it?"

He shuffled his feet before speaking. "I know you haven't made plans yet, and I wanted to ask before you did," he took another deep breath, "I was hoping that you'd move in with me at Grimmauld Place, temporarily." Inside his head, he was screaming. How did that make any kind of sense?

"You mean, with you and Harry?"

"No. I mean, yeah, Harry is there too-it is his house and all-but you'd be with, well, _me."_ Wait, did that sound possessive? He didn't mean possessive. He meant as a couple, living with Harry. Maybe he should've written this out after all.

"Then what did you mean by temporarily?"

"Just that...you'd move in there with me now, and then...and then move with me into our own flat in about a year."

He watched as her eyes widened, trying to figure out if she was pleased or put off by the idea.

"Ron...are you proposing?"

He jumped, nearly dropping her hand. "What? No! I'm not-well, I'm not right _now._ I know I'm not the most romantic bloke, but I'm gonna ask better than this when I do!"

Wait, she thought he was proposing? She didn't look upset about it. That was a good thing, right? Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she looked a little disappointed. Surely, if she would have been open to that, then he had a chance with this, didn't he?

"Ron, I would love to," she started, her voice slightly hesitant.

"I'm sensing a 'but' in there somewhere," he said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping. It was too good to be true; now came the long, detailed explanations that ultimately meant no.

"It's not that I don't want to!" "I just don't see how we could save enough to get a flat in just one year."

Was that all? He grinned; if that was the only thing standing in the way, then there was no problem at all!

"We don't need as much as you're probably thinking. It turns out that Lee's cousins own a building, and they prefer to have people that they know. One family is going to be moving out next year, and Lee says the place isn't anything big or fancy, but it's clean and in good repair. If we promise to keep an eye on his grandfather, and do things like run errands for him, and maybe play chess with him once a week or so, we can get a really good discount."

She blinked. "Really? That's all? No other catch?"

He shook his head. "Apparently, tenants that won't cause problems are pretty important to them. The only other thing is we have to furnish it ourselves."

"So Harry's alright with me moving in, then?"

Ron scoffed. "Of course he is-wait-does that mean you will?"

He hardly dared believe it, but it sounded like she was saying yes! She was saying yes, with no protests, no millions of reasons why it might be better to wait-he wanted this! She wanted this with him, and the feelings that thought inspired were as strong and euphoric as when she had first told him she loved him.

"Are you officially asking me to live in sin with you?" She asked, her voice holding a note of playfulness that he loved.

"I expect there to be a fair amount of sinning, yeah. But I figure it'll be balanced out with you telling me to hang up my robes and trying to keep me from eating biscuits in bed. So, will you?"

Stretching up on her tiptoes, she placed a tender kiss on his cheek. "Yes," she said softly.

And that one word, that one life changing little word, shot through him like a bolt of happiness. was true that he hadn't asked her to marry him, but someday, that was the answer he was going to get to the question he would ask her. It was what she would say, essentially, when they spoke their vows. It wasn't all of that yet, but it was a step, the first step in the direction of the rest of their lives together. He leaned in to kiss her back, showing her with action, where words failed him, how he felt. It wa too soon now, he knew, and that was alright.

But starting now, he was saving up for that ring.

_Hermione let the happiness from Ron wash over her, taking a moment to bask in the feelings of love he had for her. It It had all seemed so easy, she thought, watching the pair kiss. Their lives had been stretched out in front of them, and after everything they had been through, it had seemed so simple to make everything fall into place perfectly from then on. But it hadn't been. Somehow, life had just...sort of gotten in the way. Work schedules were a nightmare. Family had to be made time for; sometimes for happy events, and sometimes because one or another needed help. There was always something that seemed to need to be done, and the few times there wasn't, you pretty much needed to collapse in exhaustion to get ready for the next round. That isn't to say they neglected each other. At least, Hermione didn't feel neglected, and she didn't think she had made Ron feel that way either-although if there was one thing she had learned here, it was that she had often made him feel things she hadn't meant to-she would need to ask him about that. But in a strange way, it was because of love and trust that it happened. You believed in the other person to be there for you. You trusted that they had made a commitment, and were going to stay; that they had your back. You believed in them being there so much that sometimes, you forgot to really stop and look at them, and remember that they were there by choice._

_Already, she had seen how subtly some of the habits they had developed made it harder for them to communicate. It wasn't a conscious decision on either of their parts, but it affected them just as badly. And she didn't want that. Things were never going to be perfect and run smoothly all the time. Neither of them were perfect, and she accepted that. Still, changes could be made to make things better; fewer feelings hurt, fewer misunderstandings left to fester. She had learned so much already here, and she knew that the memories leading up to the present would be important, as well. To paraphrase Dickens a bit, she was ready to go forth and know him better. With what she learned, she knew that they could both make changes to have a positive impact on their lives. She looked back up at the kissing couple. It would never be as easy as the two of them believed. Nothing was. But their feelings, in that moment, were very, very real._

_And they were worth fighting for._


	47. Chapter 47

**A.N. Due to numerous messages both here and on tumblr complaining about update times, scenes have been altered and cut to be uploaded quickly. The final chapters should be up by the end of February, barring anymore serious health complications or deaths. Any questions can be directed to my tumblr, coyotelaughingsoftly, where I can at least respond to anons. Thank you!**

**Story Notes: I've received a few messages saying that Hermione wouldn't use the cold shoulder on Ron, but would be mature and discuss things. However, in canon, Hermione uses the silent treatment in most large fights, rather than discuss the problem. Yes, she will grow out of that, but it's a learning process and not a sudden change. Also, just to be clear, in the last update she was NOT giving him the cold shoulder; Hermione was unsure how to proceed without making things worse, which is normal. Knowing what you need to do in a relationship is different from knowing how. It's like giving someone with no driving experience an eighteen wheeler and having them drive across the country, telling them to use the steering wheel and pedals. She was also not trying to justify her actions, but to understand her own motivation, which is a necessary process to changing your behavior. Sure, everyone knows that talking about things is best, but people rarely actually do it. I've had people point it out in stories, only to do the exact thing in their own lives. "I know, but it's over now and I don't want to bring it back up. I'll say something if it happens again." "I know what they'll say anyway, so there's no point." People just naturally try to avoid things that might be unpleasant, even if it's in their best interest. (Plus, it's very hard to justify a couple going to therapy if you don't...show them having any problems.)**

_Ron stared down at the body of his not-yet-fiancee, which was currently sprawled face down on the library rug, doing a credible imitation of a corpse. She was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and an oversized shirt that had once belonged to him, but she hadn't been home long, since her hair was still up. Crookshanks stared at her from his perch on the sofa, over a large stack of legal books and papers which were covering the coffee table._

If she had the ability to go back and smack her fourteen year old self in the face for even contemplating this career path, Hermione would start flipping a Time Turner in a heartbeat. She had always known it wasn't going to be glamorous. Or easy. She had known she would face opposition and ignorance. She just hadn't expected it to come from the very people who were supposed to be on her side.

With starry-eyed naivete, she had gone into this job thinking that she would be banding together with a group of likeminded people who would share her ideals; people that would be fervently working to right the injustices of the Wizarding World. She had been horrified and disgusted to find out just how wrong she had been. Some of her coworkers believed that working in their department was a punishment. Others cared absolutely nothing about the magical creatures they were supposed to be protecting, and were only there because their family needed the added income. And finally (and almost worse, in her opinion), were the ones who did care about their jobs, but only in relation to how much credit it got them. The only thing all three groups seemed to agree on was hating her. Most resented her because they thought she had used her 'connections' with Harry to get the job (which made no sense, because it had no prestige whatsoever), while others were divided on loathing her for actually trying to make the department function as it should, or fearing that she would take the credit for any accomplishments. She had only been there three weeks, and she was already fantasizing about turning them all into toads and boiling them. This wasn't a promising development. She had to keep reminding herself that she was not a violent person; she would not slap the next person who made insinuations about who she was really dating. She. Would. Not.

"I think Harry was joking about getting a bear skin rug, but I'm sure he'll appreciate the thought, love."

Hermione didn't even tilt her head at hearing the amused voice of her boyfriend. If she did, she was afraid she would bite his ankle; at this point, she was beyond annoyed, and she wanted nothing more than to kick her feet and throw a childish temper to get it out of her system. However, since she was currently doing the work of four people, she didn't have the energy to waste.

"Hnnnnnnnngggghhhhh."

The floorboards creaked, and she heard him grunt as he arranged himself on the floor. A large hand brushed the hair away from her face, and Hermione rolled her head just enough to see that he had stretched out beside her, a sympathetic expression on his face.

"That bad, huh?"

Finally! that was more like it.

"Worse," she groaned, happy to finally have someone who would commiserate with her while she complained. "They all think I'm in it for the glory, and they're so afraid I'll take credit for something, that at least two other people keep rechecking something once I'm done, just so their names will be attached. And they're still being ridiculous about the whole name situation."

"Still? Merlin, Hermione, are you sure you're working with adults? Because I don't think I was even that bad as a first year."

She hated to admit it, but he was right. Ron at his worst was at least honest and mostly fair. Her coworkers were so petty that they weren't even telling her their names; instead, each of them would answer randomly to different ones, and they kept switching the nameplates on their desks. So whenever she needed to give something to a specific person, she was looking like a fool because she didn't know what to do with it.

"I don't know what to do!" I can't go over their heads to complain-I'd just look like I couldn't handle it, or as if I expected special treatment. I know they're testing me, and that I need to be patient, but I'm not sure how long I can last. They're so hostile! It wasn't like I expected to come in and start running the department the way I thought it should be run."

"No, not right away," Ron said innocently.

"Exactly, I-Oh, you know what I mean!" She twisted her leg to jab the back of his calf with her toes.

"I know. I just wish there was some way I could help. Wait! Why don't I come by your office and challenge whoever is bothering you to a duel?"

"Ron, you can't do that!" Or could he...no. No, she wasn't going to go there, as delightful as it sounded...

"You're right," he nodded thoughtfully, "That's a bit archaic, isn't it? You'd rather do it yourself. So who's up first? The greasy chap with the bad toupee, or the bird who always looks like a mole seeing the sun for the first time?"

Hermione snorted, the fibers of the rug beneath her tickling her nose.

"You're imagining it, aren't you? Do you think any of them would have the bollocks to accept, or would they all piss themselves? Come on, admit it; I bet you have a hex perfect for each one of them, don't you?"

She gave a little cackle; she did, in fact.

"It's a lovely thought," she said reluctantly, "But I'm afraid it would just cause more problems than it would solve."

He rubbed the back of her neck, his fingers working out the kinks. "Maybe. Still think it would be brilliant to see you kick their arses though. Sort of like with Malfoy in third year..."

"Oh please, that was just one slap!"

"Ah, but what a slap!" Ron countered dreamily. "But if you don't want to go that far, I say you go in tomorrow, and tell everyone that you've 'talked to a few special friends' and that you've been promoted to head of the department. Act like you're in charge, and see how long it takes them to fall apart."

"Ron, that's wicked!" She gasped.

"I know; I have a flair for that," he waggled his eyebrows.

She snickered. "Not that kind of wicked, but yes, you do. Merlin, I can imagine their faces! I won't do that, of course, but it's fun to imagine what they would do if I really did do something like that. Although I suppose technically that's what they're all sure I'm planning to, eventually."

Ron snorted. "Did it ever occur to them that if we were going to use Harry for something like that, then we'd go straight to the top? Or not even work at all?"

"Except that we wouldn't do that."

"'Course not. But it we did, we'd at least have the sense to think big."

"True. Although now I'm tempted to invite Harry to the office for lunch, just to watch them sweat."

"Perfect; I'll pop in to mention to Harry that your talents are being wasted, and couldn't we use a backup Minister, since Kingsley isn't getting any younger?"

Hermione nearly choked; imagining their reactions if they thought she had her eye on that position was almost too much.

"On second thought, maybe not. I imagine Kingsley has to deal with more gits than I do, although thank you for the thought. I suppose I'll just have to grit my teeth and bear it until they realize it would be easier to let me do my job."

"I reckon that would be the mature thing...but Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"If you do decide on that duel, be sure to let me know, yeah? I'd want to watch."

_Ron watched the two of them laughing and poking at each other, confused. It was a good memory-after some of the things he had seen, he wasn't going to complain about a happy one-but...what was he supposed to learn here? He had started to get it through his head how much he helped lighten her up when she was down, and while he loved knowing he could do that, it didn't make sense to see this so close to a similar memory. He was still confused as the scene shimmered, then resolved in the same location; something told him that there hadn't been much time passing between the previous memory and this one. Puzzled, he sat down in one of the chairs to watch, as an irate Hermione continued through the door she had just entered._

With barely contained anger, Hermione just managed to close the door without slamming it as she stalked into the library, where Ron was sprawled over one of the sofas, his eyes trained on a book as a quill hovered in the air over a sheet of parchment on the table. A brief feeling a pleased pride flickered through her at the sight, before her temper reasserted itself in the forefront of her mind. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath; she'd had a rotten day, but she was home now. She would vent a little to Ron, then she could be fine for the rest of the evening.

"I'm home," she said, when he still hadn't looked up.

Ron nearly dropped the book, blinking in surprise. A smile started to form, but quickly faded as he got a good look at her.

"Hey. Rough day?"

She flung herself down in a seat, kicking her shoes of, for once not caring where they landed. "Incredibly. Do you remember all those statements I've been taking from house elves for the past two weeks?"

He sat up, tucking a marker between his pages before he set the book down with a nod. "Yeah, wasn't it for that report you were working on, about how elves are really treated? To show the need for at least better working conditions?"

Normally she would be pleased that he remembered, but now her eyes narrowed as she growled, "Gladys Sedgewick has been falsifying the statements before turning them in after 'proofreading' them. Her excuse was it's an issue that will cause good Wizarding families to be inconvenienced."

"The hell she did!" Ron swore hotly, his eyebrows lowered. "Didn't you say that some of them were being treated as badly as Dobby?"

She slumped back into her chair, fighting down tears. "Yes. Some even worse. Surprisingly, most I talked to seemed quite happy, and were clean, well fed, with no physical abuse whatsoever. In fact, I think that if given the choice, they would continue in service with no real changes. Which would be fine, as long as their basic rights were agreed on and formally upheld..." she trailed off. Ron had heard it all before, after all.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. The ones with the most damning testimonies were so scared to speak, that I don't think I could get them to a second time, and even less likely for it to be in time before the report goes up for review. If there's no strong evidence that the laws regarding house elves need to be changed, it'll get pushed to the bottom of the list while we deal with other things. And while, hopefully, it means some group gets help..."

"It means the elves get screwed over."

"As usual," she agreed, heaving herself from the chair. "I'm going to go up and take a nice, long soak. I'm not sure just how yet, but Gladys isn't getting away with this."

Ron smiled. "Let me know if you need any help with your revenge plans. George just got in a huge shipment of stuff from Germany that he's dying to try. Apparently German wizards are pretty enthusiastic about schadenfreude."

For one blissful moment, she considered setting George loose on the problem. The offer was tempting, very tempting.

But she wanted the satisfaction of doing it herself.

She was almost to the stairs when she remembered something, and made her way back to the library, where Ron had gone back to his books.

"Ron? Please tell me you remembered that it's your night to cook," she pleaded, knowing that Harry was out with Ginny, and she didn't have the energy to scrape a meal together tonight."

"Mhmm." Ron replied with an air of distraction.

"Ron? Did you hear me?"

"Eh? Yeah! Supper. Don't worry, I'm on it."

Her eyelid twitched. It was already getting late, and if he didn't start soon, supper would be pushed back to a midnight snack, and she hadn't had time to grab lunch today. Was he even really listening to her, or was he brushing her off, hoping that if he waited long enough, she would do it herself?

"Ron, if you're planning on making something besides sandwiches, you really should start now," she said, trying not to sound as impatient as she felt.

Finally, his head popped up over the back of the sofa so he could make eye contact, his lips tilted in a smirk. "I think I can manage better than that. Not that you should get your hopes up too high, since I'm just a humble wizard and not a culinary genius like Kreacher."

She gripped the doorframe tightly, resisting the urge to scream. "Actually, sandwiches would be perfect. I don't feel very well, so I'm going straight to bed after my shower."

He looked puzzled, but she started from the room anyway.

"Hermione? Are you sure you don't want me to bring you up a few? I can make a cheese toastie, or I think we have some lettuce I could do you up with bacon."

"No Ron, don't put yourself to the trouble!" She yelled back, already partway up the stairs, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear her regular speaking voice.

She stomped up to their room-his room-and rooted around in a drawer for her pajamas, before stalking to the bathroom. Was she really asking so much? All she wanted after coming home from a day that had been utter crap was for someone to actually listen to her when she said something needed to be done, instead of putting her off and making light of it! What was it about her that made people unable to take her seriously? She twisted the knobs to start the water, frustrated tears pricking her eyes. She hated this. She hated feeling so...useless.

_It was like a hundred Muggle lightbulbs went off over his head. For years, it had puzzled the hell out of him why half the time he could lift her spirits with a joke, and the other half, she would bite his head off, even if he hadn't been the cause of whatever was bothering her in the first place. He had tried to figure it out, he really had, but eventually he'd just accepted that it was one of those weird things he was never going to understand about women. The sheer simplicity of the answer rocked him. It was timing. Timing, and taking the situation into consideration._

_Hermione had been going through hell at the office. No one listened to her, or respected her. When she wasn't being snubbed outright, she was made light of and brushed off. Any other time, what he had said and the way he had said it wouldn't really have bothered her. At most, an exasperated eyeroll and a muttered comment. But today, she had needed to feel like she was being listened to-not just the sympathy he had given earlier, which she had appreciated, but the kind of listening where your input was respected and acted on. It was true that Hermione typically leaned towards being bossy, but now that he really thought about it and the effects it had on their fights, it only reached a critical level when she was somehow being made to feel insignificant. And, from his unique perspective from being able to see and feel from her point of view, he knew this wasn't a simple case of her taking out aggression on him._

_When she had arrived home, she had no intention of starting a fight. Even when she was reminding him about supper, she hadn't wanted to goad him into anything, or to exert some sort of power over him. She was just mentally and emotionally tired, and wanted someone to listen to her without it having to be a drawn out ordeal. Instead of trying to be funny, or not giving her a direct answer, she would have been fine if he had just said that since he had a test he was trying to revise for the next day, he was planning on either warming up one of those frozen pizzas or ordering takeaway._

_He could see that it could decrease their fighting significantly if he learned to pay closer attention to when it was a good time to use humor, and when he needed to show that he took her needs and concerns seriously, and verbalize why he couldn't do something in the timeframe she had in mind._

_The air shimmered as he stepped into his room, on a different day._

"Is this mine, or yours?"

Hermione glanced up from her cross legged position going over her list to find Ron holding a Muggle pack of cards.

"Ummmmmm, I'm pretty sure those are yours. Harry gave them to you, didn't he?"

"Oh, right. What about this?" He asked, holding a book in his other hand.

She read the title: WIcked Witches Through the Ages: Tales of Cunning Criminal Fatales. "That's mine. No, wait, maybe it's yours? I know I read it because I was interested, and you did for one of your classes, but I can't recall who actually bought it."

"Neither can I," Ron sighed, tossing it into the 'undecided' pile.

"If you ask me whose pants those are, I'll make you wear them on your head until we're done," she teased, going back to her sorting after he showed her his tongue.

Over the past few days, it had become alarmingly clear that moving out of Grimmauld Place wasn't going to be as easy as moving in. Somehow, in the space of one year, they had both accumulated quite a bit. That in itself wasn't the problem. That began when they had decided to pack things according to what belonged to whom. Some things were clear, but their possessions, like their lives, had blurred together enough that not everything had a specific owner. Some things were hers, some his, and others were in that nebulous territory, 'theirs.' It was lovely from a romantic point of view, but it was immensely frustrating to her methodical side.

And, if she had to be honest, she was also a bit frightened. While it was true that after everything they had been through, she often felt far older than she was, the reality was that both of them were very young. They had learned lessons that people their age often hadn't, but that was only in some areas; in others, they were no different than anyone else in their early twenties. She was fully committed to Ron, and she believed that if both of them put in the effort, their relationship would continue to flourish and grow, lasting them throughout their lives. But sometimes she worried. What if what Ron wanted changed as he got older? Covertly, she watched him flipping through an old comic book, grinning at the pages. She knew that she could be inflexible and overbearing, hyper focused and demanding. She tried to work on all of that, but she was human. As Ron matured, would he become less willing to put up with those flaws? Would the things he found endearing and exasperating now be things he came to resent when he had matured more?

"Hey, Hermione?"

She looked up, embarrassed to find she had only added two more books to her pile. "Yes?"

He carefully placed his Quidditch gear in a separate box, Spellotaping it shut. "I was thinking that maybe once we got everything settled in the flat, that we could have our parents over for dinner some night? We haven't really had yours over except at the Burrow. I'll help, of course!" he added, as if afraid she would say no.

Smiling widely, she said, "That's a brilliant idea, Ron! If you got things started one afternoon, we could finish together when I got home, so it shouldn't be too hard if we do something like a casserole with sides."

Ron beamed at her, obviously pleased that his idea was warmly received. "Sorted."

As he went back to sorting items, Hermione watched him. Just minutes ago he had been snickering over a comic, and now he was calmly having a domestic conversation involving cooking and spending an evening with their parents. It was all so oddly... _adult._ It was during moments like these that showed her just how much Ron was growing up. Sometimes, she didn't know if she was or not. Would she notice? Did Ron notice? He always sounded so proud (aside from when they were arguing about something) about how together she always seemed to be, always with the answers, always in control. She often wondered what he would think if he knew that she usually didn't feel that way; most of the time, she just got through a situation as best she could, hoping she was getting it right. She didn't always have the right answer, and sometimes the situation felt completely beyond her control.

This relationship with Ron...she wanted so badly to get it right! She knew, theoretically, what one needed to have in a healthy relationship. She just wasn't positive that she was doing all the right things to acheive it. Obviously there had to be trial and error. She just hoped that she managed to make it through without any of the errors being too big to overcome...

"Hermione, I know you said not to, but would you consider these Cannons knickers yours or mine? Because you wear them, but I'm definitely the one that-"

She snatched the knickers from his hand, and, laughing, yanked them over his head. Maybe sometimes she thought too much.

_Rubbing his chin, Ron pondered that. It was sort of a relief to know that Hermione had had some of the same fears as he did. In hindsight, he suspected most people did. Those first couple of years, he almost felt like he was playing at being an adult; that at any moment, his mum might call him home, and he would go back to being a child again. There was always something new coming at you that you had to deal with, and you felt like a tit because everyone around you seemed to know how. It wasn't until much later that you realized you probably looked the same way to them. Back then, he figured that anyone older than him had all the answers, but he quickly learned otherwise when Bill became a new father and admitted he had no idea what the hell he was doing. He reckoned that you never truly did; you got used to something, then a new phase of your life starts, and there you were all over again. It was both depressing and comforting._

_He had definitely worried that he wouldn't catch on as quickly as Hermione, and that she'd get tired of it. It was, after all, a fact that some people simply grew apart. But after thinking it over carefully, he didn't think that was going to happen with them-and that was even viewing things through his natural cynicism. Their experiences had been of unique help in that regard. Both of them knew, quite clearly, what was important and what they wanted out of life, and their basic goals as far as that went were the same. They were growing, yes, but together, in the same direction. That didn't mean that everything between them was lined up exactly, but nothing so big that would change them into being incompatible. If Hermione was still worried that his feelings would change, she needn't be. He already knew her strengths and flaws, and which of those last that she would probably always struggle with. To him, it didn't even really matter that she had them, as long as she genuinely tried not to let them dominate her. He would have to do the same, but that was all you could really expect of another person. It also explained the periods she had had of seeming unsure, and being a bit snappish sometimes, though that hardly happened anymore. If she had been worried that she was making the right choices, or that she was 'on track,' so to speak as an adult, then it had probably been really frustrating for her to be second guessing herself. He had done the same himself, whenever he was struggling with his insecurities, and it was easy to get irritable with the people around you when they weren't even the cause, and not even notice you were doing it._

_Before his thoughts could wander off down that track too far, he was moved to the next memory, landing in their apartment. He could tell some time had passed, since they had managed to add an extra chair they hadn't had when they first moved in._

Arms laden with bags, Hermione staggered into the flat, tired but exultant after a successful shopping trip with Ginny. Normally she didn't care too much about Ministry parties, but this one was different; she had finally gotten a promotion, and her department was going to be honored for their recent achievements, which she had been a driving force in bringing about. Her job wasn't always easy, but at the moment, things were looking up. However grudging, she was finally getting some sort of respect and cooperation from her colleagues, which was more a cause for celebration than the public recognition. Finally, after so much hard work, she was beginning to see progress! Ginny had decreed that the situation called for new dress robes, and Hermione had found that she agreed; just because she was 'sensible' (whatever that was supposed to mean) didn't mean that she didn't enjoy getting all dressed up every once and awhile.

"Ron? Are you home?" She called out, as Crookshanks trotted in to rub against her legs.

There was a shuffling sound, and Ron appeared from the direction of their room, tugging a t-shirt over his head, his hair damp.

"Yeah, just got out of the shower. Bloody hell, but they were riding us hard today! extra drills and everything," Ron groused, coming in to give her cheek a peck and nuzzle.

"Oh dear, and after you were up so late helping George with that inventory problem!" She said sympathetically, laying her garment bag over the back of the sofa as they talked.

"I know I don't have much room to talk, but his rotten handwriting plays hell with the paperwork," Ron sighed. "I think I might sleep for a solid two days this weekend."

"Except for the Ministry do Saturday night, it probably would be a good idea if you got some rest," Hermione reminded him.

He looked up, frowning. "What, is that this week? Bollocks. All of the trainees have been invited, so I suppose I can't get out of at least showing up."

"Well, even if that wasn't the case, I would hope you'd at least go as my date," she said, keeping her voice lighter than she felt.

"Course I will, but I don't see why we have to go. You have to wear clothes that strangle you, and be polite to people you don't even like."

_Ron couldn't help but flinch. This night meant something to Hermione, and even though he hadn't meant anything by it, it sounded pretty dismissive._

"Well, they're going to have a buffet. You can spend the evening stuffing your face, so the night won't be a total loss," she snapped, then regretted it. Getting into a fight right now wasn't going to make the situation any better.

At her harsh tone, Ron's head jerked back in surprise. "What's wrong with you?"

She stared down at the garment bag, remembering how excited she had been when she had tried it on earlier. "It's a big night for me, Ron. I know that recognition for what I'm doing isn't important, in a sense, but it means that I'm finally getting somewhere with it, and so many will benefit. I had just hoped you'd want to share it with me."

Immediately, his expression morphed into one of shocked concern. "Of course I do!"

Oh good, the crisis was averted; he would apologize, and Friday they would both get dressed up and have a good ti-

He came closer, wrapping his arms around her with a playful leer. "I was just hoping I could convince you to leave early, so we could celebrate in private."

_Ron slapped his face. Merlin, but sometimes it was painful to watch himself! He'd bungled that one, alright. He had tried to come off as smooth, but had only succeeded in seeming as if he was only willing to be interested in her accomplishments if he got something out of it. Why hadn't he just been honest, and told her that stiff, formal situations like that made him uncomfortable? Still did, actually, although he was getting better at dealing with them. But at the time, he'd get nervous and start to feel inferior. It had always felt like everyone was watching him, waiting for him to prove that he didn't belong there. Without meaning to, he had put his own comfort over her needs, and had made her feel unimportant in the process._

"No, we're not leaving early!"

He stepped away, shoulders drooping briefly. "Figured as much, but you can't blame me for trying."

Yes, actually, she could. Why couldn't he just be happy for her? Was it really such a chore to have a formal evening out with her? It was a sad day when people you didn't even like very much made you feel more special than your own boyfriend. She was just drawing breath to launch into a multipoint rant to that effect when he popped his head back into the living room, from where he had presumably gone off to fetch a shirt.

"Oh, by the way. One of the blokes in training was taking his girlfriend to the theatre next weekend, but something came up and they can't go. I got the tickets, and I can't remember the name, but it sounded like something you'd like to see. That alright?"

Abruptly, all of the wind left her sail. "Yes, that sounds brilliant. Thank you for thinking of me."

She smiled at him, and he beamed back, before padding away down the hall. She picked up her garment bag, and sighed. Maybe she shouldn't say anything after all. Ron obviously thought about her and tried to do special things that he thought she would like, and fighting about one particular thing when he did so many others didn't seem like it would do anything but make the problem bigger. He already said he would go; it wasn't as if she could force him to like it. In the big scheme of things, it wasn't all that important, so she should save getting upset for something that truly mattered. She would just make the most of it that night, and hope Ron at least tried a little.

_No! That was exactly what she shouldn't do! Ron thought with frustration. Sure, it was true he could stand not to be nagged if he had put his socks in the laundry hamper thirty-two times in one day, but this was different! Her feelings mattered, and how could he fix things if he didn't know there was a problem? Recalling that day, he knew he had patted himself on the back over the tickets, and had never realized that he had hurt her feelings over the Ministry party. But how often was that the case? How often did one person count up all the times they were there for the other, never realizing that there were so many times that they weren't, that they didn't even know about? He knew it was easy to get caught up in day to day life, and to focus on the problems inside your own head, but he never wanted casually hurting her-even if it wasn't on purpose or without his knowledge-to become something she was used to._

_The sad thing was, he knew he was just as guilty of this as Hermione was, and they both needed to work on expressing when something was wrong in a way that wasn't as...confrontational as their accusations could be._

_As the scene changed, he was happy to notice that he wasn't in the next one; it might be good to take a break from watching himself bollocks things up. That is, unless she was telling other people about said bollocksing._

"So. What are your intentions towards my brother?"

Hermione looked up from her plate to Ginny, who was sitting across from her in a booth at the Leaky, and raised an eyebrow.

"I would hope you knew me well enough to know they were honorable, although isn't it a little late to be asking?"

Ginny waved her fork dismissively. "That was mainly just to get us on the subject. Face it, we're all trying to figure out when you'll go ahead and do it. You're both mad for each other, and you've been living together awhile now. Poor Mum doesn't know what to badger you for first; a wedding announcement or grandbabies."

Hermione grinned. "Is that why she keeps stealing surreptitious glances at my stomach? I had wondered if I was putting on weight."

At that, Ginny snorted. "Hardly. You're just now finally starting to look healthy, after the Year from Hell. But once Fleur started, I think Mum became addicted. She's already tried to nudge my wedding date up a year or two, even though I told her that Harry and I are committed, but in no hurry," she said, glancing fondly at the small but lovely ring on her left hand.

"Sorry to be a disappointment, but I'm neither pregnant, nor proposed," Hermione said with much amusement.

Instead of laughing as expected, Ginny bit her lip, her eyes darting from Hermione, down to her plate, and back again. "Hermione...maybe I shouldn't ask, but...you do want to marry Ron, don't you?"

Surprised, Hermione rested her fork on her plate, her mouth sagging open briefly, before she was able to form a reply. "What kind of question-well, of course I want to to! Why would you even ask that?"

Cheeks flushing bright red, Ginny gave her a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I know it, and so does the rest of the family, but some people have mentioned that...well, that you might want to focus more on your career, and having a husband might come farther down on the list of priorities, so to speak, at least you reach a higher position."

With a toss of her head, Hermione snapped irritably, "Surprisingly, I'm quite capable of handling both! It isn't as if Ron and I hadn't been living together for awhile now, which is practically being married, and neither our relationship or jobs have suffered for it."

Ginny waved her hands defensively. "I know, I know! I just know that Ron is mad about you, and I honestly think he'd marry you this weekend, if he thought you'd go for it. So I've just been wondering if...well, if you just decided that you wanted to wait. Which is fine! There's no reason to rush...Oh Merlin stop me, I sound like Mum!"

"I don't." Hermione said in a soft voice.

"You don't what?"

"I don't want to wait. Maybe not to get married, exactly, but to be engaged. But Ron hasn't asked. I mean, of course we've talked about it in theory, but not...nothing official."

Ginny wore an incredulous expression. "Are you serious, Hermione? It isn't like there isn't anything stopping you from asking him, you know."

Belatedly, Hermione darted a look around the pub, making sure no one was listening. But aside from a few looks and whispers when they had entered, everyone else seemed to be minding their own business.

"Of course I can. I can do a lot of things. And to be frank, I do it all the time. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't tell someone what I want, and how I want it done. I'm constantly making decisions, and I'm very good at wearing people down to go along with me."

_Ron rolled his eyes. Wasn't she just!_

"But?" Ginny asked, when Hermione paused.

"But there are some things I want to be _asked._ Ever since I was little, I was always known as practical, no nonsense, take charge Hermione. Sometimes...sometimes I just want to feel wanted. sought after. To have someone go to the effort to create a special experience for me. And Ron does that. He knows that I'm capable, and he has no problem with supporting me when I take the lead on things, although we sometimes butt heads. But he still finds ways to show me how important I am to him, and how much he cares, and I want this to be one of them."

Ginny gave her a small smile, with another glance at her ring. "I know what you mean. I was raised to hold my own against six brothers, and Harry knew that. I was quite ready to tell him we'd just do it once he was done with training and I had a couple of seasons under my belt, but when he beat me to it...it's an experience I wouldn't trade."

Hermione returned the smile, fighting off the unflattering twinge of jealousy that sparked briefly inside of her. She was happy for them-truly! She was just ready to have that particular happiness in her own life, that was all.

"I hope you're not expecting anything too romantic," Ginny cautioned, "I know Ron will try, but if it's anything like his 'brotherly' attempts, it won't come off as he planned it. He does much better when it's spur of the moment."

With a shrug, Hermione smiled fondly. "Yes, but I rather like it like that. He's not smooth and glib, like a lot of insincere dolts out there. It's harder for him, so when he does something like that, you know he's going to a lot of effort because it's important to him. However he chooses to do it won't be straight out of a romance novel, but it'll be from the heart, and that's all that matters to me."

"Good. If Harry and I are going to plunge into the staid respectability of married life, we want to drag you along with us."

As the two of them laughed at the idea and continued to talk, more casually, about their futures, Hermione found herself facing a new and disturbing question. She was ready to move things forward...but was Ron? Because if he hadn't changed his mind, she couldn't think why he wasn't asking...

_Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't wanted to! He'd known that was what he had wanted since he had spent those weeks at Shell Cottage after he had left her and Harry, and it had only been cemented further at Malfoy Manor. But right after the war had been no time for anything like that, and both had then had to focus on other things so much-her family and school, his family and work-that it would have been hard to put a marriage first, which was no way to go into one. He also hadn't wanted to trap her into anything. Just because his self esteem was getting better, didn't mean it was perfect; part of him had been waiting for her to change her mind. He had figured it was better to go slow, to give her a way out if she wanted it, first living with Harry and Ginny, then on their own. Once she had done both without running away screaming, he had thought that maybe she was ready to throw her lot in with him permanently. To him, they had always sort of been engaged to be engaged, so to speak; what they called a few generations ago having an understanding._

_He wouldn't even have minded much if she had gone ahead and asked him; it sure as hell would have saved him the ages he had spent agonizing over rings and proposal ideas. On the other hand, both Hermione and his sister had been right. He might be tits at that sort of thing when he thought about it too much, but he was keen on trying. All through their years at Hogwarts, he had never quite known how to go about showing his feelings the way he wanted to, and had been too afraid he'd ruin everything if he made the attempt. Now he still wasn't quite sure how to go about it, but with the security of knowing his attentions were welcome, he was willing to look like a pillock if he could make her happy._

_He had plotted. He had planned. He had nearly pissed his pants worrying that it wasn't going to be special enough. And, typically, it had all gone as wrong as it was possible to go..._

Words were scribbled quickly yet neatly across a piece of fresh parchment, only to be crumbled up with dissatisfied mumbling and tossed to the floor for Crookshanks to chase and bat, much to his delight. As the clock on the wall let out a slow chime, she sat up straight, rubbing her lower back. She'd been sitting here far too long, but she desperately needed to get some work done. She hadn't been able to get into the office for nearly a week because she had been down with the flu, and now that she could at least shuffle around the apartment as the last of it faded, she had hoped to begin to catch up. But her mind was muddled, and she was having a difficult time keeping her thoughts on track, so even something as simple as writing out notes was a challenge, giving her a headache.

The door opened, and Ron entered, walking with an odd gait.

"Ron? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head with a groan, dumping his bag onto the sofa, before dropping down beside it. "Nah, not too bad. Perkins mouthed off one too many times, and we all ended up having to do extra flying drills for it. If he keeps pulling this shite, I think some of them might take him aside and beat the ever lovin' hell out of him."

"I hope you won't be one of them; you know you'd be written up for it," Hermione reminded him with a frown.

One large hand waved in the air. "Don't worry; I'm happy to leave it to someone else. In other news, I managed to pass my test, so the day wasn't all bad."

"That's wonderful!" Hermione said, then sat back with a wince, rubbing her stomach. Terrific, now she was getting cramps, and that shouldn't be happening for at least another three days.

"I only missed two questions, but everyone missed those on account of they were worded poorly. Um, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't ...you didn't happen to clean the flat today, did you?"

"No Ron," she scowled, "I'm barely able to walk, so excuse me if things aren't as tidy as they should be!" Merlin, if he asked her if she had made dinner, she was going to hex him so hard...

But he sat up, waving his hands, speaking in an oddly high voice. "No, no! That's-that's good! I was hoping you hadn't. You need to rest and, um, save your strength."

She narrowed her eyes. His words were sincere, but there was something off; she just couldn't tell what.

_The only thing 'off' had been him panicking over whether or not she had found where he had left her ring. He didn't feel very safe having it on him during training, so he always left it at home. That usually wasn't a problem since she was at work, but her being home with it all day had worried him, and the first thing he had done once out of her sight was to slip into their room and put it in his pocket._

Ron peered at her closely, sitting up fully and leaning forward. "Hermione, are you alright? You don't look so good."

"I've had the flu; how do you expect me to look?" She replied testily.

He jerked back, frowning. "Merlin, Hermione! Save your appetite for dinner. No need to bite my head off. I was just worried."

She rubbed her stomach again, the pain feeling as if it were getting worse. "Sorry, I know. I'm just frustrated. I haven't been able to get much work done, and now I think I'm having a relapse."

Expression softening, Ron stood and came to crouch in front of her chair, placing his hand on her forehead.

"You know, I think you feel like you have a fever. Do you want to go to bed?"

Stubbornly, she shook her head. "No. I've been in it too long as it is, and I'm about ready to go mad."

With a nod, he stood up, scooping her up along with him. "Alright then. Why don't you lie here on the sofa, while I go heat up some of that beef broth Mum left? And I picked up some of that french bread you liked last night."

At his solicitous behavior, Hermione's pain induced irritation left her, and she nuzzled into his chest for the brief trip across the room. Really, Ron was too good for words; she loathed being sick and knew it made her quite snippy, but he had been wonderful about taking care of her, making sure she was comfortable and eating enough, and even bringing her papers from the office. And while he normally grumbled a bit when doing chores (Ron didn't believe cleaning was necessary until things reached a certain level of chaos), he hadn't complained once this whole time while he took on the cooking and cleaning. (Even if he wasn't as scrupulous about cleaning the drains as she was.)

Once he had placed her on the sofa and had gone off to the kitchen, Hermione tried to stretch out and get comfortable, but sucked air between her teeth at the ripping pain that shot through her stomach, making her curl up. Oh, that hurt! Her head pounded harder, and she bit back a wave of nausea. There were clanking sounds from the kitchen, and Ron returned with a bowl and a small plate, the smell of the broth making her stomach turn.

"Ron, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can eat that," she said weakly, turning her head away.

He put the dishes down on the table, watching her with growing concern. "Hermione, you really need to keep your strength up. Can you at least maybe try one bite? Wait, look at me...bloody hell, your color's even worse than it was before! Do you think maybe we should go to Mungo's?"

"There's...no need...for that," Hermione panted, her mouth filling with saliva. It was a struggle to sit up, and her head spun, her vision dark and fuzzy at the edges. "I think I...I think..."

Abruptly, she stood and dashed for the bathroom, barely making it in time. Ron pounded behind her, and she felt her hair being gathered up as she was violently ill.

"Fuck! Hermione, I don't think this is the flu. We need to get you to-Hermione?"

She had just wiped her face with some toilet paper, her head hot and sweaty, her hands clammy and cold. Another wave of pain hit her stomach, and she jerked to the floor, curling into a ball. Beside her, she could faintly make out Ron panicking, but she couldn't respond. Just when she thought she might try sitting up, it started all over again, and this time, she felt her limbs stiffen with the effects of the Cruciatus that still snuck up on her. She let out a small scream, and the last thing she saw was Ron's pale face hovering over her.

_That had been a nightmare; seeing her in that much pain had made him flash back to the night at Malfoy Manor, and he had been terrified that she was dying. Somehow he had managed to scoop her up and get her to St. Mungo's, where he'd had the devil of a time getting her admitted. Actually, getting her in hadn't been the problem, but getting anything out of the Healers had required...a certain level of creativity._

Groggily, Hermione swam towards consciousness, blinking slowly from her prone position. The fiery pain was, blessedly, gone, although she was rather sore. The room was dim, but there wasn't much to see; she suspected she was in a hospital room. Even magic couldn't quite erase the smell of those institutions. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue felt thick. She twisted her head, throat aching for water.

"Hermione? You awake? How do you feel?"

She blinked, focusing on the lanky form of Ron, who's worried eyes looked large in his face. Deliriously, she was reminded of a house elf, and began feeling around for a sock before her muddled, potion-induced thoughts caught up with her.

"Water."

"Oh! Yeah! They said-here, let me get it for you."

Nearly tripping in his haste, Ron poured her a glass from the plastic carafe on the bedside table, and helped her sit up enough for a few swallows.

"Is that better?"

She nodded; the cool water had alleviated most of her pain, and helped clear her head. "Yes, thanks. What happened? How long have I been here?"

Ron ran his fingers through his hair, not for the first time, judging by its state. "About...six hours? Seven? Somewhere around there. The Healers said it was your appendix, but you should be fine now, since I got you here so fast."

Hermione shuddered. If Ron hadn't been with her, she very likely would be dead now. She didn't come to the hospital unless she was desperate, and she knew that if she had waited until she absolutely had to come, it would have been too late to do it herself, and no way to send a Patronus in that condition.

"Wait, where are my parents?"

"Sorry, love, couldn't get ahold of them. I haven't had another chance to try, since I didn't want to leave you until you were awake."

It hadn't been very late when she had gotten ill, so her parents had probably been out for dinner, maybe a show.

"Then how did you get them to let you in here?" She asked, puzzled. She hadn't yet bothered signing any papers that would give Ron the legal right to be here; it hadn't seemed necessary, which, on reflection, was rather foolish.

Ron's face became decidedly shifty, just as the door opened, and a no nonsense, late middle aged nurse strode in purposefully.

"Mrs. Weasley? I see you're awake. How are you feeling? Has your husband told you what is going on?" She shot Ron a beady eyed look, before turning back to Hermione.

Her eyes darted to Ron, who looked like he had just robbed Honeydukes and had been caught with chocolate on his face. That shifty little...weasle!

Quickly, she pasted a smile on her face. "Yes, he told me it was my appendix. Were there any complications?"

The nurse shook her head, using her wand to check Hermione's vitals. "No, it was a purely straightforward case, and you should be perfectly normal within two weeks. With rest, of course. We'll give you further instructions when you're released, but you appear to be doing fine; you should be able to leave in the morning."

"Thank you. Might I have a potion for the pain? It isn't too bad, but I think I would sleep better."

The nurse nodded, and pulled a bottle from her large pocket. "Of course, I was just about to ask. This should get you through the night, but don't hesitate to call if you start to feel unwell."

Hermione took the potion, holding her breath as the nurse started to leave the room, relieved that their lie hand been seen through.

"Oh, and one more thing," the nurse said, halfway out the door. "If that's your husband, I'll eat my hat. Just to let you know you didn't pull one over on me," she arched her brow, "Although I must say, the ring was a nice touch. Goodnight."

"RIng? What ring?" Hermione muttered, raising her hand.

Sure enough, on her fourth finger was a small band, with two stones flanked by a smaller set of diamonds. Angling it to get better light, she saw that while both stones were blue, one was dark, and one was light, and together, they formed the shape of a heart. Her birthstone was instantly recognizable, but it took a moment to realize that the other one was Ron's. Her heart caught in her throat. This could only be...

"Ron?" She asked softly, searching his face.

He slumped into the chair at her bedside, looking sheepish and nervous. "Sorry 'bout all that. I wasn't going to...at least, not like...but they wouldn't let me in otherwise!" He ended on a pleading note.

Delicately, she traced a finger over the ring, admiring how right it looked on her hand. "So you were going to...ask?"

He raised his hand to rub his jaw, looking surprisingly shy. "Well, yeah. Been trying to figure out how to do it for about a year, now. I'd narrowed it down to a couple of good ways, too!" He pouted, his shoulders curving forward. "And now I fucked it up."

"No You didn't!" She said hotly. "But if it meant that much to you, you could have waited."

Shooting straight up in his chair, Ron looked fiercely indignant. "Of course I couldn't! Hermione, your parents weren't here, there was no one to help you or figure out what was going on-do y'think I'd leave you alone?"

Warmth bubbled up in her chest, like her heart was laughing with joy. No, he wouldn't leave her. Sweet, loyal Ron; he had probably spent ages planning, trying to get it just right, but he'd give up his moment in the limelight without a protest if it was for her wellbeing.

"No, of course not," she said softly, smiling as he blushed.

"Here, give it to me, and I'll try to do it proper later on-"

"Leave it."

His hand froze above hers, and slowly, his eyes raised to meet hers, filled with a hesitant hope. "You mean you... _really?!"_

She nodded rapidly, not even bothering to tell him to be quiet when he let out a joyous whoop, before leaning down to kiss her soundly.

Standing up, eyes bright, he laughed. "You know, I don't even care that everyone is going to take the piss that you only said yes because of the pain potion," he laughed, before a hint of nervousness crept into his eyes. "You're, um, not, are you? Because-"

She laughed, gripping his hand. "I've been told that I'm a bright with. Trust me, I'm smart enough to take a good thing when I see it."

He wore a pleased smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

As they shifted around and performed non hospital authorized spells on the bed for Ron to carefully stretch out beside her, Hermione finally drifted to sleep, the satisfied, dizzy feeling having nothing to do with potions.

_It hadn't been anything like how he had been planning, and he had always felt sort of bad. It hadn't been (at least, he had assumed until now) the least romantic, and nothing you'd really want to tell the grandkids, much less your family and friends. But could he have just sat quietly in the waiting room, not knowing what was happening to her? Making her wake up and face whatever it was alone? No. Hermione was more important than being able to take pride in creating some kind of perfect memory. It had never occurred to him that he'd ended up being able to do both._

The music in the dimly lit pub was just a touch too loud, and Hermione winced at the voices that raised to be heard over it. She didn't particularly like large groups like this where she didn't know most of the people, but since at least some would probably be working for Ron for years to come, it only made sense to try to be social. Besides, she knew Ron didn't come out with them nearly as often as he was asked, and he almost always made an effort to include her when he knew she wasn't busy. So she smiled gamely and tried not to be a stick in the mud, thankful that at least Harry and Ginny were here.

_Ron frowned. She had never complained about not wanting to go. Truth be told, it hadn't really been his cup of tea, either, even though he had won most of their respect by this point. Some of them he didn't like particularly well, and while he got along with others, he didn't feel like he had enough in common with them to be interested in being close. But, as Hermione had pointed out, he was going to be working with them, and there were only so many times you could refuse without being standoffish. Plus there was a bit of pride in play; no one under the age of twenty-five wanted to admit they were bloody tired all the time._

"So Ron, any chance you can get me a deal on one of the Skiving Snackboxes your brother sells? I think that's my only hope for Thursday," joked Michael Crandle, his arm slung around his girlfriend, Brenda.

Beside her, Ron snorted into his mug. "Not likely. Besides, you know they'd figure it out, and I'd end up with my arse chewed off just on the basis of association. 'Sides, you still have a couple of days to revise, so you'll be fine."

"Heartless, Weasley, heartless!" Michael said dramatically, but his smile was good natured.

"It doesn't help that Harwick makes the class dryer than Professor Binns did with history of magic," Harry threw in glumly, and Ginny patted his arm with a grin.

"Don't know why you two are worried, when it's Weasley that can't keep his dates straight," said Lester Sims.

Everyone glowered. No one liked Lester, mainly because he took great pleasure in making himself unlikable.

"Although that won't matter if you don't pass the physical. Not exactly putting on muscle mass there, are you? Although you might've gained a few pounds..."

"Ron isn't going to be failing anything," she snapped tightly, wanting to slap the odious smirk off of his face. "I'll see to that. All it will take is a few flashcards and memory drills. as for the physical, just because he isn't bulky doesn't mean he doesn't have muscles." She turned a bit to face Ron, whose mouth was gaping open. "But to be on the safe side, maybe we should cut you back on the Chocolate Frogs, and you might want to go easy on the beer tonight." She looked back over at Lester, tilting her chin. There. Problem solved.

It was only then that she registered the tittters around the table, and the matching looks of horror Harry and Ginny were giving her. As well as the very conspicuous absence of Ron's arm, which had previously held her snuggled at his side. She looked at him curiously, bewildered to find he had turned a deep maroon, his face wearing that mulish, impassive look he had back in Hogwarts whenever he had been passed over for something. What on earth was wrong with him? Surely he couldn't be mad that she had come to his defense!

_Ron groaned loudly. That certainly hadn't felt like what she had been doing! He adored the witch, but sometimes she made him look like a backwards two year old who couldn't do anything without its nanny. A simple offer to help would have been perfectly fine, but the way she had taken over, as if he couldn't think for himself...it had been downright embarrassing. Hermione's heart was usually in the right place, but sometimes the way she went about it needed work._

"Ron?" What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Hermione," he said through gritted teeth.

"Pouting isn't attractive, Ron," she said before she could think, eliciting another round of snickers.

With a stiff smile, Ron stood up. "I'll just go get the next round," he said in a tight voice, not looking at her as he left the table.

Irritated, she rose to follow him.

"Hermione, why don't you wait here?" Harry asked, trying to signal her with his eyes.

"I want to have a word with Ron. We'll be right back."

As she walked away, she heard Ginny mutter, "Or at least the survivor will."

She tossed her head. Why were they all acting as if she had done something wrong? There was a problem, and she solved it. Studies were her area of expertise, so it only made sense that she step in if Ron was having problems, just as he would, if, Merlin forbid, she needed chess or Quidditch instructions.

Before he could get close enough to the bar, she tapped his shoulder. He looked down at her, as if he hadn't realized she had followed him. He probably hadn't.

"What is it now?"

She narrowed her eyes at his tone. "I think we need to have a word."

He glanced around, looking uncomfortable. "Hermione, do we have to do this here? Let's just drop this till we get home."

"No, I want to take care of this now. What has you so upset?"

Releasing a huge, gusty sigh, he took her by the arm with a gentleness that didn't match his obvious frame of mind, and steered her out the door and into the alley, barely lit by the streetlamp.

"Fine. We'll do it here. What do you want?" he asked, repeating his earlier question.

"What do I want? I want to know why you're acting like you have your wand jammed up your arse!"

His eyes flashed. "Well, Hermione, I don't know. Maybe it's how you embarrassed me back there, and how every trainee will have heard about it by Monday morning?" He bit out.

She stepped back, aghast. "Embarrassed you? Just because I said I would help? You find being helped by me _embarrassing?_ A different tune than when we were in Hogwarts!"

He jammed his hands in his pockets. "Of course I don't think getting help from you is embarrassing! Wasn't I always the first to say when I couldn't have done something without you? But this isn't Hogwarts. I know sometimes you have a hard time seeing it, but I'm an adult, Hermione. What I didn't like was the way you made it sound like I was too thick to do what I need to without you telling me."

"Tosh!" She waved her hand. "I didn't do that!" Did she?

Ron just shook his head, shrugging. "Whatever. Hashing it out here isn't going to change anything. Can we just go back inside and try to enjoy the rest of the night?"

She stared down at the ground, her cheeks heating. She hated the way he was making her feel, like he was humoring a child that had done something wrong, but he didn't want to deal with it. How could he say that she made him feel like that? She would never do anything to imply he was stupid! He had to know that she was well aware of all the things he had accomplished, and was capable of accomplishing in the future, without her help.

"No. I'm ready to go home, and you should probably get some rest so you're able to focus tomorrow."

At her words, Ron's jaw slid out two notches, and that 'Weasley stubborn' look settled in his eyes.

"Fine. Go home. I'm staying."

Blinking back angry tears, she groped for control of the situation. "Alright, I'll see you back in an hour."

"I'll stay as long as I please, and then I'm stopping over with Harry for the night. I'll see you in the morning."

With that, he turned around to stomp back inside, leaving her speechless. How dare he walk away from her like that! Fine! If he wanted to be this way-

"Hermione?"

She looked up, where he had stopped at the door before going all the way in.

"Can you make it home alright?" While his tone was overly civil, it wasn't hostile, and his eyes showed genuine concern. At her brisk nod, he continued on his way.

Pulling her wand from her sleeve, she Apparated back to the flat, only taking long enough to feed Crookshanks before she changed and curled up in bed. The quiet of the room pressed uncomfortably around her, and she drew the blankets up to her shoulders before realizing that Ron wasn't there to steal them. Why couldn't she ever back down? For some reason, there were just some fights that she took as a personal challenge, and she couldn't let go even when she knew she was being needlessly stubborn. She supposed that in this case, it was an unwillingness on her part to admit that she might have hurt his feelings. She hadn't meant to. Ron was doing brilliantly in training, and she knew he was on track to becoming a terrific Auror. Not only that, but while working with George, it had become clear that he had a previously undiscovered business savvy. Ron was smart, creative, even charismatic, in a more quiet way than George. He was going to go far. If she was going to be painfully honest with herself, she was intensely proud of him...and more than a little frightened by how little he really needed her.

_To say he was gobsmacked would be an understatement. Not need her? Did she not pay attention at all? Of course he needed her! Her love and support was everything to him, and helped give him the push he needed on the days when he doubted himself. She believed in him, and it inspired him to be the person she believed he was. How could you need another person more than that? She was his friend. His lover. His family. His home. Just because he didn't need her to outline his essays anymore didn't mean that he didn't need her._

_A lot of their fights made more sense now, with the way she would almost push things back to their old dynamic. Hermione had always hated to feel useless, and having watched so many memories, he knew she had never fully gotten over the fear that people would push her away if they didn't need her. Now that he thought about it, she always did better when her opinion was asked, and when he discussed things with her. Maybe, in his efforts to prove he was capable, it might seem like he was pushing her away. He could work on that, if she would meet him halfway by offering help, instead of presenting it as an order._

_They hadn't solved anything that night, and he had returned in the early hours of the morning to slip into bed, both of them muttering words of apology, but never any explanation for how they felt. Sorry was considered to be enough, and, after a very thorough makeup shag, it was forgotten. But maybe sorry wasn't good enough. Maybe sorry was just a start, and they hadn't gotten the hang of the follow through. He'd always been reluctant to talk about things before, assuming she wouldn't understand, or would just get mad and tell him he was wrong. Now he was more confident to try, and believed she would be willing to listen. Possibly with some blustering at first, but his feelings were important to her, and she really did want things to be right between them. She just didn't always know how to go about that, but unless he told her, she never would. Both of them needed to be honest when they had a problem, instead of worrying that they were going to ruin things._

_And it was so easy to just sort of...let things slide. After all, they didn't have actual fights all that often-nothing really stronger than something like whether the curtains were more blue or green, on most days. And even during the worst ones, they never lasted anywhere near what they did when they were kids. A few hours, or he might spend a night with Harry...then there would be obviously meant but awkward apologies, a cuddle, and they were done. But what if things kept building up? Already, he caught himself thinking things like 'there she goes, just like always,' and letting the resentment from a previous fight fuel the current one. That couldn't be good, could it? But it happened just rarely enough for it to feel like it wasn't anything serious. The problem with that was once it got to the point where they had to face that it was a problem, there might not be a way to come back from it, at least not very easily. After everything he had seen during this session, he was now discovering that he wasn't content with that anymore, merely to settle for 'not bad,' or 'pretty good,' with moments of 'fucking fantastic.' They had the potential for a quiet, steady flow of amazing between them, if they were willing to make these lessons stick..._

Hermione sat alone at a table in the canteen, wishing that Ron was here to join her for lunch. She hated eating down here alone, but her desk was covered in a careful arrangement of papers that she couldn't risk disturbing. She had been invited to join some of the others, but she wasn't feeling sociable and preferred to sit alone and sulk over the fact that Ron was away on a training mission. Pathetic? Probably. But there were just some days that you wanted to have a good wallow, and this was one of them.

"Alone again today Hermione? Finally see sense and chuck that fiance of yours?" A voice said nastily.

Hermione looked up, barely restraining her lip from curling into a sneer. Kendra. God, she hated Kendra, the jealous little shrew.

"Ron is away for training, Kendra, and I can't think of a reason in the world why I would chuck him."

Kendra tossed her head, the dozens of tiny, dark braids falling heavily over her shoulder. "Because you could do so much better, that's why! Really, why would you be with some unintelligent, knuckle dragging nobody who's never going to go anywhere in life?"

"I wouldn't," Hermione said, sipping her tea. It had turned tepid, but her anger was practically enough to start it boiling. She was just getting ready to launch into a very detailed defence of Ron, when she was interrupted yet again.

"That's not what you said said at the Christmas party last year, when you tried to get handsy. Jealousy doesn't become you, Kendra," someone snapped.

Kendra's dusky cheeks flushed deeply, and with a scowl and a murmured excuse, she slunk off, although Hermione knew she would strike again at some point. Looking up at her ally, she smiled. It was Agnes, a witch in the last years of middle age, who worked in the stacks. She had a photographic memory and a love for trivia, and she was one of Hermione's favorite people to work with. Agnes plopped down with her tray, grinning at Hermione.

"I saw her swooping in for the kill, and you didn't look like you were in a mood to deal with it. Hope I wasn't a bother."

Hermione laughed, pushing her soup bowl to the side. "Not at all! You probably saved me from making an embarrassing scene. Brilliant to remind her of the party, though."

She giggled just remembering it. Kendra had tried to corner poor Ron in the cloakroom, and not only did he have to fight off her advances, but there was something about her perfume that he was allergic to, because he kept sneezing, making his eyes water and nose twitch. He looked like a very frightened jackrabbit, hopping and dodging before she was able to rescue him.

_Ron shuddered. Running had pretty much been his only option. There had just been a huge lecture about improper use of magic on civilians, and physically restraining her, or even batting her hands away, could have gotten him in an entirely different kind of trouble. Hermione had arrived in time to keep him from creating a second door._

Agnes winked. "She's always nasty when she can't get what she wants. Foolish child should have realized she didn't have a chance; all it takes is seeing the way Ron looks at you."

Hermione blushed. She didn't consider herself all that special, but Ron always made her feel that way, and it always made her oddly happy when it was obvious to people that they were in love.

"Ron's faithfulness is one of his best qualities," she admitted. "And what she was saying about him was complete rubbish. If she wanted a list of reasons why I'm with him, I could have enumerated them until it was time to go home."

Swallowing a bite of her sandwich, Agnes said, "I know. The two of you remind me of Burt and I when we were young."

"How is your husband doing?" Hermione asked. She couldn't recall seeing him the past few weeks, and he used to stop by for Agnes on their way home from work.

Agnes put her sandwich back on her plate, the light fading from her eyes. "Oh. We...we've decided to try a separation." Suddenly she looked up at Hermione, her expression one of distress. "But I didn't mean to imply that you and Ron...That's not what I meant at all!"

Hermione smiled weakly. "Oh, I know! I'm sorry to hear that, though. Are you alright?"

The older witch gave a shrug, her eyes misting up. "To be honest, it was something of a shock. We were always so happy in the beginning, you know? Oh, we had our share of arguments, but nothing big. At least, that's what I thought until recently. It just seemed like everything...piled up over the years."

Her mouth went dry, and her soup sloshed as her stomach turned over. That sounded an awful lot like her and Ron. Is this what they had to look forward to? Fights that didn't seem to be about anything that mattered, until one day, they were suddenly divvying up their possessions-their lives? The thought made her dizzy with dread.

"But things are different for young people now!" Agnes said, clearly struggling to be bright and cheerful. "There are so many options available to help you with that sort of thing. Why, there's even a brand new sort of therapy for couples, that seems to be working miracles."

Hermione blinked, surfacing from her depressing thoughts. "Really?"

Agnes nodded emphatically. "Oh, yes! That's what turned things around for the Carringtons, you know, and you saw for yourself how bad things were there."

Indeed, it had been hard to miss; the married couple hadn't been shy about carrying on their war in public, and Hermione wasn't sure if it was worse when they sniped at each other, or when they acted as if the other didn't even exist.

"That's amazing. I wonder what the success rate is?"

"Pretty high, from what I've gathered. And it isn't just married couples; there have been several that have gone in before getting married, which helped."

"Before? Hmmm." That sounded interesting. Wasn't there an old saying about prevention being worth more than a cure? "Agnes, if it works so well, why don't you try with Burt? Not that I mean to butt in, but you don't look happy, so wouldn't it be worth it to fix things?"

Agnes looked hesitant, reaching up to push a lock of silver hair behind her ear. "Do you really think that would work? We aren't exactly young...maybe it's too late."

"Not unless you both decide it is! Was Burt really set on this?"

"Well, no," Agnes said thoughtfully. "He wasn't, but we both couldn't think of anything else, and that maybe whatever was wrong would fix itself with time apart. But if he'd try this..."

"Then you should ask him," Hermione said firmly.

"You know, I think you're right! Straight away after work, I'll suggest it to him. Hermione, you seem interested in the subject, so would you like me to send over the information I have when I get back to my office?"

Hermione hesitated. Things weren't bad...not really. But could she really risk it? This was Ron. He was a huge part of her life, a wonderful part of her life...if something happened in the future, how could she forgive herself if she walked away from something that could have possibly prevented it?

"Yes, please, that would be perfect."

_Agnes was a treasure, and he made a mental note to send her a large gift basket this Christmas. Like Hermione, he couldn't imagine a future with them separating without feeling sick. He knew it would never be something he would want to do, but he also knew that there were times he wasn't sure how to give her the right things she needed in this relationship, or to ask her for what he needed himself. The more he thought on the subject, the more he wondered if most splits didn't happen because a couple no longer loved each other, but because they either forgot, or never learned, how the other person needed them to show it._

Hermione sighed as she Apparated into the entryway of the flat she shared with Ron. It had been a long day, and she was looking forward to removing her pinching shoes, releasing her hair from its constraining bun, and finally being away from the judgemental eyes of her coworkers. She had been understanding of them at first, knowing that they would have reservations with working with someone likely to get special treatment, but she had hoped that once they saw the effort she put in, they would realize she was just as serious about this job as they were. She had done her best, trying to make office relations as unstrained as possible, yet it didn't seem to be doing any good. Being Hermione, she had put her head down and tried to work through it.

For two years.

If something didn't change soon, she was liable to snap, and that had never ended well for the opposing party. Hopefully, she would be able to do so in a manner that didn't end up with her being sacked. Pushing these negative thoughts to the side, she slipped her feet from her heels and stepped into the living room, taking her hair from its clip and giving it a shake.

The sight that met her made her smile; Ron was seated on the sofa, textbooks and papers spread around him and all over the coffee table in an untidy mess. His bright red hair was in slight disarray from where he had probably been running his fingers through it, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. His lips twitched as he poured over his notes, as they did whenever he was trying particularly hard to memorize something he was reading. She marveled, as she always did, how this could be the same person that could put off writing a paper until the last possible moment, and then end up getting her to do more than half of it, back when they were at Hogwarts. She supposed that it was different now that he actually cared about what he was studying.

He hadn't been in for training today, and he only helped George occasionally in the shop anymore. Since he was wearing jeans and a sweater striped in shades of brown, with no sign of shoes or socks anywhere, it looked as if he had been on the sofa all day. She came up beside him and placed a hand on the back of his neck to rub the tense muscles. Ron jumped at her touch, letting out a little yelp. Looking up at her in surprise, he scowled as she giggled.

"What the hell are you doing, Hermione? You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!"

She pushed a few books aside and sat down next to him. "Shouldn't the mighty Auror be aware of people Apparating into the apartment? I wasn't trying to sneak up on you, but I still managed to catch you off guard!" She teased.

"That's Auror in training, thank you very much. Besides, a man shouldn't have to be on guard in his own home!"

"Whatever happened to constant vigilance?" She laughed, leaning in to kiss him on the lips. She could tell the kiss didn't last long enough by his pout, and she had to smother a smile. Adorable.

"Have you been studying all day?" She asked softly.

He leaned back, muscles flexing, then brought a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose.

"You know, I always thought potions classes back at Hogwarts were bad, but I think now I'm prepared to fail on a whole new level." He answered miserably.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I highly doubt it's that bad. Are you ready to break for supper, or have you already eaten yet?"

"Actually, I don't think I've eaten since breakfast, so food sounds great."

Hermione stood and headed for the kitchen, calling back, "I'll get the water boiling and the sauce started for some spaghetti, if you'll come in and watch it for me while I take a shower, alright?"

She heard him reply in the affirmative, and began to move around the kitchen, collecting ingredients. She wasn't really in the mood to cook, but it wasn't like Ron wasn't as tired as she was; plus, he'd been moody for months, and seeing him in such a good frame of mind made her want to do something nice to celebrate. She just wished she didn't have to stand. Her back was killing her, and she rubbed it as the sauce came together, thinking that it might be time to invest in a new office chair. She was so absorbed, she didn't hear Ron until he spoke.

"Go on and take your shower. I'll go ahead and finish this up."

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks, that sounds lovely. I won't be long."

Kissing him on the cheek, she went off to enjoy her shower, standing under the hot water and letting it soak into her muscles. After almost falling asleep standing up, she remembered that Ron was probably close to having the food ready, so she reluctantly stepped out and dressed in a pair of comfy pajamas. She was just in time, as he was placing the meal on the table when she entered the kitchen.

For most of the meal they ate in an easy silence, both taking pleasure in the food they had badly needed. Once the gnawing edge of hunger had worn off, Hermione ventured a question.

"So is your revising going well? If you're having any problems, I can help you once we're through in here." She offered.

Ron rolled his eyes as he swallowed a mouthful. "Thanks, but I think I can manage on my own."

Hermione shrugged. Why did he have to be so prickly about it? It wasn't like she hadn't gotten enough of that at work today; she had hoped for better at home. "Fine. It's just that Harry mentioned he was having a hard time, so I thought I would offer."

"Of course. If Harry's having problems, then there's no way I could be doing well on my own, is that it?" Ron bristled.

Setting her fork down with a sharp click, she frowned. Alright, that had pushed it too far. She had tried to be understanding and helpful, but now he was just reading things into it that just weren't there, and blaming her for it! "That's not what I said! Don't put words in my mouth, Ron!"

"My words wouldn't fit in your mouth, Hermione, it's always too full of your own." He retorted sharply.

It felt like he had flung ice water in her face, and her eyes burned with tears. Is that really how he saw her?

_Ron looked down. Of course it wasn't. When he was angry, he was apt to take the truth and exaggerate it. Hermione might not always let him get a word in edgewise, but she had toned down on the bossyness since they were kids, at it usually only came out when she was stressed and upset. She hadn't meant anything by the comment, and it hadn't been fair of him to jump down her throat. It had been one of those instances of his old insecurities getting the better of him and making him read things into what people were saying that wasn't there; when that happened, he always tried to hide his hurt with a sharp tongue._

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I've just been stressed lately, and I'm snapping at everything."

At least he was attempting to apologize, but she was still confused. To try to make sure it didn't seem like she was harping on him in particular, she decided to include Harry. "I don't understand why you're so upset about this. You've done well so far, and you and Harry are sure to-"

Ron shoved his empty plate away. "Harry, yeah. But that doesn't guarantee me a spot. They made that clear on the first day of training."

"Only because they didn't know you! They stopped giving you such a hard time once they realized you weren't relying on Harry to get you through!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly, the memory of the whispered gossip and outright bullying Ron had had to put up with his first few months still able to spark her anger.

He snorted. "That may be true, but let's face it. Harry could skip this last test and he'd pass right on through. I have to be lucky enough to be one of the twelve, no, eleven, not counting him, that makes it out of a group of fifty."

"That's not fair. You know he's working just as hard to-"

"Not the point, Hermione! Is Harry good at this? Yeah, he is. Does he deserve to be an Auror? Again, yes. But no matter what he does, he's going to be given a free pass for who he is. I'm not mad about that, it's just the way it is. But right now, I'm more concerned with my results than his."

Her jaw clenching at the hostility in his voice, Hermione stood and carried their plates to the sink, setting them to wash with a flick of her wand.

"But you're going to do fine! You've gotten excellent marks so far, and your instructors have said positive things about you. Harry said-"

"Can we leave him out of this? Please?" He gritted out, his temper fraying.

Why was Harry such a sore point? Ron had nothing to worry about, as long as his nerves didn't get in the way, but Harry had a harder time focusing on material that didn't interest him, and sometimes ended up misreading questions as he tried to get them out of the way. He was brilliant in the field, but sometimes his impatience got the best of him during paperwork, and threw his grade off a bit, even though he knew the material. Ron had told her as much himself! Ron averaged missing one or two questions from overthinking and second guessing, but she was confident that he would pass easily.

Hermione swung around, her drying hair falling into her eyes. She brushed it out of the way impatiently. "That's rather hard, Ron! For Merlin's sake, he's your best friend, you're going through training together, you're going to be working with him, and if that wasn't enough, you're practically in laws already! How do you suggest I not bring him up? Honestly, you could try to handle this in a mature manner-"

"This isn't fourth year, Hermione. This is my job, my future I'm worried about. I'm sorry if that isn't mature enough for you!" His voice was sharp and cold, and his ears had reached a dangerous level of maroon.

But Hermione's natural temper and the stress of her work week blinded her to the warning signs, and she was set for a good argument to vent her frustrations on. He had been difficult to live with for weeks, and she was getting tired of it.

"While I'm glad that you're taking this seriously, quite frankly, I'm more concerned with how Harry is going to manage. I was talking to him about it the other day and-"

_And that's when he had lost it, Ron thought glumly. He had taken that statement literally, as in, "I care more about Harry than you,' instead of 'I have faith in your abilities and can't imagine you failing, but I'm worried about our friend because he's worried.' There was such a vast difference between the two, and he knew that a lot of it had been because his worry over the test had dredged up old insecurities. Of course Hermione cared about him, and of course his needs were more important. She just honestly didn't see that there was a problem, and couldn't understand that he just needed to get his worries out of his system, and needed the comfort of her undivided attention._

"I'm not doing this." He said quietly, turning on his heel and going straight for the front door, stopping only to jam his trainers on.

The anger in his voice and the sight of him walking away triggered memories she kept buried, and the world tilted as all of that panic and fear rose to the surface, as if she was reliving that night years ago when everything had gone wrong.

"Ron? Ron! Where are you going?"

"I'm just going for a walk to cool down. I'll be back in a little while, I promise."

He had turned back to speak to her, and the pain in his eyes reminded her of where she was, enough for her to manage a nod that she understood. The door shut behind him, and she walked on shaky legs back to their bedroom, where she dropped heavily on her side of the bed, shaking. She hated this. She knew Ron wouldn't leave her again-he just wanted to cool down before the fight got worse, and she understood and respected that. What she hated was the senseless way she reacted, no matter how hard she tried to stop it. She knew it made him feel guilty, and it always took away from the problem at hand.

She attempted to figure out where things had gone wrong this evening, but she was at a loss. As well as she and Ron knew each other, and as good as they were about anticipating the feelings and reactions the other would have, sometimes their signals became crossed. She knew that both of them were trying, but it was as if they were missing something small but necessary to function properly. If they couldn't figure this out, would it keep getting worse? She knew there would always be small things they would disagree on, and she could take bickering and eye rolling, and even a few hours of sulky silence. But she hated the way they both hurt each other when they actually fought, and the guilt that came afterwards, when it was too late to take back. Even though they always apologized, some things still stung for awhile.

There was something they could do, but would Ron go for it? Or would he see it as her trying to place the blame on him? As much as she loathed being wrong about anything, she knew that she was responsible for just as much as he was. But they had been through so much, and she refused to let this beat them. She was nervous, but she was going to ask him. This fight tonight proved to her that they could benefit from outside help.

_Ron watched from the corner of the room as he returned, and their conversation, as well as the usual post fight lovemaking. He had been too caught up in everything going on at the time, but it now struck him just how much this meant to Hermione. Hermione hated being wrong, but instead of taking the easy way out of it and ignoring this, or blaming everything on him, she had admitted things weren't perfect on her part, and showed a willingness to change them. That wasn't particularly easy for anyone, and it showed him how truly important their relationship was to her._

_Everything he had seen and learned told him they could do this. It wouldn't be easy, and it wouldn't be perfect, but self-doubt and second guessing had been washed away. He had faith in Hermione, and faith in himself. People had always said that he, Hermione, and Harry were an unstoppable trio, but the same could be said for just him and Hermione. United, there was nothing they couldn't overcome. During this session, he had discovered so many things about her, and had fallen even deeper in love with her than he had been before. Their relationship had been a wild ride filled with highs and lows, joy and sadness. They had almost given up before they had even really gotten started, but something had always drawn them back together, closer and better than ever. And as thrilling as all that had been, he was excited now to learn from the past, and to see what the future had to offer. He was ready to go back, ready to put it all on the line and throw himself fully and unreservedly into building their life together, certain and joyous to know, without a doubt, that he would be getting the same in return._

_As if his thoughts were a signal, Ron felt a sensation akin to Apparating, pulling him away, back from memories painful and sweet, back to the one place he was meant to be, back to where a hand held tightly to his._

_Back to Hermione._


	48. Chapter 48

The sun was making a rare appearance as Ron walked down the street to Grimmauld Place, enjoying the weather after being cooped up in the shop. Thank Merlin for half days; George was in one of his 'creative' moods, and testing was murder. At least George was paying him extra, and not sneaking anything by him. Still, even with warning, some of the unplanned for side effects...

Oh well, nothing that was permanent. And now he had the rest of the day free, and was hoping he could convince Hermione to go get a sandwich or something with him; maybe from somewhere Muggle.

_Perhaps not unsurprisingly, Ron was a big fan of trying different Muggle foods. He was always disappointed that the sweets lacked the entertainment factor that he was used to, but that didn't stop him from slipping down to a convenience store to buy a few bars. She always loved to watch the first time he tried something new; his face would be all serious as he processed the flavors, before transforming into that expression of pure bliss._

He took the stairs to the front door two at a time, pausing a moment when he heard loud music coming from inside. Did they have company, or was it just Harry? He usually only did that when he was alone and needed the noise. With a shrug, he went inside, following the music to the source, which happened to be the kitchen. Harry was there, but so was Hermione. Both of them were dancing around and singing badly, Harry with a deplorable falsetto that was probably giving the glassware a run for its money. Both of them kept bumping into each other and giggling, and had somehow managed to get more paint on themselves than the walls. He stood back in the hall, watching, a grin forming on his face. He was just about to go in, when something hit him, and he paused.

He wasn't upset. And by that, he didn't mean mad, but there hadn't been the fleeting moment of doubt, no sick stomach and urge to slink away. Harry and Hermione were together, having a good time without him, but not because he wasn't there. It was something friends did. It was natural. And he was thrilled to discover that he could watch them happily, without thinking how well they looked together, or that they might prefer to be alone without him. Those were feelings he had always tried to push back and ignore, things he had never wanted to think about, but had snuck into his head all the same. Not until the locket had pulled it from the dark corners of his mind, forcing him to consider it repeatedly in great detail.

But now...nothing. He knew it had probably happened sooner, but there had been too much on his mind until now to notice how much progress he had made. It might not seem like much, but he felt incredibly light knowing that he wasn't going to go in and make a jealous arse of himself, or go off and sulk like a prat. Hermione was with him because she wanted to be, and Harry was his best friend. His best friends were best friends, and he could be happy about it without worrying anymore. He took a step forward, both literally and figuratively.

"Yellow's not a good color on you, mate," he said, loud enough to be heard over the music.

Both of them jumped, startled, looking up at him. Before, that nasty little voice in his mind would have whispered it was guilt; now, he saw Harry laugh, and the way Hermione's smile became brighter as she saw him.

"Oh yeah? And just what is my color?" Harry asked with a smirk, turning the volume down slightly.

He exchanged a quick look with Hermione, before they spoke together in perfect unison, "Pickled Toad Green."

Harry groaned. "Seriously? Still? I think I'm gonna tell Ginny on you."

Ron came farther into the kitchen. "Sad, Potter, having to hide behind your girlfriend."

"Ron, we weren't expecting you till later!" Hermione said, stepping carefully over the cans to get to him, then pausing as she looked at herself. "Oh dear, I was going to hug you, but I think that had better wait until I clean up."

He reached over and fingered a lock of her hair that had escaped the thick, bushy ponytail. "Looks like you were using your hair as a brush. For some reason, I sort of figured you to be the type to do all this without a drop going anywhere but the walls, so I'm assuming it's Harry's fault."

Harry and Hermione shared a look, both of them each raising an eyebrow in silent communication. Before Ron could react, they had lifted their brushes and given him matching slashes of paint on each cheek.

"There you go. Now you belong to the Order of the Paintbrush," Harry pronounced, while Hermione broke into giggles.

"Oi!" He laughed, diving for a spare brush.

He really, really loved being with his best mates.

_Hermione's heart was fit to burst. She knew that Ron had always cared deeply for both of them, and had felt guilty about the thoughts that would sometimes creep into his head. They hadn't been things he had wanted to think, but the reality was that most people had those kinds of thoughts from time to time. His self esteem had made them harder to ignore, and she knew that the locket being able to use that had haunted him for years. To see him so confident in himself, and in his place in their lives, was wonderful. He could be happy that she and Harry had the relationship they did, without feeling like they were trying to shut him out. That meant so much to her, because she never wanted him to think that she was choosing Harry over him, and sometimes, she had gotten the feeling that was what he was thinking. Although, she thought, her eyes narrowing in remembrance, that didn't mean he was completely free of jealousy, outside of a romantic relationship between her and Harry. Other people could still get him riled up...which irritated her to no end._

_But that wasn't the issue at hand, so as the memory changed, she drew her attention back to what was happening in front of her._

Ron smiled at the last customer lingering in the shop, silently willing her to make up her mind and leave. It was less than a minute to closing, which technically meant she should have already made her purchase and be on the way out by now. For some reason, most customers thought that as long as they had a product in their hand, they were entitled to stay as long as they liked. Most days Ron didn't mind too much, but tonight he had a date with Hermione-sort of a date; they wouldn't be alone, for the first part. For what he had in mind for the second...the customer was eyeing him strangely, and he quickly wiped off the loopy grin.

"I just can't make up my mind," the customer lamented. "My daughter has simply begged for a Pygmy Puff, but she never said anything about a color! What do you think I should choose?"

Then why hadn't she brought her daughter in to pick for herself? Ron thought, glancing at the Pygmy Puffs in question, being held against a rather substantial matronly bosom. There was a pink and a purple, both snorting and chuffling contentedly, thankfully laid back creatures that loved to be cuddled, as he knew from secret personal experience.

_Hermione raised an eyebrow. Hmm, perhaps that tattoo hadn't been so farfetched after all!_

"The pink is our most popular," he advised, wanting to hurry this along.

The woman frowned. "But my daughter doesn't really like pink."

Then buy the bleeding purple one, you dozy twit! Ron screamed in his head, smiling so hard he thought his head would split clean around the middle.

"I guess that leaves the purple one," he laughed, fingers hovering over the cash register.

But the woman still wasn't happy. "I'm not sure...maybe it's that she just doesn't like wearing pink. But the purple one doesn't seem quite as fluffy..."

Ron took in her appearance; plump, middle aged, and wearing expensive robes that put her well above middle class. Not one of the nation's brightest, but she had wrinkles from smiling and a generally kind disposition. Normally he wouldn't do this, but desperate times, and all.

"You know, Pygmy Puffs are very social creatures. When they're alone, they get very sad. I'm sure your daughter has an active social life, and I'm sure sure she, and you as well, wouldn't want her pet to suffer."

This obviously hadn't occurred to the woman, who looked mildly distressed as she clutched them tighter, obviously already feeling an attachment.

"Oh dear! Maybe I should just buy both then."

Fan-fucking-tastic!

"An excellent decision. Let me just ring you up then."

As he was pulling off the receipt, freedom in his sights, it was snatched from him once again.

"I'm sorry to be a bother, but could you possibly giftwrap them?"

Ron froze, staring at her, thinking it had to be a joke. Surely she couldn't possibly...but her wide, guileless eyes said that yes, she _could_ possibly, and _did._ Time to think fast. Reaching down, he pulled out two gold bows left over from the holidays, and attached them carefully to the furry lumps, who took it in good stride.

"There we are! This is how everyone is doing it now. Tasteful, you know."

She nodded knowingly. "That's perfect, thank you!"

Following her to the door to make sure she was finally, blessedly leaving, he locked it behind her and slumped against the glass, turning at the sound of muffled snickering to glare at his brother.

"Sod off. I noticed you disappeared fast enough!"

George straightened up, waving a hand as he tried to get his laughter under control.

"Sorry, but your face! I thought for a minute that you might volunteer to dress up as a Pygmy Puff yourself just to get her out of here."

Ron walked to the back room, peeling off the blinding orange robes he was forced to wear to work, tossing them on a bench before straightening his hair.

"You know, if it had crossed my mind, I just might have. Or turned you into one and sent you along. Ready to go yet? I don't want to be late."

Slowly, the smile faded on George's face, and he wouldn't quite meet Ron's eye. "Well. I've been thinking. We've been working on that new line, and it's just not quite right yet. I think I better stay behind, and give it a push along."

Ron had been suspecting something like this. While George hadn't been as self destructive as he had been in the months after Fred's death, he was still pretty withdrawn. Now that he was no longer going out and binging, he wasn't being very social at all. Sometimes, it was hard to get him to even come to the Burrow. Mostly he stayed around the shop, and maybe went out for a pint or two with Lee, and on rare occasions, Angelina. Ron didn't want to push him, but he also didn't want George to become a complete recluse.

"Oh, come on; it's not going to take that much effort to straighten out. Besides, Hermione asked you specifically, and it's not often she's the one with ideas for things like this. You wouldn't want it to look like no one wants to come, right?"

George hesitated, then gave him a small smile. "Well, if it's a chance to see what happens when Hermione cuts loose, I suppose I can't turn it down. If you're done primping, we can go."

Checking himself once more in the small mirror hanging on the wall, Ron Apparated them to a back alley in Muggle London, where Hermione had showed him the other day so he could make it on his own. He and George slipped out into the small evening crowd, barely drawing a glance.

"It's a Muggle place, so watch what you say," Ron warned.

George rolled his eyes. "I'll mind my manners, Ronniekins. I've been out before, you know."

Ron grunted, not wanting to mention that he was more concerned about George if he didn't stay relatively sober. Oh well, he'd made the effort; Hermione couldn't hold his brother against him. Not at this point, any rate. Pushing open the thick wooden door, he was surprised to see that the place wasn't very modern. Going out with Hermione and Harry, he was used to Muggle places having more neon lights, and louder music. There was a decent number of people, but it wasn't too crowded, and it almost looked like a pub you'd find in Diagon Alley. There were heavy wooden booths and tables, along with a large, open area, and a bar that was sending drinks out at a fast pace. A waving arm caught his attention, and he turned his head to see Harry waving. He and George walked over to find Harry, Ginny, Lee, and Angelina already there, but no Hermione.

"She owled to say she was going to run a little late," Ginny explained, watching him as he peered around the room.

"Is something wrong?" Ron asked, taking the seat next to Harry, saving the other one for Hermione. And conveniently forcing George to sit next to Angelina.

"Nah, her note sounded more annoyed than upset," Ginny assured him, pushing pints towards both of her brothers.

Hm. Then he'd give it a bit, then he'd sneak out back and pop over to her parents, just to make sure nothing was wrong. He knew it was probably nothing, but not knowing for sure still made him uneasy sometimes. As he lifted the glass to his lips, he sent a surreptitious glance at George, who was looking distinctly uneasy. He had long suspected that George had carried something of a torch for her for years, but had never pursued it, especially since she had dated Fred for awhile. And now with Fred...gone, it made things awkward between them. Sometimes George seemed to react really well around her, and sometimes there were too many memories of Fred for either one of them to cope very well, although Angelina had done a better job of it. But there had seemed to be more good times than bad lately, and Ron knew that if his lump of a brother would just relax and open up, he might find there was something in his life to bring him some peace and joy.

_Hermione grinned. Ron might bluster and and act indifferent to that sort of thing, but he was also as interfering as any maiden aunt. Not only with his brother, but with several people at work as well; she didn't think he realized it, but he always got a certain gleam in his eye that let her know he was 'arranging' things. Leaving two people alone at a table, or starting a conversation he knew they had in common and them drifting away at functions...If Ron ever needed a career change, she was suggesting matchmaker._

They were halfway through George telling them about Ron's encounter with that last customer when Hermione came up to their table, leaning down to kiss him as she slid into her chair.

"Sorry I'm late! Mum decided that it was time to redecorate, and she roped me into helping. I think I moved the same chair twenty-seven different times, and never more than three feet away from its original position."

"If you did it the...other way, you'll have biceps bigger than Ron's," Lee laughed, careful not to slip.

Angelina smacked his arm. "Be nice! Ron might look wiry, but back on the team, it was obvious he was pretty strong, all the same."

George nearly spit out is beer, giving Alicia a bug eyed look. "Please tell me you didn't have impure intentions towards my innocent baby brother!"

Harry pretended to look puzzled. "When did you ever have an innocent baby brother?"

Angelina snorted. "No, I did not! Everyone knew he was mad about Hermione, anyway, but as captain, it would have been pretty pathetic if I didn't notice that."

"He always did step it up when he saw her in the stands, didn't he?" Lee recalled. "He always looked like he could either play the entire game without the rest of the team, or fall off his broom. He's lucky he never happened to be looking when she was smiling at him."

He felt his ears go red as he hid behind his drink, muttering curses at all of them into the brown liquid. While the rest whooped with laughter, he felt Hermione squeeze his leg under the table; she was smiling, her cheeks red at the memories, and he felt his mood brighten.

The conversation wandered in no particular direction after that, as they ordered more drinks and some snacks, and Ron began to feel rather relaxed, as a small band set up over in the corner.

"Oh good, they're about to start! This is why I picked this place," Hermione said happily, beaming around the table.

The musicians tuned up, and several more people came inside, as if they knew what was happening. A few bars in, and Ron raised his eyebrows, growing more surprised as the song continued. This wasn't the kind of Muggle music he was used to; the last he had heard anything like this had been at Bill's wedding, although there was a wilder, more electric feel to the music being played tonight. It was lively, and he soon found his foot tapping in time, and he saw that everyone else at the table was enjoying it as well.

"Come on, let's dance!" Hermione said, tugging on his arm.

"Wha? No, I-"

"Please?"

How could he say no to that face? He took a final swig of his drink to fortify himself. "Alright then, if you're sure?"

"Hm, there's a lovely lady over by the bar that looks like she might fancy a dance," Lee said, excusing himself from the table.

"Come on, Harry! You promised you'd let me teach you!" Ginny cajoled, pulling Harry to his feet.

"You can drag me around the floor, but don't expect much," Harry warned with amusement, having never had much of a chance to get the hang of it.

Hermione paused as they all began to vacate the table. "Aren't you going to dance, George?"

Ron sucked in a breath; they were lucky just to get George to come, but Hermione had always been one to push.

George merely lifted his glass in a mock salute. "No thanks, I'll leave it to you kids."

Hermione nodded understandingly. "Of course. We wouldn't want to make you look bad for not being able to keep up."

Ron choked as George's mouth sagged open; he didn't think he'd even seen him so at a loss for words.

True to form, George recovered quickly, sitting up in his chair, and turning to Angelina. "So, do you want to show these young upstarts how it's done?"

Angelina tossed her head. "Speak for yourself; _I'm_ not old." She then playfully narrowed her eyes. "Although I wouldn't mind giving them a run for their money..."

In a daze, Ron let Hermione lead him to the dancefloor, and nearly tripped over his own feet before he regained his senses enough to find his rhythm. Around him, he saw that Lee's advances had been successful, and Ginny and Harry were almost stumbling with laughter as Ginny tried to teach him the steps.

"I'm so glad that worked," Hermione said, "I've been worried that it might not."

Ron stared down at her as he spun her away and back again. "Are you saying you set this up?" He asked, risking a glance at George, and doing a doubletake.

He and Angelina were whirling about the room, and he threw his head back in laughter at something she said. For the first time, George looked truly happy-not the fake happy he put on to make sure no one worried about him, and not the merely pleased look he wore at the shop, which Ron knew had more to do with keeping Fred's memory alive than anything George was invested in for himself at the moment. He looked so much like the old George that Ron had almost completely forgotten that he found he was fighting back the urge to cry. To avoid making a tit of himself, he looked back down to Hermione.

"Well, yes. You'd been saying how much you were worried that he wasn't getting out in a...positive way, and I thought that maybe if the group was big enough for him to feel comfortable, but small enough that he couldn't avoid Angelina, that maybe-was I wrong?"

He blinked. Wrong? Why would she think that?

"Of course it wasn't wrong! It was brilliant, as usual. I just...you'd set all of this up for my prat of a brother?"

There was a complicated pass to maneuver, and her face was red once they were back together. "I knew how much you worried, and, you know, he's family," she muttered so quietly he almost missed it.

Quickly, he darted forward for a hard, quick kiss before resuming the dance, unable to form words to express what that meant to him. He knew Hermione didn't much fancy loud get togethers, and that for most of their dates, she preferred for it to be just the two of them-after all, they didn't have much free time in their schedules. But she knew how important his family was to him, and what's more, they were to her, as well. He knew that wasn't the case with everyone. He'd heard talk from some of the others in training, about how they hated the in-laws, or the potential in-laws. How they never wanted to have any more to do with them than they had to-which sort of made Ron wonder what their spouse thought about that, since it sounded like most of them were on good terms with their families.

Even with his mum and Fleur, sometimes it took some fancy footwork to get them to get along. They loved each other, but both were so stubbornly-and verbally-opinionated that things could get tense, depending on the mood. Hermione was just as stubborn, and just as opinionated, but she was also good at smiling and nodding, and doing her own thing without making a fuss about it, which meant his mum was more willing to ignore it. He didn't think he could live the way some of the other blokes did. He loved seeing Hermione as part of his family, loving and caring for them as if they were her own. He was on his way to that point with her parents; at least, he hoped. He hadn't known them well for long, but he wanted to get there. He knew that Hermione adored both of them, and...he wanted to be a part. He wanted to do things for them, like she had done for George. He wanted Hermione to know that she could count on him to help with them as they aged, to be a son to them, just as she was a daughter to his parents.

As they continued to dance and take breaks with the others, Ron couldn't help stealing glances at Hermione. He had known for awhile now how deep his feelings for her were, and where he eventually wanted them to end up. Only now, eventually was longer than he liked. Hermione was it for him. He wanted her to be a part of his family, and he wanted to be part of hers. More than that, he wanted them to be their own family. One that would start with the two of them, and grow over time. He wanted to take all of the things he loved, as well as some things he hadn't realized he had, about growing up in his family and make it even better for his kids. And he knew that he could do that with Hermione.

_By this point, Hermione was a sopping wet mess. At the time, it hadn't seemed like such a big deal. As she had told Ron, George was family, and she wanted to see him heal. And if Ron was hurting, as he did when any of his family hurt, then she did, too. Family had always been important to Ron. Even when things were bad, there was nothing worse you could do than betray your family. And after the war it had meant so much more to him, knowing how easily a member of that family could be lost. He was always going to love them, and it would have torn him to be with someone who didn't. Being able to feel for herself how he thought of his role with her parents was such a relief. As an only child, she had always worried about what would happen to her parents as they got older. Knowing that even if something happened to her, Ron would take care of them because to him, they were family, meant so much. And Ron was right. She loved them, and she loved him, and having them love and welcome the other made her life so much easier than she knew to be the case for others._

_This memory also helped ease some of her doubts. While she had always wanted children, she hadn't been sure that she would be the best mum. She knew she could be strict and demanding, and she never wanted any child of her to feel like they were less important than her ambitions. Through Ron's eyes, she saw that she had it in her to make the time and effort for family, and to be attentive to their needs even if it meant going out of her comfort level. At that point in time, moments alone with Ron were surprisingly scarce because of conflicting schedules, and she had preferred to spend those times alone with him, focusing on one another. And yet, helping George hadn't felt like a sacrifice, and she hadn't even really given it a second thought. If she could do that for him, she could certainly do so for her own children. Ron recognized that. He was vocal and proud about how he figured she'd end up as Ministry of Magic someday, but he was also just as sure that she would excel as a wife and mother. For Ron, she didn't have to make that choice. She could be both, and he truly believed that she would be amazing in each role._

_It was strange, getting so many feelings from one small memory, but there were just some moments in your life that everything hit you with a crystal clarity, and that had been one for Ron. She was excited to share that connection with Ron. To be entrusted with the people he cared about, and to have children of their own one day that they could pass that love down to. He wanted all of that with her, and the best part was, she hadn't had to do anything other than what came naturally. She, as a person, inspired those feelings in him, and it meant the world to know how much he wanted to share with her._

_Of course, that didn't mean life was all wine and roses. They still had their less than stellar moments as a couple. And professionally, as well..._

His broom was missing. Again. His fingers tightened on the door of his locker, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to slam it. Very deliberately, he shut it with a click, and turned to walk out of the locker room, pretending not to notice the stares and muffled giggles. Harry had told him it was going to be rough, and he hadn't been lying. Not only that, it was worse for him; with Harry, people would only try to push The Chosen One so far. His nobody friend on the other hand, was fair game.

He gave his head a shake. No, he wasn't going to let them make him think like that. He wasn't a nobody, at least not to anyone that mattered. He had worked just as hard as anyone to be here, no matter what they said. He hadn't taken the Keeper position out of favoritism, and he wasn't going to with his career, either.

However, he was still human and he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take before he beat the shite out of someone.

_Hermione marched along to the flying field alongside of him, seething. She had been so furious at some of his treatment during this time that she knew he had held some things back, knowing that she was likely to go to his supervisor to complain, which she realized in hindsight would do more harm than good._

As the others joined him, he took his place in line, noticeably the only one not holding a broom. He saw Harry give him a look, but he gave the barest headshake in return; he wasn't going to fight this, and he didn't want him to step in either. They all snapped to attention when Auror Dracis stomped out to face them, a shortish, thickset man of surprising strength. He was brutal, but the worst part was that he was fair, so you couldn't fully hate him even though every aching muscle in your body screamed for you to.

Auror Dracis strolled up and down the line, frowning at one here, snapping at one there. Ron kept his eyes straight ahead as his turn came, knowing from more than six prior experiences what to expect.

"Well, Weasley. I see you don't have a broom today."

"No sir."

"Did you perhaps think we were having tea on the lawn this afternoon? Is that it?"

"No sir."

"What are we out here to do, Weasley?"

"Flying drills, sir."

"Right. Flying. And you show up without a broom. Tell me, Weasley, just how were you expecting to fly? Were you going to try flapping those great gangling arms of yours?"

"No sir."

"No. Well then, we have a problem, don't we? We have to find a way to get you up in the air with the rest of them, who managed to bring the proper equipment. Since this isn't the first time, I expect you know what to do."

"Yes sir; use one of the spares."

That's right. Bring it here."

Ron jogged to the small shed where the spare brooms were kept, trying to pull out the one that looked like it would hold together. These brooms were so ancient and battered, he couldn't even tell what model they were anymore.

"No, not that one," Auror Dracis called.

Reluctantly, Ron put it back, and pulled out another, whose bristles reminded him of a fourteen year old with his first facial hair. It seemed to be good enough for Auror Dracis, who let him fall back in line.

"To try to drive this point into your brain so this doesn't happen again, I want you to do double laps, flying above everyone else, and go through the course eight times instead of three. Got that?"

Double the-and extra runs on the course? Bloody hell!

Auror Dracis gave him a probing look. "Anything to say, Weasley? Anything at all that might make me decide this punishment is unwarranted?"

He was giving Ron an out. He could turn the others in, even though he wasn't sure exactly who all was involved, he suspected most of them. They were all guilty of something; the taunts, the cold shoulder at meals, the way his things would go missing...He was so fucking tired of it. The worst part was, he could understand it. He knew how he'd feel to drive himself, to throw everything he had into this, only to have someone swan in part way through looking like they hadn't had to do a damn thing to get here. Not only that, but someone that had friends in high places that could pull strings for them. He'd resent it. He'd resent it worse if, once cuts were being made, that person took a spot he thought should rightfully be his or one of his new mates. And even though they had been briefed that he had been in training, that he had worked to meet the same requirements they had...well, that was what they _would_ say, wouldn't they? And now they were all watching him out of the corners or their eyes, waiting to see if he would crack. If he was weak, if he would sell them out to be comfortable. If he did, he'd never win their trust. It was bollocks, but that was the way it was.

"No sir."

There was a long pause.

"Alright then, everyone up in the air, twenty-five laps, clockwise. Go!"

With practiced speed, brooms were mounted and positions taken up, with enough space between flyers that accidents could be avoided. (Although that changed suspiciously when he was in the group.) He waved to Harry as he urged his broom above them, discovering the blasted thing pulled to the right. Oh well, that would actually make things easier, since-

"Weasley!" A voice boomed from below, the sound enhanced by a spell, "I want you going counter-clockwise."

With a growl, Ron got himself turned around, his broom bobbing in protest. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ People thought that flying was easy, but that was only because they'd never had to bother with things like wind and weather. You had to keep your balance, and brooms weren't exactly built with comfort in mind. Now he not only had to deal with his broom pulling him in the opposite direction the entire time, but the updraft created by so many people flying at speed below him. His thighs were going to be chafed and aching, and his hands would be stiffened into position, the skin cracked and bleeding, just like his lips. If Hermione saw him before he had a hot shower and a small pain potion, she was going to come out here and murder them.

He was tempted to let her.

_And she would have! Oh, Merlin, her hand itched for her wand; she would love nothing more than to hex them like they'd never been hexed before! It was absurd that he had had to endure this hazing-this bullying! She didn't blame people for being suspicious of their qualifications at first, because honestly, just as Ron had thought, that's exactly how she would feel-and given the Ministry's questionable dealings in the past, it was wise to do so. But just a few days should have been enough to show that they were all on the level in their respective fields, and things never should have escalated this far. At least in her office, things were usually kept to a manageable level of passive aggression, and she had never suffered physically. It was beyond her that they couldn't grasp the fact that if Ron could not only keep up with them, but out do most of them, that he wasn't there out of nepotism._

_She cringed as she watched Ron not only finish his laps, but fly the grueling course that had been set up to mimic the extreme conditions they would face as Aurors. She could feel every ache, and knew he wanted nothing more than a hot shower and to curl up in a ball and sleep for three days straight. But stubbornly, he forced himself to walk back into the locker rooms as if nothing was bothering him._

Ron opened his locker to grab his shower gear and change of clothes, finding that his broom was once more where it was supposed to be, just like the other times. He supposed he was lucky they hadn't damaged it, or made him hunt for it each time.

"Hey, Ron?" Harry asked, already changed, his hair still wet from his shower, "I have to drop some papers off at the Ministry. You want to come with, or are you headed straight home?"

He thought about it a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. Tell Hermione that I'll be by to pick her up after work, we'll pick up from that Chinese place she likes. If I go now I'll only end up distracting her from getting any work done," he winked with a grin.

Harry snorted. "I see enough of that at home, thanks. Alright, see you later."

The eyes focused on Ron made him uncomfortable, but he knew better than to react. With a forced casualness he gathered his things and started to head for the showers, glad that those at least would be empty. One of these days he was going to grab his cock and offer to let them measure it, if it would make them feel better.

He was stopped by Will Thomas (no relation to Dean), who was one of the nastier types, and, unsurprisingly, one of the least fit to be here. Aside from looking like something off of an Auror recruitment poster, he didn't have much to offer.

"Big night out planned with the little lady, Weasley?" Thomas asked, his smirk oily and slappable.

Ron shrugged, not really liking the way he referred to Hermione, but he didn't expect much better from an arse like this.

"You know, I still don't understand what a classy bird like that sees in you, when she could be with Potter?"

There was a collective intake of breath; obviously no one else had expected him to go that low, at least not openly.

"Yeah, well, she _is_ with me, and why isn't really any of your business, is it? Maybe you should ask Harry out yourself, if you think he's that fanciable."

Surprisingly, that got a few choked laughs from some of the others, and he caught Ivy Bessette hiding her red face behind her sleeve, shoulders heaving. He pushed past Thomas, but apparently he was going to have to pay for his comment.

"Or maybe she hasn't. Do you have to wait your turn? Is Potter going first today, and that's way you have to wait to-"

_Hermione nearly staggered back at the rage that swept through Ron; he moved so fast that even with knowing his intent, she barely saw it. In moments, he had drawn his wand and blasted Thomas into the lockers with a crash, standing in front of him with the tip of his wand at Thomas' throat. He was very still, but there was a feral, dangerous quality to him that had everyone else backing away._

"You have a lot of questions, so how about I give you a quick little education," Ron said, his voice low and icy. "You can keep pulling your shite tricks on me. You can throw whatever you have at me, dish out whatever insult-Oi! You two! Drop your wands or join your mate here." He snapped at a pair who had reached for their wands. Both froze, dropping them to the floor with a clatter. "Ta. Where was I? Oh yeah. You keep doing what you want to me. I can take it; better than the likes of you have fucked with me. But you leave Hermione out of this. You don't even say her fucking _name_. Understand?"

Unable to nod, Thomas, who had gone the color of bad cheese, murmured hoarsely, "Yeah. I understand."

"Good. It's so nice when people understand each other." Ron gave a toothy grin, and stepped back, turning to go pick up his things he had dropped. Without pausing, he ducked, pulled a lunging Thomas over his shoulder and slammed him to the ground, and stepped over him.

"Like I said, better than you have tried."

Too disgusted to stay long enough for a shower, Ron gathered his things, and smiled at the wide eyed faces around him, ignoring a groaning Thomas still on the floor. "Great flying out there today, everyone. Hope you all have a _lovely_ evening." He then Apparated away.

He landed in the front hall of Grimmauld Place, Kreacher popping out to greet him.

"Welcome home, master Ron. Shall Kreacher begin supper?"

Ron blinked. It always startled him when Kreacher asked something like that. "Um, no thanks. Me and Hermione are gonna pick something up to bring back. Thanks for the offer though."

Kreacher gave a superior sniff. "Not proper food. Kreacher will at least see that you have a decent pudding." Without waiting for an answer, he popped away again.

Ron had to wonder if he'd be blamed for that, then shrugged. He'd specifically told Kreacher that dinner was taken care of; he couldn't help it if the elf took it into his head to go on a baking spree. And it would be rude not to eat it once it was made. Surely Hermione wouldn't blame him for that?

_Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly, as if she policed every interaction between human and house elf! Kreacher was his own being, just like the rest of them, and he was free to cook, or not to, as he chose. It had taken her awhile, but even she had seen that he got offended if they didn't eat his cooking from time to time._

His boots felt as if he had strapped a pair of Hagrid's poundcakes to his feet as he tromped up the stairs, passing his room and going directly for the shower. Stripping off, he tossed his training clothes in the hamper-even his socks managed to make it in-and then slouched into the tub to let the steaming spray of water do its work. As he lathered up with that foamy stuff that Hermione had bought for him, the events of the last twenty minutes or so caught up with him, and he leaned against the wall.

He knew most people would think he'd overreacted, but Ron didn't think so. He had made the choice to wait the situation out, and he was managing just fine. But bringing Hermione into it...he'd never been able to let an insult slide against her when they were kids, and that hadn't changed. He'd be damned if he stood by and let someone say disgusting things about her, and he'd tolerate it even less if they were saying those things because of him. What bothered him was how much Thomas had gotten to him. Not so much the part about Hermione and Harry-he knew that was a load of shite well enough-but sometimes, he wondered himself why Hermione was with him. It didn't have to be Harry, there were plenty of Wizards, or even Muggles out there who would be what you would call a better match for her. Yet here she was strapping herself to a great lunk like him, and seeming happy about it. He tried to hold onto that part; Hermione was happy. With him. He reckoned she'd always seen something in him, or she wouldn't bother, even if he couldn't always see it himself.

With a sharp shake of his head, he cut off the water, stepping out and reaching for his wand to dry off; he didn't feel like dealing with a towel and damp clothes. Dammit, he couldn't think like that! That messed up shite was what had always gotten him into trouble. He wasn't Harry, and he wasn't Hermione; he didn't need to be. He was doing just fine in his own right, on a path in life that made him happy-which was more than could be said for a lot of people. He had family, friends, and a girlfriend that loved him. He was living in a comfortable house, with plenty of food, and enough money so that, while he wasn't dressed at the height of fashion, it covered the bits of him it was supposed to and was from this century. He was healthy, his nightmares weren't as bad as they used to be, and he was having longer and longer stretches of not cocking anything up. All in all, pretty good, if you looked at it that way.

In the hall, he ran into Harry, who had just come up the stairs.

"Wow, I wasn't expecting you to be back yet!"

"Didn't feel like showering there," was all the explanation Ron gave. He knew if he told Harry, he'd be furious.

"Don't blame you. Feels like they watch your every move, doesn't it? Here, Hermione sent a message," he said, handing Ron a small envelope, shrugging at Ron's questioning look. "I told her I wasn't an owl, and she said she could fix that for me if it was a burning desire, so here I am."

Ron laughed. "Good choice mate. Thanks."

"Yeah, well, I'm gonna go see if my girlfriend can soothe my wounded ego; we probably won't be back in time for supper, so go ahead without us."

Ron nodded, then called out just as Harry was starting down the stairs. "Oh, Harry? There's some owl treats i the cupboard. Give yourself a couple on me," he snickered as Harry's curses floated back to him.

He tore open the envelope on his way to his room, scanning the short message written in Hermione's neat hand.

_Ron,_

_How did you know I've been dying for some shrimp? If you can get here at 6:00, I'll be ready to go. I'm interested in something else spicy tonight, so I hope you're planning on making it an early evening,_

_Love, Hermione_

Ron read the three sentences over again with a wide grin on his face. He might not know what it was that he had that attracted her, but he wasn't going to knock it.

_Hermione sighed. For all the magic in their world, there were just some things that would never magically disappear. Although not nearly as bad as when they were younger, she knew he still struggled with his self esteem. She wished that there was a spell, or a potion that could fix it for him, but she knew that the only one who could change it was Ron. And he was doing an amazing job of it; it was hard, and she knew it would be much easier to slip back into old thought patterns. The thing was, Ron made it look easy. That night, she had thought he was a little tired at first, but he had quickly engaged in interesting conversation, and later he had been enthusiastically attentive in bed. It made her really question how many times he was being an arse when he got grumpy and stubborn, and when he was actually dealing with emotional overload from dealing with the conflicting thoughts in his head. And it looked like she was going to get some kind of answer, since, unless she was wrong, she was just about to witness their very first, very couple-y fight._

There were times he wished he was as methodical as Hermione, and then there were times he was just thankful to have her there to be methodical for him. This was one of those times. While preparing for the big move from Grimmauld Place into their own flat, he had been perfectly fine with the idea of chucking everything into boxes and sorting it out there.

Bad idea.

Boxes had the funny quirk of all looking exactly alike once they were piled together, and once you started taking things out, you suddenly noticed that you had a distinct lack of space to put things. Or sort them. Or move at all. Thankfully, his brilliant, brilliant girlfriend, the brightest witch of their age, had planned ahead; she had minimized the problem by labelling all the boxes, and sending each one to the correct room. This meant that he didn't have to wander all around the flat with a lamp in one hand and a Quidditch glove in the other, wondering where to put them.

Harry and Ginny had offered to help, but both he and Hermione had preferred to do this themselves; it was their first place that was really their own, and they had wanted the satisfaction of placing everything just so, according to their tastes. If he had been told just a few short years ago that he would care about the angle of an armchair, he would have laughed himself off his broom; now here he was debating the best position to maximize the comfort of warmth from the fireplace, but also have a direct path to the kitchen for snacks.

It had taken several days, including trips to nearby charity shops for furniture, to get nearly everything the way they wanted it, and Ron had to say that it didn't look half bad. Obviously, nothing was new, and some things looked quite worn, but everything was clean and would hold up at least long enough for them to save for replacements in the future. Tired but happy, he dropped like a stone into his chair, his legs stretched out into almost the middle of the room. Hermione, entering with a stack of books, shook her head.

"Ron, I know we're almost done, but there's still some of the smaller things to put away."

"I know, love, but I still need to work on a paper after dinner, and I can barely keep my eyes open as it is. But I know where most of it is going to go, so unless I have to work late tomorrow, it should be done before you get back home." Merlin, he loved being able to say that. Home. They had a home.

Hermione paused, leaning on the sofa. "Really? Alright then. I suppose it's just me; I don't think I realized just how many books I have. I'm a bit worried about space..."

"You could store the ones you're less likely to need in your bag for now," he suggested.

She beamed at him. "Ron, that's an excellent idea! There are quite a few I know I won't be reading anytime soon, but I can't bear to part with them. Wait, you mentioned dinner. Please tell me you're not expecting me to cook, and we shouldn't go out, since we did last night."

He smiled, happy to be a step ahead. "Nope. Mum dropped off enough food for a flock of Hippogriffs, a lot of it already cooked. It's under a warming charm in the kitchen."

"She did? When?" Hermione asked, clearly puzzled since the apartment wasn't big enough for her to have missed anyone.

"I think it was when you went to your parents, to get that quilt that your mum wanted you to have?"

Hermione came around to sit down on the sofa, laying the books next to her. "That's right, I had forgotten about that. Thank you for not making a fuss about it; it was something my grandmother made, so it's sort of a family heirloom, but I know it isn't exactly your style."

It was a little...floral, but it wasn't as if he was going to be wearing it out anywhere. "Hermione, it's less blinding than some of Mum's creations that you're putting up with, so don't worry about it."

She laughed. "Your mum just has a...special eye for color. Her cooking, on the other hand, is fabulous, and I'm starving so I know you are too. We might as well go ahead and eat."

Ron stood and stretched, then glanced at his watch. "You can go ahead, but I need to run down and make our payment."

Hermione froze. "Oh Merlin, you mean we haven't taken care of that already? Of course we haven't, I'd remember! And we've already-Ron, we should have already done this!"

Crap, it had slipped his mind to tell her. "Hermione, relax; they wanted the first payment in person, and it was going to be the same day we actually moved in, but they were away and rescheduled. I'm supposed to go down and take care of everything tonight, so we aren't overdue or anything like that."

Her body sagged in relief. "I got so caught up in the actual packing and moving that it completely slipped my mind; let me know what my half is, and I'll get it for you."

What was she talking about?

"It's fine, Hermione. I've got this one."

She cocked her head, blinking at him. "You know I keep emergency funds just incase something goes wrong at Gringotts. I can cover my share, if that's what you're offering for."

Well, of course he knew that. He did the same, as did Harry. But this first payment was his to take care of. He had been the one to find the flat, and to invite Hermione to live with him. He had asked her to move in with him, not go in on a place together just to save money, like they were roommates. The first one was his responsibility, in his mind. Apparently, not in Hermione's.

"Ron, I have a job. I can pay my part."

"I never said you couldn't. Next time, and all the ones after that, I was expecting you to. I just wanted to do this one myself. I have a job, too, so just let me get this."

He had hoped that would be the end of it, but Hermione shook her head. "Yes, you have a job, But with your hours you don't earn quite as much as-"

_Hermione felt her eyes bug out. Could she have phrased that any worse if she had tried? She had meant that things were more equal if they split them, and had somehow managed to imply that he wasn't pulling his weight._

"Quite as much as what? As you?" He felt the back of his neck heat up. Was she forgetting the small detail that he was working and going through training on top of that? Sure, he'd had to cut back his hours some, but not out of laziness!

"Well, no, you don't, but that can't be helped. Although if you'd save more, and watch your spending..."

He couldn't believe this. The broom had been necessary! Everyone was expected to provide their own broom, and he'd been careful to invest in one that would last, and with the Auror trainee discount, it had been a bargain. Anytime he bought something extra, it had been carefully thought out and saved up for, and he nearly always took advantage of sales.

_She lowered her eyes guiltily. She hadn't meant to shame him for it, and it hadn't been about the broom, which was a completely legitimate and understandable work related cost. No, she had felt badly about the thing he had bought for her-nothing truly extravagant, but still money that could have gone for things for himself. Instead of just being able to accept them gracefully, she had turned her own sense of guilt back on him as if he had done something wrong._

"If you take a look at my bankbook, you'll see my finances are just fine, thanks," he said tightly.

Hermione stood up, one hip thrust out as a toe began to tap. "Well that's fabulous, Ron. So what is this then? Some masculine display of taking care of the little woman? Do you need to make a show of providing for me?"

That cut him to the quick. He knew Hermione didn't need anyone to provide for her, let alone him. And he would try to-to make her feel financially obligated to him, or any shite like that. That she could possibly think that of him...Angry tears burned his eyes, and his throat was clogged with hurt and bitter words. Their cozy flat now felt confining, no longer like the home he had envisioned it to be. He needed to get out, because he knew anything he said at this point make make any payment needless.

He opened his mouth to answer her, but shook his head, turning to the door, and striding quickly across the room.

"Ron, what are you doing?" She called from behind him.

He could barely choke out one word as his hand gripped the knob. "Leaving."

"NO!"

The shriek from behind him was terrified, and old reflexes made him spin around, searching for danger. When he saw her, he froze. She was bent forward, arm outstretched, her face twisted with a desperate fear. He flinched back, knowing exactly what she was thinking of.

"No! Ron, you can't leave! You can't-"

As she started to cry, he retraced his path, bending down to put his arms around her.

"Not...not like that, Hermione. Never like that. You know...you know I wouldn't. Just need to get my head on straight. I'll come back after a walk, I promise."

_She had hated that flashback sensation, that echo of doubt that she didn't believe for one minute, but couldn't seem to drown out the memory. She knew Ron sometimes needed space to think; they both did. But seeing him walk away in anger like that always twisted her up inside. She knew Ron would never leave her, and she knew that he wouldn't purposely use that to hurt her. He proved that much by always pausing the fight, no matter how upset he was, to make sure she was alright, just as he was doing now. He always, always stayed until she indicated it was alright for him to leave, and she knew that spoke of what a good man that he was, that he would put her needs first even when he was angry with her. She knew it was hurting him, thinking that she believed he was leaving like he had that night, and she hated that. She never wanted him to feel as if she would use that to guilt him into staying, or to take some petty satisfaction from his pain. She knew she had a vindictive streak, but never about that._

"I-I know. Sorry, I just...I know. You'll be back before dark?" Her voice cracked.

He squeezed her, then let go. "Yeah, 'course I will. I just need to...cool down a bit before we talk about this anymore."

She gave a small nod, her shoulders still slightly hunched, but her color was coming back.

"You alright if I go?" He asked. He still needed to, but he wouldn't leave her if she was going to get that upset about it. He wanted to make her understand, not make her hurt.

"I will. I'll just, um, put these books away."

He sighed, and slowly went to the door. He stepped out, and looked back over his shoulder. She looked sad, but in control, but he knew he wouldn't stay out long anyway. Closing the door quietly behind him, he took the three flights of stairs down instead of bothering with the lift, and took off walking down the street. This was one of those times he wished he did better with words. How could he make Hermione understand that this wasn't some sort of dominance thing? He knew they were equals. It was just...he'd never really had anything to give her. Nothing important, at least. Even when he had asked her to move in with him, the fact was, it had been Harry's place. Finding the flat, signing his name on the papers...It had felt like for once, he had something that was his, that he could share. Making that first payment was sort of symbolic to him, like the way his life was his own, but he was asking her to share it with him.

_Beside him, Hermione released a strangled moan. Oh Merlin! Why hadn't she seen that? Of course Ron would want to have a moment where something was his-to be in the position to give, instead of always having to be on the receiving end. It made so much more sense when she thought of it that way! She had been so worried about feeling like she wasn't truly an adult, that she needed to take on all responsibilities immediately, that she hadn't simply asked why it was so important to him. Ron very easily could have gotten his own place first, and lived alone for awhile. But he had been so excited to share his life with her, that he skipped that. After years of living first as a child under his parents roof, and then with Harry, in what was Harry's house, it should have been obvious to her. Ron was happily giving up a certain kind of independence, and she had turned a giving gesture into something trivial and petty. To get technical, the flat had actually been in Ron's name, so he had every right to be the one to pay, anyway._

Ron walked about three blocks before turning back, his anger spent. It wasn't really worth all this trouble. If he had just agreed with Hermione, he could have already made the payment, and they would have eaten by now and he would be convincing her to cuddle on the sofa. That was his idea of how to spend an evening, not wandering around out here alone while she worried and watched the clock. Not wanting to waste time, he took a quick look around, and slipped into an alley to Apparate.

Hermione was still in the living room, and gave a start as she dropped a book on the floor, the beaded bag and several other books in front of her. She bent over to scoop up the book, looking flustered.

"Oh! You're back! I mean, I knew you would be, of course, but I just thought-"

"Just thought that I'd show up just as it got dark, since that's the latest I promised to stay out?" He asked, with the ghost of a smile.

She stood up as he approached her, shrugging. "Well, I wouldn't have blamed you. I am glad you're back though."

Ron was tired of fighting, and it didn't look like Hermione was going to continue, but he wasn't entirely sure she wasn't still mad at him. Nervously, he reached out to put his arms around her, relieved when she returned the gesture, nuzzling into his chest. He rested his face on top of her head, ignoring the slightly uncomfortable position and the way her hair tickled his nose.

"M'sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't want to start things off like this."

There was a brief pause before she answered, "I know. I got pretty nasty too."

That helped, but it wasn't quite enough; he pulled back slightly, bringing a hand up behind her head as he leaned in for a kiss. It was meant to be slow and gentle, but Hermione's grip in the back of his shirt tightened, and she pushed herself forward to deepen it. Both of them moaned slightly, swaying. Ron began to pull away, but Hermione nipped his lower lip, sucking it into her mouth; bloody hell, she knew what that did to him! His hands began to wander up and down her sides, not quite daring to touch her tits yet, even though she was palming his arse. He edged them closer to the sofa, the ache in his chest lessening the clearer it became that she wasn't upset with him.

_As she averted her eyes from the couple on the couch as their touching became more heated, she forced herself to push aside as much of Ron's pleasure as she could to concentrate. She always got a bit aggressive after he left like that (not that she had been aware that he enjoyed this part that much), and she suspected it stemmed from all of those nights wondering where he was, and having nightmares. She needed the tactile reminder that he was real, and with her, to fully let herself be comfortable again. She had also just discovered something interesting about Ron. While they both, to some extent, used sex as avoidance, Ron also used it as comfort and reassurance. Normally, whenever she was mad (mostly in the past, but that was where it started), she would pull away and distance herself when she was upset with him. For him, physical intimacy let him know that he was still loved and welcome, and that he wasn't going to be pushed aside. It was something both of them obviously needed, and served a purpose in healing, so avoiding it wasn't the answer. They just needed to make time for talking it out afterwards once they were both calmer and feeling more secure._

_The force of Ron's orgasm dropped her into the nearby chair, hissing air through her teeth; there was also the undeniable factor that makeup sex between them was very, very good._

Ron was leaning back against the arm of the sofa, Hermione on top of him in a not completely comfortable position, but he wasn't complaining. He raised the arm that wasn't draped around her waist to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, catching a glimpse of the time as he did. Damn. He had forgotten about the payment, but there was still time. He glanced down at Hermione, who looked all relaxed and peaceful, and didn't have the heart to start all of that all over again.

"Hermione?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"I need to get up in a few minutes to go make that payment," he felt her stiffen slightly beneath him, and rushed to add, "So could you go get your half?"

Her chin dug into his chest as she twisted to look up to him, her eyes still foggy. "Really?"

"Yeah. It was...it was a stupid idea." He smiled weakly.

"It was, but that's alright," she said, shifting to sit upright, completely missing his flinch.

_Hermione, on the other hand, saw it clearly. "It wasn't a stupid idea," she whispered._

He expected her to get up, and was surprised when she placed a hand on his chest. "Ron, I'm sorry I made a fuss, but that isn't how I want to start this. We do things together, as a team. Alright?"

His smile became less forced. Or course they were a team; he wouldn't have it any other way. And if that was what it meant to her...then he was fine with setting aside a few of his own ideas.

"More than alright."

_No, it wasn't! Hermione thought, giving her foot a small stamp. Not without at least getting to fully discuss them! Both of them had needs, and it was important for both to be considered equally when they made decisions, instead of one person backing down just to keep the peace. Yes, being a united team and feeling as if she was making progress as a real adult were important, but no more so than Ron being able to be in a position to fully share something that was originally his. If she hadn't been feeling so unsure of herself and her rate of growing as an adult, and had just listened...it was frustrating to see how many problems could be avoided simply by stepping outside of your own head._

_Hermione stood from the chair and nearly tripped over the table that was suddenly in her way as the memory changed, more people, and correspondingly more clothing, than last time. Very nice clothing, as well, she thought, as the voices chattered around her, echoing off the high dome of the Ministry ceiling. She spotted herself, in a very nice set of crimson dress robes, and Ron beside her, looking dashing yet uncomfortable in his regulation Auror trainee dress robes. She narrowed her eyes; she recognized those clothes, and the fight that they had while wearing them. Now this time, surely, she couldn't have been in the wrong!_

Ron tried not to squirm uncomfortably as he stood next to Hermione, people constantly milling about him and stopping to say hello. The collar of his robes felt too tight, and he had to keep reminding himself that there was nothing preventing him to breathe. It didn't help that to appear halfway pleasant, he had to paste a fake smile on his face that made him look either drunk, or struck on the head too hard. He couldn't help it, though; it wasn't as if he really minded large groups of people, but he didn't like many of the ones here.

_Well, to be honest, she hadn't either, but not only was it part of her job, but she had hoped he could at least be supportive of the contributions she had made that were finally being recognized._

What he really hated was the fact that he knew that while they paid lip service to her tonight, they still didn't give Hermione the respect she deserved. Acknowledging her and her department was all about making themselves look good, but he doubted if any of them would lift a tap to be helpful in the future. They were content to use her and give very little in return, and he knew how frustrated she got with having to deal with that sort of attitude on a regular basis. She had been brilliant at chipping away until she finally got them to make a few small steps of progress, but to him, she should be celebrating with people who truly cared for and supported her, and those who either benefitted from or believed in the work she was doing. It might be a smaller crowd, but he loved the way her eyes would shine when she got going on something she was passionate about, and he wanted her to have the spotlight, rather than to be shuffled to the side as quickly as possible.

_Hermione stared at him, then heaved a sigh. He just had to go and prove her wrong, didn't he? At least in part..._

"Ron, will you please stop looking like you bit into a bad lemon?" Hermione asked him from the side of her mouth.

He gave a slight jump. He'd been thinking too deeply, and let himself slip. "Ah. Sorry. Did you say something?"

She sighed. "No, I didn't. I was just about to ask if you'd like to dance, though."

He looked over to the area set up for dancing, and the couples who were moving about the floor, dress robes sweeping and swirling. It brought to mind fourth year, and how he had wanted to dance with her, and couldn't; how he hadn't really fit in, and...

"Never mind, I can tell you don't. Would you at least like to get us some wine?" She asked, her smile slightly forced.

Ron winced; he knew Hermione wanted to enjoy tonight, but dos like this always made him feel nervous, like he was going to say the wrong thing, or use the wrong fork.

"Sure, do you want me to get you a plate of anything? I think I saw some grapes."

Her smile this time was more genuine, and she squeezed his arm. "Not yet, thanks. But you go ahead and get something for yourself if you'd like."

It took him awhile to inch his way to the food, someone stopping him every time he went two feet. Smile, nod, smile nod. He wasn't even sure if he knew who a few of them were-he wasn't even sure if some of them knew who _he_ was. He located the wine and took two glasses, then eyed the selection of food that had been set out. This wasn't the place to make a pig of himself, but he needed something to tide him over. Maybe just a small plate...

He was just biting into some sort of flakey crusted something or other with a meat filling when Kingsley joined him.

"Evening, Ron! Hermione said you were probably getting a bite."

Ron swallowed, wiped his hand quickly on the side of his robes, then held it out for Kingsley to shake. "Have to keep up my strength, you know," Ron joked.

Kingsley let out a deep laugh. "Yes, I'm sure you do! By the way," his smile dimmed, "Have you seen Farthinghill? He's here tonight, too."

There was an almost imperceptible pause while Ron collected his thoughts. "No, can't say that I have. I'll keep an eye out for him, though."

He waited for Kingsley to nod, then he quickly shoved his last bite in his mouth, swallowed his remaining wine, and discarded his trash before grabbing Hermione's drink and setting off to find her.

_What? What? What was she missing? Why did Kingsley care if Ron had seen Farthinghill or not, and why was Ron so upset about it? He was prominent in the Wizengamot, but there was really no reason for Ron to know him personally._

He found her not too far from where he had left her, only now she was chatting with some bloke he didn't recognize. It wasn't Farthinghill, though, so he was happy. He came up to join her, handing her the wine.

"Oh! Thank you, Ron. Ron, this is Benjamin Katsaros, from the DRCMC in Greece. Benjamin, this is my boyfriend, Ron."

The man in front of them smiled; he was a couple of inches shorter than Ron, with a wider, muscular chest under expensive dress robes, and thick dark hair that looked like it would curl if it was longer. He held out a hand.

"Ah yes, the Auror, is it not? Hermione was talking about you."

Ron reached forward to shake his hand, slipping his other arm around Hermione, pleased she would think to mention him. "Auror in training, actually, but nice to meet you."

He felt Hermione tense underneath his arm for some reason, but she continued the conversation his arrival had interrupted, so he didn't say anything. Hermione seemed to be enjoying herself, having found someone that shared her professional interests, and he was content to let her talk while he scanned the crowds. He kept his arm around her as a sign that he was there for support, and also to let him know if she started to move away while his attention wasn't one hundred percent there.

_Hermione frowned. At the time, she had interpreted his arm as a possessive gesture, as if he was threatened by Ben or something. But she wasn't getting any of those feelings at all from Ron right now; if anything, he was happy she had found someone that wasn't a stuffed shirt to talk to. Truth be told, Ron was being perfect at the moment. Aside from him not being happy about being here, he had been polite, attentive, and thoughtful. Alright, she was a big girl. She could admit she had been wrong, and wrong twice in one night, at that. But the third time, there could be no mistake about that!_

"Excuse me. Ron, can I have a quick word with you?" Harry asked, from where he had emerged from a sea of people.

"Now, Harry?"

Harry shifted from foot to foot, eager to move. "Yeah, Kingsley said I should find you."

Ron bit back a curse. He turned to Hermione and Benjamin, with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Quite alright; nice to have met you." Benjamin nodded.

"Hurry back, if you can. I'm still hoping to convince you to dance," Hermione said, with a wave at Harry.

Ron gave her a quick kiss on the temple, then turned to follow Harry, who lead him to a quiet corner of the room.

"Sorry Ron, but Kingsley wanted me to remind you to be careful. Farthinghill doesn't know we're onto him, but he might get suspicious if he notices he's being watched, especially since most of us are in uniform tonight."

Ron shoved his hand through his hair, undoing the careful combing he had done before leaving the flat. Farthinghill was slime. Not only for the fact that he was highly suspected to have been a sympathizer during the war, but because of the claims they had gotten that he was taking advantage of young, female Ministry workers. There had been no official complaints, since most were afraid of what he might do to them, so no official action could be taken. But Kingsley wanted him out, and they needed something more than claims where no one was willing to come forward and accuse him. He was under watch, and the moment he made a move and they had evidence, they could act. So far, he hadn't done anything more than act creepy; standing a bit too close, holding a hand a little too long during a handshake, being a little too enthusiastic with compliments...

_Hermione's stomach sank. She had never heard about this! She recalled that it wasn't very long after this party-perhaps three months-that he had retired and moved somewhere else, she thought maybe Italy. He had always made her somewhat uncomfortable, but he had never come on to her. She had a horrible suspicion where this was going, though._

After assuring Harry that he would be careful, and that yes, he knew this was classified and he couldn't tell Hermione (although he planned to break that rule if he thought he needed to, bugger the rules), he hurried back to where he had left her, but found only Katsaros, talking to another witch he didn't know.

"Excuse me," he asked, "But do you know where Hermione got off to?"

Katsaros looked up, surprised. "I think she went that way," he pointed. "An older gentleman said he wanted to talk with her, so she excused herself and left."

Alarm bells tinkled, but he smothered them. It couldn't be. No, a lot of people wanted to talk to Hermione tonight; what were the odds?

"An older gentleman? What did he look like?"

With a small look of distaste, Katsaros answered, "I use the term gentleman loosely. I don't know the man, but he seemed...well. I shouldn't speak ill. Anyway, he has very thick, silver hair, and green eyes. He's tall, and looks in surprising good shape for his age."

Ron's heart sank. That sounded like Farthinghill, alright.

"Thanks, I'll go see if I can find them."

Once again he set off, hoping they hadn't left the main room. It was one of those times he definitely enjoyed the advantages of his height, because he quickly spotted Farthinghill, a smug little smirk on his face. Ron picked up speed until he was alongside Hermione, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her closer. He couldn't help it; this wanker was bad news, and he didn't like him anywhere near her.

"There you are. I got worried when I couldn't find you, sweetheart," Ron said brightly, shooting a look at the amused older Wizard.

"Hermione frowned at him curiously. "We weren't apart all that long, you know. Ron, this is-"

No need for introductions, my dear," Farthinghill cut in, offering Ron his hand. "I would have to have been living under a rock not to know who this young man is, and I'm sure he's aware of politics enough to know my name."

Ron's first instinct was to ignore the hand, but he knew he would come off as rude. So he took it. Firmly. Very, very firmly. Maybe it was petty, but he enjoyed watching the old goat flinch.

"Oh yeah. I know exactly who you are," he answered, with a teeth baring smile.

"Ron, I think you can let go of his hand now," Hermione said, an edge in her voice.

"Oh. Right. Sorry about that." Like hell he was.

"Not at all," Farthinghill laughed, pretending to shake circulation back into his hand. "I didn't realize your friend was quite so strong, Miss Granger."

"Boyfriend, actually," Ron couldn't resist emphasizing. "Living together, even. Did she not mention that?"

"It hadn't come up in conversation," she answered, and Ron felt that edge grow sharper.

"I was just about to ask your young lady if she would like to dance," Farthinghill commented, his eyes straying to the neckline of her dress robes, which showed a small amount of cleavage. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I-"

"Actually, I was coming to get her for a dance myself," Ron said brightly, angling his body where he was a little more in between them. "We haven't had a chance all night, you know. It was nice talking to you, though."

"Ah. Another time, perhaps." Farthinghill gave him a small glare, then turned a winning smile on Hermione. "I hope to see you around more, Miss Granger."

Once they were alone, Hermione turned her own glare on him, her brown eyes sparkling so bright that he could see the tiny flecks of green in them.

"Ron Weasley, what is wrong with you!" She hissed.

"What do you mean?" He asked, honestly confused. He hadn't said any of the rude things he had been thinking, and he hadn't drawn his wand or punched him.

"You've been jealous all night, and I won't have it!"

He felt his mouth sag open. "I've been what?"

Hermione shook her head, looking around at all the people standing about. A few were trying to watch them out of the corners of their eyes.

"Let's go home. I've enjoyed the evening about all I'm going to."

Completely flummoxed, he asked, "Are you sure? Not even one dance?"

"No, no dancing. It's not as if you really want to, anyway."

"Hermione, I-"

"Ron, let's just go!"

He bit his tongue. She was obviously upset, so they might as well. Maybe once he got whatever the problem was out of her, she'd want to come back.

"Alright, let's go."

They followed a small trail of people making their way to the Apparition points and Floo stations, and they didn't say a word until they were standing in their flat, away from prying eyes.

"Now, will you please tell me what has you so hacked off?" He asked, loosening his robes.

Hermione stomped past him on the way to their room, tossing over her shoulder, "You know exactly what I'm upset about!"

He closed his eyes, rubbing his head before following her. He hated when she did this, wouldn't tell him what he had done and just expected him to know. He found her in their room, her hair already free from its clip which she had tossed on her night table.

"No, All I have is your ridiculous accusation that I'm jealous to go on," he sighed, kicking off his shoes and putting them in the closet.

"Because you were jealous!" She snapped, "The way you came up and had to make a show of marking me as yours in front of Benjamin was so embarrassing!"

Hearing one of his oldest fears confirmed, that he was an embarrassment, swiftly turned his ears red, and he reacted to the pain of her words. "Marking? I don't remember pissing on your leg, Hermione!"

She wrinkled her face at him, pausing in the middle of removing her robes. "Don't be disgusting."

"Me? I'm not the one talking about marking territory! All I did is put my arm around you; if you don't like me touching you in public, all you had to do was say."

"I don't mind you touching me, I just don't like you acting as if you possess me."

"Possess-Hermione, do you actually think I'd believe any such thing? Or want it, for that matter? And why would I be jealous of him? He's probably in Greece most of the time, anyway, and you were just talking to him."

"You were at least polite to _him,"_ Hermione allowed, "but Farthinghill was another matter. I'll probably have to work with him at some point, and I don't need him wondering if you're going to pop up like an angry attack dog."

Ron frowned. "He's different. Stay away from him as much as you can."

"See? Jealous! Of a man old enough to be my father!" She said, doing up the buttons to her pajama top.

"Father?" He snorted, "Try grandfather. Look Hermione, I'm not joking. There's something not right about him, so just please humor me."

"You're just too stubborn to admit it, aren't you?" She asked, crawling into her side of the bed. "I really thought you had grown up, Ron. I'm sorry to see I was mistaken."

He stared down at her back, hunched and stiff, her hair bushing out over her shoulders. When she got like this, it was like talking to a wall. She'd made up her mind, and not a damned thing would change it. Even if he could tell her what was going on, he probably wouldn't be able to get more than two sentences out before she interrupted, telling him what he had done wrong. He yanked on his pajama bottoms, then paused, one hand on the blankets. She hadn't thrown his pillow to the end of the bed, which meant this was going to be one of those fights that was over in the morning. Both of them would get up, and act as if nothing had happened. Unless he tried to press it. He got into bed, heaving a sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. Sometimes he wondered why she was with him, if she was always going to think the worst.

_One of the worst things about admitting you were wrong was having to face not only that fact, but how badly you had hurt another person in the process. It was one of the reasons she hated doing it. However, there was no getting around it. She was so wrong she needed a large scarlet W to pin to her robes. Ron hadn't been the only one to be reliving bad memories of fourth year. She had been looking forward to both, and both had been dampened by his sour attitude-even if this last time he had done a better job once they were there. But the way he had acted around the other men-Farthinghill, actually-had reminded her so strongly of 'fraternizing with the enemy' that she hadn't been able to untangle her feelings._

_But even if she had been upset, she hadn't had the right to cut Ron off and not fully let him state his side of things. Because that wasn't fourth year, and he wasn't a jealous teenager anymore. If she had one flaw...well, she knew for a fact she had several, but her biggest failing would have to be the way that she decided she was right about something, and refused to listen to anyone who might say otherwise. That was horribly unfair to Ron, and in all honesty he shouldn't have let her get away with it. He should have turned on the lights and demand that she hear him out. Even if he had only been able to tell her that his reasons were classified, she should have heard his side. They were in a relationship, and she couldn't just decide what information to accept or dismiss, and she couldn't make up her mind until she actually had all of the facts. She was very, very good at taking a few pieces of information and coming to a conclusion, but that did her no good when the conclusion was wrong. She also needed to tell Ron that she wanted him to call her out when she was doing that, even when she knew there were times it was just easier not to. There were days when you were tired, or you just assumed you knew how a particular fight was going to turn out, and you just...don't want to deal with it. So you ignore it and push it to the back of your head, and think you've forgotten it until the resentment bubbles up the next time something like that happens._

_She didn't know why Ron always thought it was amazing she was with him; for her, it was sometimes a miracle that he put up with her. He could very easily find someone else. Someone less stubborn. And yet, he still wanted her..._

"Ron? Why are you creeping into the house like you just robbed Gringotts for a second time?"

With an embarrassingly high pitched yip, Ron spun around to find Harry coming out of the den.

"Damn it Harry, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Harry laughed. "Me? How do you think I felt, hearing someone sneaking around out here when I'm supposed to be alone? I was just about to doze off, too. I thought you had to work?"

Ron scratched his arm, his heart still beating rapidly. He usually did, on days they had off from training, but today was...different.

"I, um, sort of popped in to get a sandwich."

"You know, that shouldn't surprise me at all, but why do I think that's not the whole truth? Why couldn't you get one at home?"

"Ginny's there, and she's in a snit about something. Isn't really safe at the moment," he said, telling half the truth.

Harry only raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Alright, I wanted to ask you something without anyone around, but you have to swear not to tell!"

Nodding, Harry moved towards the kitchen. "Come on, then. This sounds like I'll need a Butterbeer, and we'd better get you a sandwich before you faint from hunger."

Once food and drink and been set at the table, and Ron had taken a few bites, he worked up to what he had wanted to say.

"So, how'd you do it?"

"Do what? You're gonna have to be more specific, mate."

Ron swallowed a mouthful of ham and rye. "You know, with my sister."

The bottle of Butterbeer nearly slipped through Harry's fingers, and he had turned a peculiar shade of green.

"Um, Ron, I didn't think you'd want to hear about...what me and your sister..."

"What? NO!" Understanding struck him, and he waved his sandwich as if he could ward of the words. "Merlin, Harry, no! I never want to hear the gory details, especially when I'm eating. I meant, how did you ask her to, you know. Marry you."

"Oh. Oooooooh!" Harry's eyes lit up as a huge grin spread across his face, and he leaned over the table. "Are you finally gonna ask? Because I have to say, there's a betting pool for the date, and-"

"Sod off!" Ron laughed, throwing a crisp at Harry. "Seriously. How did you decide how to ask?"

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't really that hard. The right words just sort of came to me. Hey, does this mean you need to go pick out a ring?"

"Harry. Mate. The ring was the easy part. I've had it about...nine months now? Ten? I just don't know how to ask without making a complete numpty of myself and have her move out completely."

This sobered Harry up. "Ron, I honestly don't think it matters how you ask, as long as you do. You've seriously had the ring that long? When did you decide to ask her?"

Ron fiddled with his sandwich, not looking at Harry. "For sure? Shell Cottage. Wasn't sure she'd ever have me, but she was too important not to risk it."

Both of them sat in silence for a while, lost in memories. Finally, Harry cleared his throat.

"Well. I'm not surprised. So why don't you do it? Maybe take her out to a nice dinner, or something, and-"

"No! It needs to be special!" Ron said, not caring if he was being stubborn. They never got to do the happy couple thing at Hogwarts like Harry and Ginny had, and their first kiss was during a fucking battle. Everything after that happened while they were both trying to pick up the pieces of their lives and their world. He wanted this to be perfect. Normal. No fucked up, negative memories surrounding it whenever they thought of it.

_Hermione pushed back the tears that threatened. Their love life hadn't been very traditional, and like Ron, she had always sort of wished that they had gotten to experience things the way other couples had. She loved him for trying to make this special for both of them, even though she knew it wasn't going to turn out the way he had hoped. But she wasn't sure that he realized that they way he actually ended up proposing meant more to her than anything he could have come up with, for that exact reason. It hadn't been 'perfect,' in the traditional sense, but it had shown her exactly what value he placed on her, and that their relationship was more important to him than the flowery promises of a romantic gesture._

"Then I don't know what to tell you; I think it's different for everyone. Do you have any ideas?"

"George suggested flying to the Ministry and proposing outside her window on my broom, but I don't think Hermione'd go for that."

_Hermione blanched. Oh merciful heavens, no._

"Um, I think maybe something a little more private would be best."

"Surprisingly, I figured that out on my own. Besides, what if she said no? You think I want witnesses?"

Harry threw a crisp back at him. "She isn't going to say no, you git."

They tossed around a few more ideas (as well as crisps) while they finished their lunch. Once Ron had polished off his second sandwich, he stood and sent his plate to the sink, where it began to wash itself.

"Well, I guess I've at least crossed off some ways I definitely won't try. Thanks for trying to help, Harry."

"So are you going to do it soon?"

Ron shook his head. "No, I want to think about it for awhile. Thanks for the lunch, but I've got an errand to run. See you tomorrow."

"Sure, any time. Just don't wait around so long that your grandchildren are in the wedding, yeah?"

Raising his finger, Ron Apparated away.

_Hermione was puzzled to find that they had landed in her parents' garden, which was protected from view of the neighbors and allowed her parents some warning before someone suddenly appeared in their house._

His mouth was dry as he knocked on the door, almost hoping that they weren't home. Although that just meant he'd have to come back and do this all over again, so, on second thought, maybe it was better to get it all over with now. The door opened and he stepped back a little, trying to make the nervous smile on his face a shade less maniacal. Hermione's dad stood on the other side, looking surprised but pleased to see him.

"Ron! Come inside. Is Hermione with you?" He welcomed, peering around Ron to see if his daughter was out of his line of sight.

"Ah, sorry Richard, it's just me today." Ron still felt a little strange calling her parents by their first names, but they had asked him to, and always seemed pleased when he remembered and didn't slip back into calling them Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

"No need to be sorry; we're always happy to have you drop by, with or without Hermione. Helen! Ron's here!" He yelled, as he lead Ron into the living room.

Ron sat down on the end of the larger sofa as Helen popped her head in the doorway.

"Good to see you, Ron. If you can stay awhile, I think I've come up with a strategy that even you won't find a way out of."

He returned her predatory grin; Hermione's mother was an excellent chess player herself, and while she had yet to beat him, she had come uncomfortably close quite a few times.

"That'd be brilliant."

"Good! Oh wait, let me go get you some of the biscuits I made this morning."

Ron wanted to tell her not to bother, that they'd only stick in his throat, but she was just as brisk as her daughter on a mission and was already long gone. So he sat there, still smiling nervously (he looked so guilty that if they didn't know him better, they'd probably count the silver once he was gone), and bouncing his leg up and down. RIchard sat across from him in his chair, his gaze drifting to Ron's leg. Immediately, Ron forced himself to be still.

"Sorry 'bout that."

"It's fine, Ron, but it's clear to me that something has you upset. Did you need to talk about something?"

"Here they are, and a glass of milk to go with them," Helen announced, coming in with a loaded plate and frosty glass.

Ron took them both and thanked her, even though what he really needed right now was a stiff belt of Firewhiskey. Or two.

"Helen, I think Ron has something he wants to say," Richard said, sympathetic amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"Oh?" She asked, taking a seat in her matching chair, "I wonder what that could be."

He had the sneaking suspicion they knew exactly what he was here to say, but just like Hermione, they were going to make him say it. Cruel. He took a deep breath.

"I'mplanningtoaskHermionetomarryme."

There. He'd said it. Should he eat the cookies now, before he was sick, or wait until after? Merlin. They were staring at him. Why weren't they saying anything? Wait, why were they looking at each other? Were they silently communicating that now was the time to use some obscure Muggle method of doing away with him? Had they even understood what he said?

_Poor Ron, Hermione thought with a small laugh. He looks like he could use a paper bag to breathe in._

"Well, I think that's wonderful news Ron," Richard said slowly, "But surely you're not asking us? Granting permission for Hermione to do anything stopped being our responsibility years ago, and anyway it would make very little difference once she had truly made up her mind about something."

The three of them shared a smile. No, asking anyone other than Hermione was pointless.

He shifted a little, putting the plate and glass on the table in front of him, careful not to miss the coaster.

"That's not exactly what I meant. It's sort of a tradition to...ask for your blessing, not permission."

Again, they traded a look that he didn't understand.

"I'm afraid you might need to explain the difference for us."

Ron leaned forward to stop his leg from bouncing again. "We don't-in our family at least-do the whole asking permission thing. Weasleys aren't very big on that, anyway. Asking for your blessing...well, I'm not asking if you'll let me marry Hermione, but if you'd support us. Not, you know, financially, but more like...taking me into your family just like mine will take Hermione into ours. That you'd stand by us, and help when we needed help, and...Oh Merlin, I'm not making any sense, am I?" He finished miserably, all of the careful words he had constructed earlier completely evaporating. If he couldn't even do this, how could he ask Hermione?

"I think you put it well enough," Richard said, rubbing at one eye. Like Hermione, he always teared up during strong emotions. "Of course we'd love to welcome you into our family, Ron, and support your relationship with Hermione."

"I don't suppose that these familial bonds mean that you'll go easy on me in our chess matches?" Helen asked.

Tension flooded out of Ron's body as he laughed. "Not a chance!"

Once everything was in the open and he could relax, Ron enjoyed the rest of his visit. The Grangers were surprisingly nice people that had always tried to make him feel comfortable, and he could honestly say that he liked spending time with them. One of his favorite parts of doing so was spotting which one passed down a certain trait to Hermione, and imagining what she would be like at their age. Someday, he thought with a pleasant sort of start, he and Hermione would be doing this with their own kids, and whoever they chose. Maybe even their grandkids. The prospect was a little frightening, but mostly exciting, and he found that he couldn't wait to see all the things their lives together would hold.

_Hermione had teared up at around the same time as her father, only she didn't bother wiping her eyes. She had never known that Ron had done this. If anything, she would have expected just a nod to tradition, without the actual seeking of permission, but this...this was beautiful, to her. It was so utterly and completely Ron; he reached out to the people around him, and once he cared for someone, there was a bond. She knew for a fact that he still sent a card and a selection of sweets for the Cattermoles at Christmas, and he hadn't even really known them. The man she was going to marry was extremely loving, and she was going to get to be at the very center of that._

_Through the blurry mist of tears, her parents home melted into the flat she shared with Ron, and the sofa he sat on became their own._

Ron's right hand cramped as he scribbled down notes, reminding him that he hadn't put down his quill in over an hour. Eyes never leaving his book, he placed it in the inkwell and flexed his fingers, thinking, ruefully, that at the rate he was going, he just might have his own book written before graduation. This was it; it had all come down to the final cut, and Ron's nerves were so on edge he could practically shave with them. He wasn't sleeping well, and he knew it was causing him to be short with other people. He didn't mean to, but the thought of failure at this point was making him physically ill. Trouble was, he couldn't talk about this with anyone else in his division, including Harry, because they were going through the same thing. He needed to rant a bit and get it out of his system; then he'd be alright. Or at least more alright than he was.

_Oh! Hermione thought. That...that wasn't what she had done. When someone had a problem, she tended to think of ways to fix it. It didn't really occur to her at the time that the other person might just want to be listened to and have their feelings validated._

He had just gotten lost in his notes again when someone placed their hand around the back of his neck. With a yelp, he jumped away, before realizing it was Hermione.

"What the hell are you doing, Hermione? You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!"

She pushed a few books aside and sat down next to him. "Shouldn't the mighty Auror be aware of people Apparating into the apartment? I wasn't trying to sneak up on you, but I still managed to catch you off guard!" She teased.

"That's Auror in training, thank you very much. Besides, a man shouldn't have to be on guard in his own home!"

"Whatever happened to constant vigilance?" She laughed, leaning in to kiss him on the lips.

Distracted from pouting, he deepened the kiss, his hand going to the back of her head to draw her closer. She indulged him for a few moments longer before breaking away, and he didn't bother to hide his disappointment at the loss of contact.

"Have you been studying all day?" She asked softly.

Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get a decent snog in, he leaned back, stretching his sore muscles, then brought a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose.

"You know, I always thought potions classes back at Hogwarts were bad, but I think now I'm prepared to fail on a whole new level." He answered miserably.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I highly doubt it's that bad. Are you ready to break for supper, or have you already eaten yet?"

As happy as he normally was to talk about food, he really wished she would see when he was making an effort to talk about feelings. But it wasn't like he had come right out and said it, and if it had been reversed, he would likely miss the cue, too.

"Actually, I don't think I've eaten since breakfast, so food sounds great."

Hermione stood and headed for the kitchen, calling back, "I'll get the water boiling and the sauce started for some spaghetti, if you'll come in and watch it for me while I take a shower, alright?"

Ron replied in the affirmative, shuffling his notes around, attempting to get them in some semblance of order. He had almost lost himself in his studies again when the scents from the kitchen began pulling at him, his stomach growling loudly. He stood leaning into the doorway, watching her as she stirred the bright red sauce in the saucepan, her eyes narrowed in thought. Her hand absently rubbed her lower back, and Ron realized she looked as tired as he felt. In a few quick strides he was across the room, taking the spoon from her hand and pushing her away gently.

"Go on and take your shower. I'll go ahead and finish this up."

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks, that sounds lovely. I won't be long."

Kissing his cheek, she left, the absence of any protest a sure sign that she was more exhausted than she had let on. Ron glowered at the sauce as if it had deeply offended him. He knew those arses at the office were still giving her trouble, and it was all he could do to keep himself from going down there and giving them a piece of his mind. Not long ago he would have done just that, but he had developed a bit more patience and discretion over the years.

_Hermione watched as he cooked, his worries about his finals simmering and bubbling like the sauce on the stove. She had known he had been nervous, but not to this extent. Ron usually kept up a good front, but the problem with that was that it made it harder for people to see what was truly upsetting you._

For most of the meal they ate in an easy silence, both taking pleasure in the food they had badly needed. Once the gnawing edge of hunger had worn off, Hermione ventured a question.

"So is your studying going well? If you're having any problems, I can help you once we're through in here." She offered.

Ron rolled his eyes as he swallowed a mouthful. "Thanks, but I think I can manage on my own."

Hermione shrugged. "Fine. It's just that Harry mentioned he was having a hard time, so I thought I would offer."

"Of course. If Harry's having problems, then there's no way I could be doing well on my own, is that it?" Ron bristled.

Setting her fork down with a sharp click, she frowned. "That's not what I said! Don't put words in my mouth, Ron!"

"My words wouldn't fit in your mouth, Hermione, it's always too full of your own." He retorted sharply, then immediately regretted it at the look of hurt that flashed across her face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I've just been stressed lately, and I'm snapping at everything."

"I don't understand why you're so upset about this. You've done well so far, and you and Harry are sure to-"

Ron shoved his empty plate away, no longer hungry for seconds. "Harry, yeah. But that doesn't guarantee me a spot. They made that clear on the first day of training."

"Only because they didn't know you! They stopped giving you such a hard time once they realized you weren't relying on Harry to get you through!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly, the memory of the whispered gossip and outright bullying Ron had had to put up with his first few months still able to spark her anger.

He snorted. "That may be true, but let's face it. Harry could skip this last test and he'd pass right on through. I have to be lucky enough to be one of the twelve, no, eleven, not counting him, that makes it out of a group of fifty."

"That's not fair. You know he's working just as hard to-"

"Not the point, Hermione! Is Harry good at this? Yeah, he is. Does he deserve to be an Auror? Again, yes. But no matter what he does, he's going to be given a free pass for who he is. I'm not mad about that, it's just the way it is. But right now, I'm more concerned with my results than his."

Her jaw clenching at the hostility in his voice, Hermione stood and carried their plates to the sink, setting them to wash with a flick of her wand.

"But you're going to do fine! You've gotten excellent marks so far, and your instructors have said positive things about you. Harry said-"

"Can we leave him out of this? Please?" He gritted out, his temper fraying.

Hermione swung around, her drying hair falling into her eyes. She brushed it out of the way impatiently. "That's rather hard, Ron! For Merlin's sake, he's your best friend, you're going through training together, you're going to be working with him, and if that wasn't enough, you're practically inlaws already! How do you suggest I not bring him up? Honestly, you could try to handle this in a mature manner-"

"This isn't fourth year, Hermione. This is my job, my future I'm worried about. I'm sorry if that isn't mature enough for you!" His voice was sharp and cold, and his ears had reached a dangerous level of maroon.

But Hermione's natural temper and the stress of her work week blinded her to the warning signs, and she was set for a good argument to vent her frustrations on. He had been difficult to live with for weeks, and she was getting tired of it.

"While I'm glad that you're taking this seriously, quite frankly, I'm more concerned with how Harry is going to manage. I was talking to him about it the other day and-"

She might as well have been reciting poetry in Mandarin. Ron heard nothing after the words, 'I'm more concerned for Harry.' That had cut him deeply. Here he was, trying so hard to make something of himself, to ensure they had a good start to their future, and all she could think of was bloody Harry Potter, The Boy Who Was Assured Gainful Employment!

"I'm not doing this." He said quietly, turning on his heel and going straight for the front door, stopping only to jam his trainers on. His hand was on the door when he heard her panicked voice behind him.

"Ron? Ron! Where are you going?"

He turned back, the thinly veiled terror in her brown eyes bringing back uncomfortable memories.

"I'm just going for a walk to cool down. I'll be back in a little while, I promise." His voice was softer than it had been all evening. He hated that he had to say this every time he needed a break from a fight. She had forgiven him, but still carried the fear of his leaving all those years ago. Part of him worried she always would. Part of him knew that the day she stopped asking him would most likely be the day when she didn't care if he came back or not.

If that was the case, he didn't want her to stop asking. Even if it stabbed his heart every time.

_Hermione hugged herself, her emotions raw from reliving this fight from his side of things. While they were growing up, she had gotten used to worrying about Harry, and discussing it with Ron. Now, even though things were no longer as dire, she still took an interest in his welfare-as did Ron. But to be honest, there had also been a lot of times in the past where Ron's needs had been put aside for Harry's, and that was probably exactly how he felt now. She hadn't seen a point in fussing over his concerns, because to her, there was no need; she was entirely confident that Ron was going to make it, so there was no cause for worry. But that wasn't the point. The point was how Ron felt about it. Instead of allowing him to be worried and talking him through it, she had given off signals that he was less important than Harry. Naturally he'd be upset over that; anyone would be! She linked her arm through his as they walked, even if neither of them could feel it, only releasing him once they were back in the flat, watching herself make up with him._

"Ron, we can't go on like this."

Her words startled him out of his thoughts like a bludger to the gut. He flipped onto his side, his eyes searching hers for any sign that she didn't mean what she was saying.

He didn't find any.

This was it. It was actually over. She was leavingleavingleavingleaving...

_Hermione gasped as the air left her lungs, leaning on the wall for support. Ron took loss hard, and in a way, this rivaled losing Fred. She held a hand to her heart as his emotions steadied at her explanation, his relief almost making her lightheaded._

Ron stared at the lock of Hermione's hair he was currently twisting around his finger, trying to process what she had just said. Couple's therapy. His initial gut reaction had been to say no; after all, wasn't that sort of thing for when you failed? Then he remembered how much it had helped George, and how he probably wouldn't be doing so well without it. And Hermione had said that people also go to stop things from getting to that point, which could only be a good thing. So he discarded that reaction and tried to think why it bothered him.

The reality was, he was afraid. He was afraid it was all his fault. Afraid that he would be told that everything he had been doing was wrong. Afraid he couldn't fix it. And mostly,afraid that once Hermione got a good look at what went on inside his head, she would leave him. He had just had that scare a few minutes ago, and knew he'd be devastated if that was ever real. But wasn't that just proof that he should do this? He was afraid, yeah, but not nearly as afraid as he was at the thought of losing her. And if there was something he could have done to prevent it, he knew he'd never forgive himself for it.

"Hermione, you don't have to bribe me with sex, as brilliant as that sounds. Make an appointment, and we'll see how it goes."

_Hermione sat at the foot of the bed, her eyes filled with love for the man in front of her. Ron had to be one of the bravest, most loving people she knew. No matter how afraid he was, he didn't take the easy way out, because the people he loved were more important to him. Ron was willing to give so much of himself for her, to embrace his fear and turn it into a strong resolve. She had learned so much, but knowledge was nothing unless you turned it into practice. She was ready for that. She was ready to go forward, ready to take all he had to give, and to give back in return. She was ready to be open and honest with her emotions. She was even, as unnatural for her as it was, ready to be wrong. That feeling emanated in her chest, down to her left hand, where she felt an almost tangible pressure. She was ready to go back; to the man who held her heart, to the one who had her back no matter how bad times got._

_She was ready to go back to Ron._


	49. Chapter 49

**A.N. Here we are; the (mostly) end! It's been a pretty wild ride from start to finish. As many of you know, I came late to the HP fandom (about 3 months before this fic started), and had naively believed that the fandom had at least died down by this point. *pause for laughter* At the most, I had expected the most interest to be: 5 likes, one review consisting of 3 words (positive), and two rambling reviews that had nothing to do with the fic whatsoever, aside from the fact that the person hated it.**

**I was overwhelmingly, and pleasantly, wrong.**

**Aside from teaching me to go into the next better prepared, I've met some fabulous friends on here, who I have grown to be friends with, as well as enjoying conversations with several of my frequent reviewers. They have made my experience a wonderful one with their support and constructive criticism, and I'm thankful for each one. Several are romione authors themselves, and inspired me greatly. I'm going to mention as many of you here as I can, but please know if I miss you it's because my memory would put a sieve to shame. HalfASlug, hermionewazlib, diva-gonzo, writergirl8, Jesrod82, TMBlue, idearlylovealaugh, OtterandTerrier, ozzel1, regbride12, mettigel, SusieQ41, holly1492, ShePotter, ykickamoocow111, estrallaliliy11, ChelseaLovesFood, RustKnight, JustYourVoice, tlpursuit, heronlove, Vondrakenhof...and so many more that I'm sure and panicking that I'm missing! I also want to thank those that only reviewed once or a few times, as well as those who wanted to, but were too afraid to leave one. Your support was felt and appreciated to, and even though I don't know your names, thank you, so very much! Also, I'd like to give a special thanks to those who do not speak English as their first language, and those who don't speak it at all and completely relied on translation sites; it means a lot that you enjoyed it enough to go through the trouble, and I'm so sorry for any odd phrasing or construction on my part that got translated oddly!**

**I know some were disappointed that I didn't keep going after the therapy session, but those stories will be put in their own collection of connected one shots. Aside from the length, I discussed this with several people that I trust, and all agreed that if I continued, it was going to follow a formula that really lowered the quality of the story. I love this story, and respect my readers too much to do that intentionally. So if you feel like things they learned could have been expounded on and given more focus, don't worry! I plan to come back and cover different phases of their lives. I also have a LOT planned for other future stories, so I hope you join me for those, as well!**

**And now that the A.N. is getting longer than the chapter, I shall leave you to go cry in my root beer while a mix of End of an Era by Oliver Boyd and the Remembralls, End of the Road by BoyzIIMen, and Friends Forever by Vitamin C clash in my head.**

**(See story notes at the bottom to clear up any of the several issues I've foreseen)**

It was like coming out of a potion induced sleep. A foggy, floaty sensation, where you slowly became aware of your own body, followed by your surroundings. Instinctively, they rolled slightly to face each other, wide smiles breaking across their faces as eyes met. It was a moment very much like rebirth; there was a newness, a freshness to everything that was familiar. It was a deeply intimate and special feeling, that neither felt that words could do justice. They didn't even try. Rather, with a joyous reverence, they each reached up to cup the other's cheek, slowly leaning forward until their lips met. It was a gesture of the pure love that each was feeling, and it surged through them with an unexpected intensity, making the contact they had shared during the memories feel unsubstantial and wispy. Both scooted closer, desperate to kindle that connection, the kiss deepening as hands began to-

"Excuse me; I hate to break this up, but I don't do sheets."

Both of them sprang apart, blinking as they tried to register the world outside of the two of them. Ursula sat beside the bed, and held out two vials of a light blue potion.

"Don't look so embarrassed," she said, as their faces flushed with heat, "Your brain releases those chemicals during the shock of awakening; just drink this, and those effects will go away long enough for the two of you to process everything together." At Ron's panicked look at how rapidly some of the effects...diminished, she stressed, "It's temporary."

Hermione primly finished her potion, handing back the empty vial. "Thank you. Sorry about...that. What happens now?"

"That's up to you. I'd be happy to schedule an appointment to go through anything that you still might find to be an issue, or, if you prefer, the two of you can process things together in the comfort of your own home. Those are the short term options. As for long term, you might need to return periodically when life becomes too overwhelming for you to work things out one on one."

They barely had to exchange a glance.

"I think maybe we should try it out on our own, first. That was sort of the whole point in coming, right?" Ron said.

"That would be preferable; it would be the best way to see how well you've understood what you've learned. If there comes a point where you have something you need to change but aren't sure how, whether that's ten days or ten years from now, then you can always come back in." She glanced down at her watch. "My friend Dorris-Dr. Wilson-has taken your paperwork down to be filed, so you're free to leave once any lingering dizziness has past."

"Dr. Wilson? The same doctor that has been leading the research on how long term magical use affects the human brain?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide.

"The same. I take it you've read her papers?"

Ron flopped back against the bed dramatically. "Might as well put me back under; Hermione won't be going anywhere for awhile." He said, defaulting to humor to hide how everything was affecting him until he could handle it in private.

Hermione swatted his leg, and began to climb off the bed. "As fascinating as Dr. Wilson probably is, nothing is going to distract me from the talk we need to have. So I hope you're ready to go home and get comfortable, because this is going to take several hours. At least."

There was a time when the prospect of spending that long talking about his feelings would have terrified him, but now he was actually looking forward to it. There was no uncertainty or fear to cloud things, and he was interested to see what she thought of the session. He stood up and took her hand, both of them blushing slightly as they smiled at each other. It was strange, now, to need words to communicate. Both were so used to the automatic feed of thoughts that they weren't quite sure how to talk, or what to say. On one hand, they had a deeper understanding of each other than ever before, but on the other, out here, there was almost the odd sensation of being on a first date.

Several minutes passed before a small cough brought them back to the fact that they weren't alone.

"Then I guess we'll be going...Oh! What time is it, anyway? I've lost track."

Ursula held up her watch. "It's about eight twenty-three, Sunday night."

"Damn, just three days? Feels more like three years!" Ron said, amazed.

"Fortunately, time passes more quickly in memories, or else you'd have many, many more sessions to go through. While we've kept your body supplied with nutrients, you'll probably start to feel hungry, as it goes back to functioning on its own."

"That's alright," Hermione said, then looked back up at Ron to say softly, "I believe I promised you takeaway."

Recalling that particular encounter, Ron swallowed, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, that sounds good. Ready?"

Hermione nodded, then stuck her free hand out to Ursula. "Thank you so much for everything you've done. We've learned a lot, and I really think it's going to help."

"I hope so; just remember, it only helps if you actually apply it, and it might take awhile to break old habits and form new ones. Everyone slips, so don't get frustrated. Also, you'll probably be experiencing some side effects tonight. Increased appetite, increased sex drive, and fatigue. Just let things flow naturally, and you should be fine by morning."

The three of them shook hands, then Hermione pulled out her wand. "Ready?" She asked Ron.

He smiled down at her. "More than."

with a slight popping sound, they were gone. Ursula gathered her bag and wand, turning out the lamp as she headed down to her office, to leave the memory patches to construct for potential sessions that were likely to crop up. It was, she reflected, one of the best sessions she had ever done, and her favorite part was always the end. The way a couple would look at each other, sometimes with the walls between them down for the first time in years. That wasn't quite the case tonight; with Hermione and Ron, there was a sense of wonder and peace. She sat down at her desk, making sure everything was in order to start on tomorrow, then leaned back in her chair with a sigh, pushing up her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. This couple had been through more than many she had seen twice their age, and handling it better, too. By numbers alone, they should have stopped trying long ago. But, while numbers were important, she had learned early on that people weren't numbers. Those more inclined towards romanticism would say it was the power of love. Love was a powerful force, and certainly not to be discounted, but she had seen it overwhelmed before. The difference here was the fact that Ron and Hermione had made a choice. They had decided their relationship was worth it, and they were willing to own up to the bits of themselves that needed to be improved. That was going to get them farther than most would think.

Because on the bad days, the hard days, sometimes it was hard to recapture those warm and fluffy feelings in the heat of hurt and anger. Oh, it would come back later, but you had to want to remember why you loved someone in the first place. Ron and Hermione wouldn't be broken, because they knew that when things went wrong, you picked yourselves back up and rebuilt. Life might knock them down a time or two, but they would help each other to their feet. In fact, she was a bit envious of their ability to do so; if only more couples realized that before it was too late...Abruptly, she sat back up. How many times had they thought it was too late? How many times had they been _sure,_ and kept going anyway? The sound of the clock was the only thing to be heard in the office for the next several minutes. Then, slowly, she reached for her stationery, and she began to write the letter she should have quite some time ago. She glanced at her work with a smile before she continued, her left hand reaching up briefly to caress her pendant. She wasn't too old to be inspired by those younger than herself.

The stop to pick up their food was brief, and the meal was still steaming when they Apparated into their flat. Both of them were having slight difficulties in being able to interact with the outside world, so much so that both had stood in front of the counter for a long stretch of time, waiting because they thought the other would have to be the one to order.

"Come on, let's just eat in bed tonight, and Vanish the trash," Hermione suggested, tugging him towards their room. It would be easier to do this now that there weren't so many outside sources of stimulation.

"Don't have to tell me twice; I know we've basically been asleep for three days, but I feel as tired as if I'd spent an afternoon doing drills," Ron agreed. He kept having to remind himself that this was happening right now; he was tripping over the basic trivialities of conversation as his mind attempted to sort through what had happened, and what she already knew.

Quickly, they changed into comfortable pajamas, getting in and spreading a few napkins over the blanket as they divvied up the containers. They ate in companionable silence, mutually agreeing to get the food out of the way so it wouldn't distract them. Propped up against their pillows, they sat close together, arms and legs touching, creating a comfortable warmth. Once they had finished (and Ron had finished off anything Hermione had left), Hermione Vanished the trash, then set her wand on her bedside table, before scooting closer to Ron. His arm looped around her as she leaned against his chest, both of them sighing. Solid, physical contact was highly satisfying after the insubstantial nature of the memories, both as comfort and a show of affection.

"So." Hermione started, her voice sounding loud in the otherwise silent room.

"So," Ron agreed.

"That was..."

"One of the strangest things you've ever experienced?"

"Yes, but-"

"But in a good way."

"Exactly. And it feels even stranger, now, to be in my own head, without hearing you think. I'm slightly disoriented, and not sure where to start."

He twisted a strand of her hair, contemplating, then deciding to plunge forward with a general statement and go from there. "We were pretty bloody thick sometimes, weren't we?"

Hermione gave a small laugh. "Sometimes? I'm surprised my face isn't still red from slapping it so much. There were so many things I should have seen-things that were so obvious-"

"But some things weren't, even though they felt like they should be."

"I don't think I ever fully realized how little you actually believed in yourself," Hermione said softly.

Ron shrugged. "I was always comparing myself to my brothers, you know? They could always do so much, but me..."

"Ron, there was a minimum of two years between you and any brother! How could you expect to perform at the same level?"

"Well, yeah, I can see that _now,_ but back then, it wasn't really something I thought of. Kids don't really take experience and practice into consideration."

Hermione tilted her head so that she could look up at his face. "And I made it worse. I was always so frustrated with you, because I knew you were capable, but it just seemed like you wouldn't even try sometimes."

"Because sometimes, I didn't," Ron admitted, with a half smile, half grimace at his younger self. "I made myself believe that it was easier if I didn't try and failed, because at least then, I knew I wasn't doing my best. If I tried, it would mean that my best wasn't good enough."

"A flawed logic, but I can understand."

"It really fucked me up though, when I used it on you," Ron continued. "Things would have been a lot easier if I had just come out and said how I felt, instead of trying to impress you first."

Hermione snorted. "I was just as bad. I expected you to read my mind, then got mad when you didn't. And then, of course, we'd punish each other."

"That was pretty fucked up. I mean, there were times when I was an arse and probably deserved at least some of it, but usually I just took it as one more sign that I wasn't good enough."

She twisted around so that she could take his face in her hands. "You were _always_ good enough!" She said fiercely. "There were times you were frustrating, and sometimes hurtful, but I never, ever looked down on you as being somehow less than me."

He swallowed, closing his eyes. "I know. I just...I never saw those things about myself, so I couldn't even imagine that you did."

"Probably because I was never very good at showing it. I always focus more on fixing something that's wrong, and forgetto praise when something is right. Even when I try, I usually end up saying the wrong thing. But I'm going to be trying harder in the future, and I need you to tell me when I'm not saying something the way you need to hear it."

"It's not as bad as it was when we were kids. I think you would have gotten better at it if I hadn't read some twisted meaning into it that wasn't there, and bitten your head off for it."

"That did make me nervous about trying, I'll admit. I wish that you had at least asked what I had meant, so I could have explained. I always hated that I seemed to upset you, not knowing why."

"Sometimes, it was because I was hurt that I thought you believed the things I already thought about myself. Other times...well, you don't exactly like to be wrong."

"I loathe and detest being wrong," Hermione said, nodding. "But just because I don't like it, doesn't mean that I can't be. I need to get used to admitting it and getting over it."

That was definitely nice to hear, Ron thought. One of the hardest things about arguing with Hermione was that she was usually right about most things, and it was an uphill battle getting her to see it the times she wasn't. Not that he expected her to just give up her point if he contradicted her, but just the fact that she recognized it as a problem and was willing to listen would make things loads easier.

"Neither of us have been too good about saying when we're upset, or why," he pointed out. "Like when we had the fight about Crookshanks and...Scabbers."

"I couldn't understand why you would be so upset over something you didn't care about."

"Your mum was spot on about it, though. I thought if I denied wanting something enough, it wouldn't hurt as bad when I lost it, or didn't get it. Failed spectacularly every time, of course."

"Which lead to the Ball incident."

Ron groaned. "Merlin, I was so miserable that night! Realized what I wanted just in time to see I didn't have a chance."

"But you did! I would have gone with you if you had asked; I _wanted_ you to ask!"

He looked down at her, her face twisted in consternation. "I know. And part of me really, really wishes I had. I wish I was the one that danced with you, kissed you...made you happy."

"Ron-"

"I'm not upset about that part anymore," he assured her. "You needed that. And...I wasn't ready. Not for the kind of relationship we both wanted. I would've taken something wrong at some point, we'd have had a huge fight over it...and who knows if we'd have ever gotten back together?"

"You're right, but so much of the pain we put each other through was so needless..."

He leaned forward and kissed her gently, cupping her face as their mouths moved together slowly, a mingling of apology and forgiveness.

Hermione pulled back reluctantly, nipping his lower lip as she moved away. "You weren't the only one that had some growing to do. Not only did I use my friendship with Viktor to try to make you jealous-a stupid, hurtful thing to do-I reacted horribly in sixth year. We weren't dating, and even though being upset would have been normal, I shouldn't have taken it out on you when you started dating Lavender."

"Not that you could really even call that dating," Ron said with a grimace. "That was a shite thing to do to both of you. It would've been one thing if I had actually dated Lav because I wanted to, but we both know that wasn't what I was doing."

"Yes, you were pretty sneaky, how you always managed to angle yourself to see my reaction. Although I think it affected you more when I didn't give you a reaction at all."

"It terrified me," he said honestly. "I really, truly thought that was it. No word from you at Christmas, and then when we got back, it was like I didn't even exist."

"You hid it well. As far as I knew at the time, you were perfectly fine, getting up to God only knew what with Lavender."

"Yeah, about that!" Ron said loudly, twisting a bit until she half sat up. "How the hell did you never figure it out? I mean, I'd almost be offended that you believed it in the first place-"

"Seriously? Every time I saw the two of you, you were connected at the face! Any time you pulled away for air, I thought the suction would rip the flesh off and expose her skull!" Hermione said, her voice climbing several octaves.

"Just because a person does one, doesn't automatically mean they'll do the other!"

Hermione slumped. "I couldn't think of any reason why you wouldn't," she answered, her voice quieter.

He sighed, settling back down. "I had lots of reasons. That's pretty much the only thing out of the whole mess that I don't regret."

She nodded, trying to push away the old pain. She was over it; they had both moved on. But it was nice to finally get it all out in the open, in a way.

"I know. It just...it hurt so much. It had felt like we were finally so close to being what I wanted, and then I had to watch as it all slipped away."

He stared down at the comforter, his eyes traveling up the thinnest of the blue stripes. "I didn't mean to hurt you." At her skeptical look, he hurried on, "Not like that! At least, not as much as I did. I just-I thought you'd get mad, and maybe hurt a _little,_ and then we could...it was stupid."

Her hand reached out to nudge his knee so he would look at her. "Maybe so, but...you needed it. Going out with Lavender, I mean. As awful as it was, I think it helped you learn what you really wanted in a relationship."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. "You. What I wanted was you."

At his words, her cheeks became hot; the look in his eyes was so open and honest, it was impossible to mistake what he was saying as anything other than the truth. She stretched out,

laying her head on her pillow as she tugged him down next to her, both of them lying on their sides facing each other.

"You have me."

He smiled at that, his eyes shining. "I do, don't I? Until this weekend, I hadn't realized how early that had started. I never would've thought at the time that anything I did would make you interested that way."

"Why not? You could be a typical teenager, but you always had a good heart. And there were so many things that you would say or do, without really noticing, that showed that. I almost think it would have been more surprising if I hadn't fallen in love with you."

Lips twisting in a rueful smile, he said, "Maybe, but I definitely wasn't what you would call romantic or anything."

Hermione bit back a sly grin, deciding that it was time to use a little of the knowledge she had gleaned. "Oh, I don't know; you could be rather poetic. I think I liked the bit where you compared my eyes to the liquid centers of Chocolate Frogs."

She had been expecting a reaction, but not the one she got, as Ron chuckled evilly, his smile widening.

"No, I think you surpassed me there. I'm flattered, actually; I never thought of myself as having skin like Devon cream-"

She rolled away, burying her face in her pillow with a groan. "Nononono!"

"With cinnamon sprinkles!" Ron finished with a laugh, as he rolled on top of her, snickering into her neck.

"Oh Merlin, why did you have to see that?" She wailed, trying not to laugh herself.

"Although," Ron continued in a mock serious tone, "Maybe as the daughter of dentists, you might not want something sweet. I know! Maybe some of that famous Weasley _rump?"_

A shriek escaped her lips as he tickled her ribs, and she couldn't help the tears of laughter that leaked from her eyes as he rolled her onto her back, as she batted playfully at his shoulders.

"You're horrid!" She gasped, the insult ruined by the huge smile she wore.

Ron looked down at her, her hair frizzed out around her head and spilling off the pillow, the light from the moonlight shining down on her pink kittens-with-balls-of-yarn pajamas, and thought she had never looked more beautiful to him. All at once, he was hit by a tidal wave of emotion; all she was to him, all that they were together, all they had been through and nearly lost...the smile evaporated from his face as he leaned forward to rest his head on her shoulder, careful to brace his weight enough not to crush her.

At the short glimpse she got of his face, Hermione stopped laughing, her arms snaking around his shoulders as they began to heave. He was pressed tight against her shoulder, and she swore she heard him sob.

"Ron? Ron, what is it?" She asked worriedly as her top became damp with hot tears.

He blinked, leaning back a little to face her, but not enough to break her embrace. "I love you. I just-so much, you know? Since I was about fourteen years old, it's just been getting more and more...sometimes so much it hurts. For a long time, I didn't think you'd ever love me back."

"But I did. I _do,"_ she cut in to assure him.

"I know. But even when I did finally get that figured out, I just sort of thought that you could never love me as much as I love you-not in a bad way, just, well, I couldn't see how it'd be possible to love _me_ that _much._ But you do. You really, really do; I felt it. And knowing that makes me... _fuck,_ Hermione, I can't say _what_ it makes me! But then I think of how many times I've nearly lost you...for good even, and mostly from stupid shite, and I just can't, Hermione, I _can't..."_

By now, she was crying as well, Pulling him down closer to nuzzle his cheek with hers. The air was thick with their emotions, and she knew neither of them could contain it for long. Too much had been building up inside them from everything they had seen, and it needed to come out. They needed a tangible reminder of what was real; that the bad things they had seen were past, and the good things were still there, ready to be even better.

"I know, Ron. I know, and I feel the exact same way. Now, please...I need you to love me."

He hesitated, wanting nothing more than to do exactly that, but, "Hermione? Are you sure? We still need to-"

"We will. Just...please."

Words alone might have been argued with, but once her lips were against his, he was lost, the need to be as close to her as possible a heavy, painful ache in his chest. Tenderly, he kissed down the side of her neck, pulling at the neckline of her pajama top to give him access to her shoulder. He moved slowly, committing every taste and reaction to memory, from the texture of her skin, to the small, breathy sigh she let out at the sensation of his tongue on a certain patch.

As he moved lower, Hermione helped him by leaning up a little and wiggling enough to get her top off, dropping it to the floor beside the bed. She giggled a little as he nuzzled her breast, his nose ticking against the soft skin. Even though she was watching, she still gasped a little when he took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking it more firmly in contrast to his earlier touches. She brought one leg up, her heel digging into the mattress as she twisted her fingers through his hair, knowing, moreso now from the memories, that he took pleasure and comfort from the gesture.

Ron tired to pay special attention to all of the spots that he knew gave her the most pleasure, using his knowledge from the memories to elicit the best response. There were some moments that he wasn't very good at expressing his feelings with words, and while he didn't want to completely replace words with actions, sometimes he just felt too intensely to communicate any other way.

The muscles in her neck tensed as her head jerked back, her eyelids fluttering. He hadn't even used his mouth on her directly yet, but she was already wet. The way he nibbled the skin of her stomach, and whispered sweet yet naughty endearments against her thighs had her biting her lower lip. Feeling that things were imbalanced, Hermione pushed him over, happily returning the favor.

Startled, Ron bit back a protest. He had learned that it frustrated her sometimes when he told her that she didn't have to-obviously she didn't, and if she didn't want to, she wouldn't. Instead, he let her know how much he enjoyed what she was doing-it was a little surprising to find that both liked things a bit verbal-and as she nipped her way along his shoulders and chest, he made sure to keep her hair pushed out of her face.

Hermione was just considering the best path to take when she felt his hand slip between her legs and begin to tease her, derailing her train of thought. "Ron!" She moaned, dropping her forehead to press against his shoulder as his fingers moved over her. He could never seem to keep himself from touching her for long, and while she wished that sometimes he would just sit back and accept more, she couldn't help but be pleased at the attention. And really, it shouldn't have surprised her too much, that Ron's giving nature would manifest in such a way. Pressing openmouthed kisses along his jawline, she reached into his boxers, stroking him firmly from base to tip, smiling a bit when he choked in surprise.

He angled his head to kiss her, their position not entirely comfortable as their mouths clashed together, but it was outweighed by the pleasure that their hands were busy bringing, teasing and torturing, keeping them both right on the edge. Quickly, it became frustrating, and they had to pull away.

"Hermione...I need.." Ron panted.

"Me too. Now!" Hermione agreed.

She pulled him down on top of her, and he groaned low in his throat as he sank inside, her legs wrapping around him to draw him in deeper. It hit him, suddenly, why he always needed this when emotions were running high. Like this, in this exact moment, it was almost like being close enough to her.

He moved at a steady, firm pace, and Hermione couldn't help dragging her nails down his arms with each stroke. He wasn't going as all out as she now knew they both preferred it-there was something about knowing you had made your partner lose control that they both enjoyed-but it wasn't a night for that. This was a night for simple messages to pass. 'I'm here.' 'I know.' 'I love you.' 'You're it for me.' 'I don't want to lose you.' 'You won't.' It was all of the emotions, all of the love, that they had been forced to keep to themselves since the beginning of the session. It was acceptance; it was coming home.

He felt her tremble around him, squeezing down and drawing him over the edge with him. When they came, it was almost like those few moments when Ursula had linked them; it was as if their very beings brushed together.

Panting, Ron rolled to his side, leaving his arm draped around Hermione, who mimicked his motion, bringing herself to face him.

"That was..." He began.

"Intense," she finished.

"I was going to say bloody brilliant, but that'll work, too."

Both laughed, their foreheads bumping with the motion. It took several minutes to get their breathing under control, the time spent in silence as they lazily exchanged small caresses.

"I guess we shouldn't've done that, huh?" Ron asked, wearing a small frown.

"Actually, I think we should have," Hermione disagreed, surprising him. "We've just had a huge, emotionally charged experience, and Dr. Fletcher did say it was going to come out."

"Well, yeah, but we weren't really done talking, and I've noticed we sort of do that sometimes to avoid the issue..." Ron said, amazed that, for the first time, he was the one questioning whether or not sex was a good idea.

"True. And we have to stop doing that. But we also use sex to show love and affection, to establish an emotional connection, and to show apology and forgiveness. And right now, we're still talking about the subject at hand afterwards, which isn't what we usually do, so I think it's fine."

Ron gave a laugh. "Oh good; I'm not sure if I was ready to be _that_ mature about it."

"The fact that you'd even question it shows that you are. Besides, I think sometimes it would help to break the tension, just like sometimes each of us needs a small break to be mad, and to be able to think things over before we talk about it."

"We should both probably also work on spitting out that something's wrong in the first place, instead of ignoring it until it builds up," he said, scratching the side of his nose.

"You noticed that too?"

"Kind of hard not to. The hell of it is, sometimes we even have good intentions with that. Remember your last year, and how you overheard something that sounded like I was cheating on you?"

Hermione closed her eyes, and groaned quietly. "Merlin, yes. I know I didn't handle that in the best way, but I honestly had no idea how to go about it! I didn't want to upset you if it wasn't true, but I also didn't want to be one of those stupid people that ignores glaringly concrete evidence. Once I finally knew what was going on, I thought telling you would just offend you."

"It might have, a little," Ron admitted, "But but not knowing why...it always had me a little on edge, not knowing if it was going to happen again, or what I had done wrong in the first place. It faded a little over time, but it was still in the back of my head."

"I'm sorry, Ron," Hermione said, laying her hand on his cheek, "That's an awful way to live, and I don't want you to have to feel like that anymore. Maybe we should have a system, to help us get those types of issues out in the open?"

Ron repressed a shudder at the gleam in her eyes; it was far too reminiscent of school days and lesson planners.

"Hermione, don't you think a system might be...going a little overboard? Wouldn't it just make things more complicated?"

"I'm not talking about the revising systems that I had for school, Ron," she said with amusement. "The point would be to make things simple, where both of us would have an equal say in what we were comfortable with, and what we aren't."

"Oh. I reckon that might be alright, then."

But she heard the reservation in his voice, and had an excellent guess what that was about. "It would be more of a general guideline. Not rules that you would be punished for breaking," she said quietly.

He flushed at being so transparent; he had known that the therapy meant that she would have learned things and would be able to read him better, but it was sort of disconcerting to actually experience it. "You'd really want my ideas?"

"Of course! This is a team effort, and you have just as much of a say as I do. Besides, you have excellent ideas." She sighed, warm air puffing against his chin. "And that's another problem. I don't always listen to you-I just make up my mind and barrel on ahead. Sometimes you have more information about something than I do. Sometimes you have a better idea. But even if you're wrong, or my way actually is best, you deserve to be heard, instead of me always having the floor."

He rubbed her side, giving her a small smile. "I don't always make it easy, though. Half the time I read something into what you say that isn't there, and the other half, I'm being a smartarse when you need me to be serious."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I think those are drastically inflated odds. Yes, it would be nice if you asked me to clarify something, and I definitely want to know if I hurt you with something I say, and sometimes it would help if I knew you were taking things seriously. But those are things you can work on, just as I'll be working on what I learned."

"It would be easier if I was still able to know what was going on inside your head. To be honest, I think I'll miss that a little."

"You only have to ask, you know. Besides, I think you have a pretty good idea by this point."

He propped his head up on his hand. "True. But if I've learned anything, it's that sometimes it's better to ask anyway, even if you think you know what's going on."

Hermione rolled forward a bit to kiss his shoulder. "See? I told you that you have excellent ideas."

"Every now and then, I manage," he winked, to let her know he was joking. "How about you? Do you think you've seen enough of my thought process to get a handle on me?"

She pretended to think about it. "Hmm...well, right now, I think you're probably thinking that you need to pee."

"Wasn't, till you said that," he grumbled, rolling off the bed. "No fair; be back in a tick."

"And now you're wondering if you should have a quick wank, or if you should wait to see if we'll have another round," she called after him.

"Hermione!" He stuck his head back in the door, his face red. "I wasn't-I didn't-" except that he was, and he did.

She laughed; "And now I bet you're thinking that if you act all wounded and indignant, I'll say yes!"

He gave her a little glare, his lower lip out. "I hope this wears off at least a little."

Hermione stretched, curling her toes and hoping he would hurry; she needed to go now, too. As she lay there, she pondered their evening so far. As much as she had loved learning about Ron, it was even more wonderful to be here, talking with the Ron of today. Although it wasn't how she had initially pictured this conversation going, she decided she was actually happier with it this way. Instead of being on edge and nervous, they were able to be perfectly relaxed as they discussed important subjects, while also being able to laugh and joke about things without avoiding them. They had reached a new, more intimate level of ease with each other, something she hadn't even realized was possible.

In the bathroom, Ron was having similar thoughts as he washed his hands.

Bit unfair of her to use what she knows against me like that, he thought, rubbing his hands under the tap. Sort of puts you off your stroke when someone predicts it. He stared at his reflection in horror. Did this mean that his Puppy Eyes routine wasn't going to be effective anymore? Not that she hadn't always seen through it anyway, of course; surely she wouldn't be completely immune? Nah. He pulled out his toothbrush to give his teeth a quick cleaning, ready to get back to their room to talk some more. He spat, then paused as the water washed the toothpaste down the drain. He was actually looking forward to that.

Not that he didn't like talking to Hermione; it'd be pretty mental to live with someone you didn't enjoy talking to, much less marrying them. But for the first time, he wasn't worried about discussing something so serious. Normally, he'd be sick to his stomach, hoping to rush things along before he cocked them up, certain that he'd end up doing something to make her leave. Now, he wasn't worried about that. Obviously, he was still going to mess up sometimes; they both were. And he wasn't stupid enough to think that even after everything that had happened, things would just suddenly go perfectly. It was going to take work-learning something didn't do a damn thing if you don't apply it-but he wasn't afraid of putting in effort, and knew Hermione wasn't, either. But now he had a clearer picture of why some of the things he did didn't work. Now he understood what her thought process was behind some of the things she did or said that had always upset or confused him before. Knowing that, and knowing how much she loved and respected him as a person, friend, and lover, he was more secure on where they stood on everything that mattered.

With light steps, he went to open the door of the bathroom, and was nearly pushed out of the way by Hermione.

"What in Merlin's name was taking you so long?" She shot over her shoulder as she slammed the door between them.

"I thought you knew? Don't tell me it's worn off already!" He chuckled, going back to wait in their room. Obviously, like yawning, some things were just contagious.

He had slid on a pair of boxers and was just getting comfortable in bed when she got back, picking up her pajamas and putting them back on.

"Such a waste," he sighed.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but cuddled up against him all the same. "So sorry to spoil your view, but I'm chilly-and no, I don't need you to warm me up. At least, not just yet."

Ron adjusted his pillow to support his neck, making looking down at her easier. In some ways it was a little strange; he could vividly recall what she looked like at seventeen, and eleven, and even five. He smiled a bit as he studied her features, taking in the subtle changes that had occurred over the years.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" Hermione asked, tilting her head.

"Nothing. Just...thinking. You were a pretty cute kid."

She snorted. "If you were willing to overlook the front teeth the size of billboards, I suppose so. Now you, on the other hand, were cute."

"Me? Did you miss the part where my hair looked like my parents had dipped it in the same paint they used for my walls?"

"Oh please, it wasn't that bad! Besides, it darkened some as you got older. And I've always loved your hair."

"Yeah, that was one of the things I found surprising."

Hermione hooked her calf over his, shifting a little as his hand rested on her hip. "What would you say was the most surprising thing you learned?"

His forehead creased in thought as he sifted through the memories. "Hm. I don't-no. I think it's probably the fact that I never realized that you had things you're insecure about. I mean, you were always sort of...the type who had everything together, and it was hard picturing you having anything like that that you really had to worry about. No matter what happened, you were always strong and pulled through."

Hermione thought back, ruefully contemplating the many times that she certainly didn't feel like she had everything together. "I suppose now you realize just how weak I can be."

"No," he gently contradicted, "Now I know you're even stronger than I thought."

She drew a small, shuddery breath. He always knew just what to say when it mattered.

"So what did you find surprising?" He asked.

It was hard to choose just one thing; there had been so many interesting discoveries. "People think that your temper flares up quickly, but they're really quite wrong. I had never realized before just how much you let slide before you actually react. Sometimes it seems so sudden and random, when really you've been holding things in and not drawn attention to it. There have been times when it's been a good thing, but a lot of the time it's made things worse for you."

"True. But sometimes I don't realize how much something bothers me right away. It's like it takes awhile to really sink in, then hits all at once."

"I think part of the problem is that you pay more attention to others first-your family, Harry, me-before you think about yourself. You're always worried about everyone else that you don't give your problems the attention they deserve, partially because you don't think _you_ deserve it."

He shrugged sheepishly. "Maybe not. But it just...seems sort of selfish otherwise, doesn't it?"

"Ron, there's nothing selfish about taking care of yourself. You know one of the things I love most about you is how well you take care of the people who are important to you, but that's no good if you hurt yourself in the process. You just need to work on finding a better balance."

"Might be easier said than done. Help me?"

She raised her hand to smooth along his jaw. "Of course."

"Do you ever wonder how we managed to get this far?"

"What do you mean?"

"With the way we were. Sending the wrong signals, not noticing when the other person was sending the right _signals_...fighting over stupid shite that didn't even really matter instead of talking about the things that actually did."

"Honestly? No, not really. Both of us wanted the same thing, and we're very determined people. We made some bad choices, and took a few wrong turns, but the love we felt, and the desire to get things right were just as strong. What made it seem harder was the fact that we were so young, and had no idea what we were doing; everything seems so much worse at that point."

"So, what, you think the therapy was a waste of time then?"

"Of course not! We definitely have problems that we needed to learn to identify and deal with. I'm just saying that they weren't as bad as what we were expecting. Going in, part of me was afraid that we were going to find out something horrible and insurmountable, when really what we discovered was that a lot of the things we were worried about weren't issues at all."

"You mean like how we both thought the other would end up getting sick of us, and leave," he nodded.

"Exactly. "Or the way you sometimes believed I thought you were less important than anything else, or how I sometimes thought you didn't take me seriously."

"I do take you seriously," Ron said earnestly. "I just hate seeing you get all stressed out, and I clown around to try to get you to relax. I didn't realize that sometimes you'd see that as me not caring about things that mattered to you."

"I know. And really, I do need your sense of humor a lot of the time; it's helped in more situations than I can name. I just always expected you to know the difference without being told, which doesn't even make any sense. As for you being less important to me than other things, like Harry-"

"I know that's not true; I've just never been very good at coming out and saying when I need attention."

"And I don't always pick up on that sort of thing very well. When I see a problem, my first instinct is to solve it. But you aren't a twelve year old procrastinating on your homework anymore; you're an adult, and you know how to solve your own problems. Sometimes you just need me to listen while you vent."

"Not that I don't like it when you help," he said, not wanting her to get the idea that he never wanted her input.

"And when you ask for it, I'll be more than happy to give it. Or to at least make the offer for you to either accept or decline."

Ron shifted a little, so the knee of her bottom leg wasn't digging into him. "You know what's strange?"

"What?"

"The fact that I know we have a lot to talk about, but I have no idea what to say or where to start. Every time I try, it's like...it's already been said."

She contemplated that a moment before answering. "I don't think that's so strange. After all, we did just get done with over twenty years' worth of memories; that in and of itself is overwhelming, and it's probably going to take us quite a while to fully process it."

"So how do we do it? Start at the very first, and work our way forward? I don't want to half arse this, but that doesn't seem very practical. I mean, that's what the therapy was, right? Going through all of it again in that much detail sort of feels like going in circles."

"Well, I don't think there would be much point to it-that was the entire purpose of the therapy. We both saw what we needed to see, and learned what we needed to learn. And, in a way, it was like we were talking the whole time."

Ron considered her words, turning them over in his head. That was close, but... "I think it was better than that. I think what we were doing was listening. Out here, that's a lot harder to do. There's distractions, or wanting to hurry up to get to our turn to talk. There, all we could focus on was what was in front of us, and I think it sank in better that way."

She beamed at him. "That's very well put! I want to know what you saw, and what your feelings were, but I don't think I'd be able to fully appreciate it if I heard it all at once. It would feel like a rush, like we were trying to get it out of the way."

"That's about how I feel. I'd rather hear it in bits and pieces, at times when maybe I needed to hear it."

"For now, maybe just sort of, well, hit the high points. After all, getting this right is going to be a long process, so I'm sure we'll be talking about it for months, if not years, to come."

Ron scooted up higher to prop himself with a pillow, so he could look at her better without his eyes going crossed. "Not sure about high points-I learned a lot during the low ones too-but I think I get the general idea. Gimme a minute."

Hermione bunched her own pillow up under her neck, watching him quietly as he thought. It was something she always enjoyed; the way his lips would move slightly, as if going over everything in his head, and his eyes would narrow a bit as the muscles in his face jumped before going still once he had things figured out. She could almost track the progress of his thoughts by his face alone, so it came as no real surprise to her when he gave a sharp blink, before focusing on her once again.

He took a deep breath. He had just learned a lot, but that didn't mean he was suddenly better at saying what he meant. Sometimes it came out right, sometimes not. He was just hoping it was one of his better attempts.

"Well, I obviously learned a lot about you. I learned some of the things I thought were wrong, and some things I was right about, but I was wrong about why I thought them. I got to watch myself fall in love with you, and I ended up not only falling for you all over again, but deeper, too. I learned just how passionate you are even when you try to keep it under control, and I learned that your sense of wrong and right is so strong that it means that you'll make choices you might not really want to if you believe it's what needs to be done."

Her hand had come up to rest on his chest, and he took it it in his.

"I learned a lot about myself, too. At first, I was afraid I was going to see some really bad stuff-things you thought about me but never wanted to admit. And while there were definitely some things that I wasn't proud of, none of it was anything you were secretly hating me for. I can come across as not really taking something seriously when I need to, and I look pretty scary when I'm pissed off, which I don't mean to-"

"At least not most of the time," she said.

"Most of the time," he agreed, smiling before continuing, "One of the biggest things I need to work on is realizing that just because sometimes I see myself in a negative way, doesn't mean that you do. That's the other thing. I was always worrying that you were going to see me as...I dunno...some colossal cock up. But you didn't-well, maybe once or twice, when I really had done something to qualify-but most of the time, you saw some pretty damn great things that I never noticed about myself."

"I wish I had made that easier for you to see back then," Hermione said softly, remembering vividly the hurt she had felt through him growing up, at the times when he believed she didn't think very much of him.

"And I wish I'd had the bollocks to say right out what I wanted, instead of expecting you to know, or manipulating the situation to try to get things to go my way without that risk. But I didn't. I made my mistakes, and you loved me anyway. You could've moved on to someone better-or at least easier to deal with-than me, but you didn't, and I'll always be so fucking thankful for that. I know I'm still going to make mistakes, but I'm going to do my best to make them as few and as far between as possible. I...I'm _in_ this, Hermione. All they way, whatever it takes."

He came to a stop, not knowing what else to say, noticing that her eyes were tearing up.

"Oh, Ron! Th-that was lovely!" She sniffled, not caring that she was being emotional. How could she not be, after hearing all of that?

Even though it was fairly dark, he knew his blush was evident. "S'not lovely, just the truth. Come on, tell me what you learned, besides the fact that I'm a jealous, perverted wanker?"

"Although there were a few interesting bits of information of that persuasion," she teased lightly, pulling herself up to his level, "There was a lot more than that. I discovered that you hide a lot about yourself-no, that's not true," she said thoughtfully, "It's not that you hide those things, you just don't draw attention to them. I always knew you were brave, and one of the things that first drew me to you was how much you did for the people you cared about. What I hadn't realized before was just how often you put those people first, even when you really, really needed to feel like you were put first."

"I didn't...I didn't want people to think I was better than Harry, or to take anything away from him," Ron said, recalling the guilt he would feel every time he wanted to be the center of attention.

"Of course not. But everyone needs to feel special, Ron. And a lot of times, we really didn't let you. You were always looking out for Harry, and me, and you never hesitated to compliment me when I had done something-even if you usually kept it restricted to me being clever. But...I'm ashamed to admit it, but I didn't really do the same in return. That's one of the main things I hope to change in the future, like I said."

"I wanted to compliment you for other stuff, but I didn't have any bloody idea how to do it without looking like a tit."

"But you tried. You were also the only one who would tell me when I was crossing a line-not always in the nicest way, but honestly, I tended to ignore anyone who didn't say it as bluntly. I need someone who will be honest with me about things like that, and I can always count on you for that, just like I can count on you to brighten me up when I'm taking things too seriously."

"Definitely one of my favorite parts. The cheering you up bit, not telling you off."

"Hm, I think I recall a few times where you enjoyed being right. Not that I blame you, in hindsight."

"And that probably wasn't the best way to get my point across. A lot of times, I didn't really give you an option to bow out gracefully, without making it seem like I wouldn't listen to you about anything after that if I 'won.' I also wasn't above taking some pretty low blows, which I regret. It didn't get my point across, and only ended up hurting you."

"both of us are pretty bad about that. We're both so good at seeing weaknesses, and exploiting them to gain advantage, when we shouldn't be using that on each other at all. We act like it's a war, when we're really on the same side. If one of us is hurt or miserable, neither actually wins."

"At least it doesn't happen as much as it used to. Winning was more important when we were kids, but now I think a lot of it is being frustrated that we think the other one isn't listening."

Hermione tilted her head in thought. "And that way of thinking wasn't even always about us. You were always afraid you didn't have anything to offer, and expected people to be as dismissive of you as you were of yourself. I got used to always having to be forceful with my opinions at a young age to keep people from running right over me. And...that really isn't fair to each other. I've never thought you were less than me in any way, and even though you might not always agree with me, you've always at least listened, and would actually even think about it more during the times I didn't force it."

Ron winced a little as he put an arm behind his head. "We've gotten better about that, though, although I don't think we realized it. You don't get so confrontational over every issue you don't agree with, and I'm a bit more secure now and don't automatically assume everything is a slight all the time. We're not the same as when we were fourteen, and I reckon that when we're thirty, we won't be the same as when we were twenty."

Both lay there, taking a few moment to reflect on their thoughts. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, not wanting to bring up the next subject, but knowing that the therapy was pointless if she couldn't even do that much.

"Ron? There's...another thing I want to talk about."

He closed his eyes, knowing by the hesitancy in her voice exactly what she was talking about. "The locket," he said flatly.

She sighed. "I knew you wouldn't want to talk about this right now, but..."

He gave his head a hard shake. "It's not something I don't think I'll ever want to talk about, but if you think we need to, I will."

That made her pause. Normally, if Ron could get out of talking about an uncomfortable subject, he was all for it. But he was putting his own comfort aside so she could have some sort of closure, so out of fairness, she took a moment to think about whether or not they really needed to bring it back up. For her, maybe not so much. After all, she had seen first hand his feelings and motivations, and how deeply it had affected him. But while Ron might have moved past it, he deserved to hear it from her verbally that she didn't think like that; hearing it directly could help more to counteract the times when doubts crept in.

"I don't want to drag this out more than more than necessary," she said carefully, knowing this was a sensitive subject, "But I want you to know, very, very clearly, that none of the things you thought were in the least bit true."

He felt the old, familiar choking sensation he always had whenever this subject came up-even if it was always just in his own mind. "I...Yeah. I know."

She sat up all the way, placing a hand gently on his jaw so he would look at her. "Do you? Do you really? Because it's important for you to know...and I wish you had told me that you had carried that around with you for so long."

"Couldn't really say anything, could I? I know none of it was true, but I still didn't want you to see all of the messed up shite inside my head. And even if you knew, it didn't excuse what I did."

"For one thing, I forgave you for that years ago, and so did Harry; I'm not saying to forget it, but you need to let it go."

"Yeah, well, it's a little hard. Maybe if the locket had used things I'd _never_ thought of before..."

She shook her head. "That wouldn't have worked. If it had just dumped a bunch of horrible things in your head, you would have realized what was going on."

"I know, but that just makes it worse, that there was already something inside me he could use. I don't know how I'm supposed to forgive that, or let it go." He said, feeling rather ill at the subject at hand.

Hermione bumped him again to make him look back up at her. "Ron, you do know...thinking those things wasn't bad, don't you?"

He jerked back in shock. "What the hell? Of course it was! I-"

"No!" She cut in quickly. "You keep acting like they were some twisted, evil thoughts, but they weren't! Everyone is afraid of being left out by the people they care about. Everyone has moments where they wonder if they're really enough, or if they won't be left behind. Just because you feel that to a deeper extent than most doesn't mean that there's something awful about you."

The air felt trapped in his lungs as his mind spun to take in what she was saying. He knew she had forgiven him, and a part of him had been on the way to accepting that. And while he could see her point, he wasn't quite ready to fully let go of that particular guilt just yet.

"I'll...think about it. I promise," he added, at her expression.

"Alright, if you promise. I just don't want you believing badly of yourself, or thinking I think the same."

"That can go both ways, you know," he said, pulling her back to him.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"I noticed it during the session. You've always had this barmy idea-don't look at me like that, it is-that the only good point you have is your brains, and that people either want to use them, or are scared of them."

It was her turn to shift uncomfortably. "Well. Yes. It's generally the case, when you pair it with my...overbearing nature. Even you didn't like me at first."

"No, I didn't very much. But I didn't know you then. You can come across pretty hard, and you don't open up much for awhile. And yeah, you can nag a fair bit and drive me mad. But Hermione, you're more than a study guide. You care about a lot of things, and I love how passionate you are about them-especially since I'm one of them! You're interesting and fun, and just...just a good person to be with, even when we aren't doing anything at all. And even if I never needed your help with another problem, which, let's be honest, I will, I would still need you and want you in my life."

Hermione squeezed her arms around him, releasing a shaky breath. She knew Ron loved her, but she hadn't realized how much she actually needed to hear that. Aside from her parents, she had spent her formative years trying to prove herself (still had to, when it came to work), and it was such a relief that she didn't have to do that with Ron. Ron valued her intelligence, but he didn't think that was all there was to her. She didn't have to be a constant source of useful answers to keep his attention.

"You know that _also_ goes both ways, right? Not the nagging, and things like that. I mean..." She fumbled around, trying to find the right words. "You've always had this need to be something; to prove yourself. And Ron, you have so many wonderful qualities that I know you could go in several directions and be a success at any of them, and I will be incredibly proud of you. But you need to know...you don't have to. If, at some point, you decide you want to do nothing but-but build gnome houses for Wizarding gardens, that would be fine with me. You don't have to live up to some arbitrary standard. I'm more interested in the person you are than what you do, and as long as that doesn't change, I don't really care about anything else."

A peace eased its way into his heart. Oh, he knew that Hermione wasn't the type to demand that he be rich and famous, with the 'right' job with the 'right' people. But knowing that if he changed his mind fifteen or twenty years down the line, and if he found something he really enjoyed that might not be glamorous, that she'd support him anyway and not be disappointed...it took a lot of weight off. He hugged her tightly, kissing the top of her head.

"Glad to hear it. 'Course, I still plan on passing my exams, but I am glad to know you won't be ashamed of me if I end up being, I dunno, a janitor at the Ministry."

Hermione rolled back to look at him. "Ron, I love you dearly, but I don't think a career in cleaning would suit you."

"You know, not too long ago, I might have been slightly hurt by that, but...I think things like that are getting easier for me to laugh about, and really mean it as a joke," he said, consideringly.

"Maybe it helps to know that if you really are upset, you can say so and be taken seriously?" She asked.

"Yeah. It's like...I don't feel like I have to fight so hard for it. I can just say it without it having to turn into a big deal."

"Merlin, I wish we had done this when we were fifteen!" Hermione said, cracking a yawn.

"Hm. Something tells me we wouldn't have been ready to deal with something like this then, but I know what you mean."

The events of the weekend began to catch up to them, and now that their bodies were no longer being supported by magical means, sleepiness was weighing heavily on them. Both lay there in the dark, thoughts floating floating through their heads.

"Hermione?"

"Hm?"

"What do we do now?"

"Well, I imagine we should probably get some sleep. A lot has happened, and I don't think that personally I could process anymore tonight-unless there was something else you needed to talk about?"

No, things were pretty well covered. They knew where they stood on everything, even if they hadn't talked through every detail. Ron didn't imagine he'd be able to keep everything straight if they tried that.

"No, that's not what I-I meant, tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. What do we do now?"

"Oh. I think...I think we have to take that day by day. We've learned a lot, and at first, it will probably be easy. Then life will happen, and we'll actually have to use what we know. I don't think there's really anything we can do until something happens, aside from making sure we talk about things more."

"Do you think we can do this?" He asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it anyway.

In the dark, Hermione smiled. "Ron, we've defeated giant chess sets, and been turned into a cat. We've had our leg broken by an escaped convict, and teeth cursed to freakish proportions."

"We've belched up slugs and been locked into the toilet with a troll," Ron added, getting into the spirit of things. "We've been chained under water, and dueled with Death Eaters."

"We've taken a wrong turn, and found our way back; been tortured and suffered loss. We've overcome our own stubbornness, pride-"

"Jealousy and poor self-esteem-"

"To get where we are today. With how much we want this, and what we're willing to put into it, do you really think there's any way we couldn't do this?"

Could they? They had overcome worse odd when they were kids, and although they had come out of it bruised and battered, they had still come out of it. And their love was strong, that was true, but that was only part of what would get them through. The main thing was, they had decided to. They had made the choice that what they had was worth working for, no matter how much work that might be. And they knew they were just as important to the other one, and that they were just as invested in the commitment.

He smiled, curling around her. "Hermione, it's the two of us...whatever comes next, we've already won."

Delight at his confidence filled her, moments before sleep claimed them both, each of them falling into dreams tangled with the lessons of the past, blending with hope for the future.

_Between two sleeping bodies, two hands reached out...and connected._

**Story note time! I know this last chapter will have a lot of you questioning certain points/choices, so I'll try to clear them up.**

**Wait, why didn't they talk about everything? Shouldn't they have started at the beginning and discussed their feelings about everything?** At first glance, you'd think so. But really, that would make the entire story pretty redundant; we had 48 chapters of them learning exactly how the other felt about things, and a perfectly linear felt stilted and forced (yes, i wrote it out), rather like two newscasters. "And now back to Bob, for our highlights on fourth year." "Top 3 Lessons of 1996? The Answers Might Surprise You!" it didn't feel human or real.

**Okay, but the sex. Surely there was no reason for a sex scene other than cheap thrills, when they should have been focusing on important stuff?** I thought long and hard about this part, believe me. I love a good PWP, but I also know there are times when sex is better left out of things. I included it for two reasons. 1. This wasn't a lust fueled shag. They had just dealt with a concentration of 20+ years of emotional turbulence, and both would be seeking to establish connections, and to express themselves as thoroughly as possible. Ron and Hermione are two very passionate people, and that's a typical reaction. 2. I also wanted to bring up how they had also used it as a method of avoidance in the past, and to highlight how they were now aware of that fact, and that it would now be used as its more healthy purposes in the future.

**But not much happened! They talked, and a few small things looked like they changed, but not a lot! Didn't you just build up and cop out?** Nope. That's the point, actually. Things like that don't have a huge and immediate change. Real change can take months, or even years, to take full effect. It's like when you make a New Year's resolution to lose weight. Just because you make that resolution doesn't mean you drop 50 pounds in one day. The first day is easy, and you feel good about yourself. But learning new habits and sticking to them is harder than that, and there will be days you fall back. And, as I've said, I fully intend to show them at various points on their journey, but a neatly wrapped solution wouldn't have been a realistic ending.


	50. Chapter 50

The buzzing voices of the guests floated in through the open windows of Ginny's old room, but Hermione was too distracted to pay any attention. It was her wedding day, and her only priority was her and Ron. Well, also that disturbing gleam in George's eye from earlier, but Angelina had assured her that she had that well in hand, and Hermione trusted her. When she used her Quidditch Captain voice, even George snapped to attention.

"Hermione, stop touching your hair! It looks perfect, but those pins are barely able to contain it. One wrong move, and it'll explode everywhere," Ginny warned, putting on the last touches of her own makeup.

"I know; thanks for helping me get it under control today. I was afraid I was going to have to break out the Sleakeazys, and I hate how limp it makes my hair feel afterwards."

"At least the humidity isn't too bad today. Oh, I meant to tell you! Your parents arrived while I was downstairs, and your mum is talking French politics with Fleur, and your dad is in the kitchen with mine, where he'll wait until it's time to walk you up the aisle."

"Oh, good! I know they've been here plenty of times, but for some reason, today I was worried about them getting lost."

"It's all the excitement," Ginny said with understanding. "It'll have you thinking the most absurd things, even if you know they aren't true."

"It does, and I feel so-" She stopped dead, her words catching up to her. Instantly she went to Ginny's desk and found a bottle of ink, parchment, and a quill, and set to writing a small note.

"Hermione?" What are you doing?"

"Stopping any irrational fears before they start," Hermione muttered, scribbling away.

In the months since their therapy session, she had noticed an improvement when it came to anticipating Ron's feelings and reactions. She was pleased to say that they had even caught themselves in the middle of a few arguments before they even turned into fights. And now, while she knew Ron wouldn't _really_ think that she would change her mind, she knew his brain would be coming up with all kinds of crazy scenarios with that theme. Today was a day for happiness, not being nervous and on edge; she would just send him a little reminder...

Upstairs in his old room, Ron paced the floor, going cross eyed as he tried to look at his own neck. Had George charmed his tie to slowly strangle him? He would hate, on this, the day of his wedding, to commit fratricide, but if he must...

"Ron, what room is directly below this one?"

Startled, he glanced over at Harry, who was sitting at his desk. "Um, Charlie's room, why?"

Harry shrugged. "Just wanted to make sure it wasn't one that was important, when you finally wear a hole through the floor and drop down."

He jerked his fingers up at Harry. "Sod off! I'm getting married in less than an hour; I deserve to be nervous. At least, I'm getting married in less than an hour, unless she changes her mind and runs screaming for the hills before then."

"Oh, come off it!" Harry snorted, that one stubborn lock of hair already springing up from where it had been combed within an inch of its life. "If Hermione was going to leave you, she would've done it back when we were gross teenagers. Why would she leave you, now that you've decently learned to chew with your mouth closed?"

"We have less than an hour, Harry. I don't have times to go into all the reasons."

What would he do if she called it off? What if she thought thirty was a nice, round number, and they should wait? What if he kept standing there with all of those people watching, and she never even showed up?

Just as he really began to wind himself up, there was a thwapping sound at his window. Looking over, he saw a paper airplane trying to get in. Puzzled, he went over and opened it, plucking the letter out of the air when it came to hover in front of him.

_Dear Ron,_

_Stop thinking that! Today is the happiest day of my life, because I'm getting to marry my best friend-the person I want to spend the rest of my life loving and cherishing. You're an incredible man, and I can't wait to have my life joined with yours; just watch, I'll practically be dragging my dad down the aisle! So get rid of those ridiculous doubts, and instead, make sure your bags are packed._

_I plan on making the most of this honeymoon._

_Yours very soon,_

_Hermione_

"That has to be from Hermione; nothing else ever puts that sort of gormless expression on your face. You alright now?"

Ron carefully folded the letter, and put it in his pocket, his heart now beating quickly from anticipation rather than nerves. "Yeah, mate. I'm good. Budge over a minute."

Once Harry was out of the way, he hurried to compose a reply, aware of his friend's amused stare. "It's my wedding day; I can be a lovesick fool if I want to!"

Harry shook his head. "Nah, I'm used to that. Mostly. I was just thinking how far the two of you have come...If I had said back in fifth year you'd end up with Hermione, would you've believed me?"

He looked up from his letter long enough to grin and roll his eyes. "Given your skills in Divination-or lack of them-no. Of course, I still would've secretly hoped that might be a sign, but at that point I couldn't imagine her looking at me like that."

"She did, you know. Still does."

Ron finished writing, and used his wand to send his letter flying to Hermione. His smile widened at Harry's words. "Yeah, I know. Brilliant, isn't it?"

"Definitely. Not as brilliant as me and Ginny, but brilliant." He looked down at his watch. "Hey, we'd better get you downstairs! I'm surprised at least one of your brothers hasn't come up to drag us down."

"Mum has them all working; she said my room's too small for all of us to be up here, and we'd only end up getting our clothes messed up hippogryphing around."

At the door, Harry stopped him, looking suddenly serious. "Hey. You know...you know I'm really happy for the two of you, right? You're both my best friends, and I'm just...I'm just really glad the two of you are together."

Ron gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "Wouldn't have asked you to be the best man if you'd felt otherwise. Now come on, let's get outside; if you have to hold me up at any point, try to be subtle."

Hermione's mouth went dry as the first notes began to play, and her grip tightened on her father's arm enough that she felt him wince.

"I did offer to pay for a nice elopement," he said, smiling down at her.

"I didn't realize all of these people staring at me would be so different than in a courtroom!"

Her feet felt rooted to the spot; she felt too self-conscious to breathe, let alone walk.

"Hermione, is this what you want? Because there's no shame if you've decided you're not sure. I'm certain Ron would understand-"

Ron. Flickers of memories passed through her mind, from the day they met until her last sight of his smiling, excited face last night.

"This is most definitely, without a doubt, what I want."

With that, she and her father began to move, and as they came closer, Hermione allowed her gaze to lift from the ground in front of her, and she saw Ron. He was a bit paler than usual, but he looked splendid in his dress robes, and she couldn't help the huge smile that spread across her face.

Once he was in place, Ron tried very, very hard to focus on a spot above the heads of the crowd, to avoid making eye contact with any family members. He loved them all dearly, but he didn't trust them farther than he could throw them. Why hadn't they popped into the Ministry this morning, then left immediately for the honeymoon? He could be somewhere tropical right now having his flesh roasted off his pasty arsed body, and it would still be less painful than what he was going through now.

"Reel your eyeballs back into your head; you look like you're about to bolt any second," Harry hissed from beside him.

Well, it was still an option, wasn't it? He could lope down the aisle, grab Hermione, and Apparate away before too many people realized what was going on. Why didn't they give the groom something to _do,_ instead of just standing around her like some daft twat? It was-

Whatever it was suddenly didn't matter; Hermione was visible, and everything else melted away at her approach. Her dress was stunning, but more than that was the expression on her face. It was radiating such happiness, that Ron couldn't think of a moment when she had looked more stunningl. He didn't take his eyes from hers until she was directly before him, her father stepping back as he reached forward to take her arm.

Although they knew their vows by heart, neither one was sure, exactly, of what they said. The promises and commitment between them were more than words; their eyes spoke far more than what those gathered to witness were able to hear, except, to some extent, those that knew them best. There was laughter amongst the guests once they were instructed to kiss, as many there had been forced to witness their public displays of affection many times before. They weren't disappointed, either; the kiss was more passionate than a peck, and it was obvious that if Ron wasn't being mindful of her dress, she would have been lifted from the ground. No one thought she would mind very much.

They walked down the small strip that separated the crowd into two halves, blushing at the loud cheers going up all around them, the inside of the tent transforming, as it had years ago at Bill's wedding. The musicians began to tune up, and people began to take up positions, leaving plenty of room in the middle.

"I almost forgot, we have to lead the first dance," Hermione said, as they faced each other.

Ron noticed Muriel at one of the tables, where she was watching them and speaking loudly to the couple sitting at her table, much to their evident discomfort.

"Merlin, I hate this," muttered, then blinked, looking down at her raised eyebrows in horror. "Not being married to you! I love being married to you! Brilliant, best thing ever that is-"

"Ron, we've only been married less than ten minutes; I don't think anything in that time has given you enough of a basis to love or hate it." She snickered. "I'm fully aware that you mean the parts where everyone stares at us."

"You're understanding, and I love you dearly. Have I mentioned that before? Because I do," Ron said, placing his hands on her waist as the music began to start in earnest.

"Are you saying you didn't marry me because I'm the brightest witch of our age?"

He gazed down at her, his expression serious and heartfelt. "Hermione, I married you for one reason, and one reason alone."

Her breath caught. "Yes?"

"Because your nose is perfectly centered on your face," he whispered, grinning broadly at her choked laughter, as he pulled her into the dance.

Hermione wasn't even mildly offended; there would be time for sweet declarations and passionate phrases later tonight, but now was a time of lighthearted laughter as they shared their joy with those around them.

Whirling around the tent, both were reminded of their first dance under similar circumstances, and both were quite glad that this wedding wouldn't have a similarly disastrous end. They were both so caught up in each other that they didn't realize when one song ended and the next began, as other couples started to join them, the noise level growing louder.

"Scuse me, little brother, but can I cut in?" George asked, making them both almost miss a step.

Ron stared at him suspiciously. "Do you promise to bring her back?"

"Of cou-"

"In the same condition as she is now?"

"I swear, the only change will be that she realizes I'm a far better dancer than her husband," George said, hand raised.

Ron quirked a brow at Hermione, who laughed.

"A short dance," she said to both.

"To go with my short brother," Ron quipped. "I'll go grab us some drinks while you're gone."

"Are you sure that was safe?" Charlie asked, taking a swig of Butterbeer.

"If he messes with Hermione on our wedding day, he's taking his life into his own hands, and he knows it," Ron said, knowing Hermione had her wand with her.

"This is true. So, how does it feel to be an old married man?"

Ron opened his own bottle, and took a swallow. "Aside from the pain of hearing those words come out of your mouth? Fantastic, actually."

"That's the right response, Ron. Too bad Hermione didn't get to hear it," Bill chimed in, holding Victoire on his hip to keep her out of trouble.

"I plan to let her hear it plenty. Where's Fleur? She's not feeling sick again, is she?"

Bill gave him a mischievous smirk. "Thankfully, no. She's talking to another guest she wanted to catch up with. A famous one."

It only took two clicks for Ron's brain to make the connection. "Merlin's withered-is he here?"

"Don't worry, Ron, you beat him!" Charlie laughed, clapping him on the back.

"Yeah, now let me just go stick my tongue out at him, and I'm all set," Ron rolled his eyes. Honestly, it wasn't really jealousy that was bothering him, as much as it was not wanting to have anything related to negative memories. Didn't mean he wouldn't shut his gob and let Hermione have her fun.

"We can all make sure to time our dances with her, so he doesn't get a look in, if you want," Charlie joked. "I'm sure even Percy could be persuaded."

But Ron shook his head. "Nah. What does it matter if he has a dance with her? He'll be out of the country in less than a week anyway. Besides, it's not like even he cares about anything like that anymore. And I'd just as soon as you didn't bring Percy over; I nearly fell asleep when he came in to congratulate me this morning, and you know how keyed up I was."

"Such maturity makes me feel old, doesn't it you Charlie?" Bill said, with a fake sniff. "And that was the plan, actually. We knew you might not listen to any of us, but Percy was confident he could bore you into a relaxed state."

He laughed. "I thought that was a little long winded, even for Perce."

"Ron! Ron, over here!" Someone shouted.

Looking up, he groaned. There, waving wildly at him, was Lavender Brown, and he knew if he didn't go over and speak to her, she'd just track him down anyway.

"Scuse me a minute," he mumbled to his brothers.

"We'll save you some FIrewhiskey," BIll said.

"Hey, Lavender. How're you-oof!" He stumbled back a little as she hugged him.

"Oh, I'm fine, but look at you! I haven't seen you in what? Almost a year? And only a little less since I saw Hermione. Both of you look so wonderful today, and I'm so happy for you!"

He patted her shoulder awkwardly as she untangled herself from him, trying to be careful not to disrupt the expensive looking scarf she wore around her neck-a signature look she had developed since the last battle, although he had heard there had been some progress being made with Charms and even Muggle surgery, which Lavender was spearheading.

"Yeah, but you've been pretty busy yourself. Didn't someone tell me you were in France not too long ago? Glad you could make it, though."

Lavender squinted at him. "Really? Because you don't seem very enthusiastic."

Ron felt the tips of his ears going red. "What? No! Of course I-it's just that it's today, and you know, we used to, erm..."

"Are you serious?" She threw back her head and laughed. "Puh-leez, Ron! You were what, four boyfriends ago? Six? That's ancient history, for the love of Merlin! It isn't like we all haven't buried that years ago. Do you honestly think Hermione cares if you talk to me today, when she hasn't cared at any other time in all these years?"

"Well, no, of course not-" Abruptly, he recalled certain key facts. "Although if she had, it would have been at least partially because of you! Damn it Lav, you really had to go and play up the whole thing, didn't you? What were you thinking?"

She blinked, tipping her head in confusion, before comprehension dawned. "Wait, do you mean sixth year? Alright, I'm not proud of the things I said to Hermione, but she obviously found out pretty quickly that-" At his look, she paused. "No? Wow. Maybe I did make a mistake, throwing you over before I could test you out..."

"Lavender!"

"Just joking!" She waved a hand, as if he was being ridiculous. "Honestly, Ron, I haven't had feelings like that for you since that year; I promise I didn't come to the wedding in search of fresh Auror meat."

He rubbed his neck, embarrassed. "I know. And, well, I don't think I ever really said, but I'm sorry about...everything. From then."

Lavender gave him a fond smile. "That's sweet of you, but I forgave you a long time ago. We were all pretty horrible in one way or another, but we were kids. We messed up, we learned, we grew and did better. Now, I need to go and find my date, before he feels like I've abandoned him amongst strangers."

"I...thanks. We'll see you later, yeah? And Lav," he said, as she turned away, "I am glad you got to come today. Really."

"Oh, I am too," she gave him a devilish grin over her shoulder. "I hope you enjoy the wedding gift I picked out, _Won-Won!"_

He stared after her a moment, more than a little nervous about that laugh. Oh well; it couldn't be too bad, whatever it was, right? Right. It could be dealt with (or disposed of) later; right now, he wanted to find his wife.

"Alright, why were you so eager to dance with me?" Hermione asked, as George lead her off.

"Can't I just-"

"No, usually not."

George sighed. "I'm so misunderstood. Well, part of it is bragging rights. Did you really think I'd let the day pass without an I-told-you-so?"

No, now that he brought it up, she didn't. As someone who valued being right, she wasn't exactly in a position to blame him; however, that didn't stop her from accepting gracefully, just to burst his bubble a bit.

"Yes, you were right. I realize you don't hear that very often, so it's probably a big deal to you. Was that all?"

"Not even gonna let me savor it, are you? But no, that's not all. It's tradition for a sibling to dance with the new family member, and talk about how special you are and how glad we are to have you, blah blah blah. Normally it'd be Bill."

They turned away from each other in a spin before she answered, "So how did I get so lucky and draw you?"

"Because I volunteered. And not just because I was right about you and my dear brother, but because when it comes to Ron, you and I are a lot alike."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "I truly, sincerely hope that isn't the case!" She joked.

George, however, looked serious. "No, really, think about it. We...you know. We love Ron. But we hurt him, too."

"I don't think that's a particularly nice thing to say to someone on their wedding day," she snapped, frowning heavily as she started to pull away.

"Just hear me out! We didn't _mean_ to. We just...Always thought he understood, or didn't really realize how he took things. We'd try, and sometimes it worked, but sometimes, it fell flat."

"I suppose that's true, but where exactly are you going with this?"

"Well, we'll skip me since today is about you, and that's what I'm trying to say. You made it. After everything, you got it right. Life isn't easy, Hermione. I know that." His eyes darkened briefly, "It won't always be Butterbeer and Pumpkin Pasties. But...whatever it is, you'll get through it; the two of you already went through a lot of shite to get here, so you can make it through anything else, too."

She hadn't particularly thought about any of that, but George was right. Both of them loved Ron, and both had hurt him over the years, although they hadn't meant to-even at times when they were trying to be nice. Both of them had better relationships with him after the war. Both of them had learned to be better about his needs. And, as he said, life wasn't easy. The therapy had definitely helped, but that didn't mean they would never have problems, or that the outside world wouldn't wear on them. But they had made it through so much already, that it showed that they could get through whatever life threw at them, if they just remembered that they had already done it once.

"Thank you, George. Maybe I needed to hear that today, after all."

He smirked a little. "Well, I've reached the limits of serious, warm-hearted wisdom, and just in time, too; here comes Ron."

Just as Hermione was being spun into the direction of her approaching husband, she heard George sing softly, "Hermione Weasley!"

"Looks like I showed up in time. Thirsty?"

"Yes, thank you! I forgot how energetic these are," Hermione said, both of them moving to the edges of the crowd as she sipped her drink. "Where have you been? Not that I mind, but I missed you."

"MIssed me that much already, huh?" He asked with a large smile.

She had noticed, in the past few months, that both of them were more vocal about things like that; how they missed the other, or were glad to see them, or enjoyed spending time together. It was something they had known, of course, but hearing it out loud always gave a nice boost to your mood.

"I ran into Lavender, and we had a chat."

"Oh? I wasn't sure she was going to be back in time to make it. How is she?"

"Um, fine. So you're not..."

Hermione set her glass on a nearby table, giving Ron a small smirk. "Not upset that she's here? Ron, Lavender might not be my closest friend, but we still see each other fairly often. If it was going to bother me, she wouldn't have gotten an invitation."

"Are you saying that if you were still hacked at her, you would have invited our entire year, except her?" He asked, bemused.

She leaned against his arm, her eyes on the dancers as they passed. "Hm. It might have slipped my mind. Of course, to make up for it, I would have sent her a wedding picture of us later. A nice one, of us looking very, _very_ happy."

He laughed, choking on his drink. "You've still got that vicious streak, haven't you? Oh, by the way...Krum's here." He was pleased with himself for having been able to say that with perfect neutrality.

"I know. I waved to him while I was dancing with George, but he and Fleur seemed to be in a competition about who had the cutest baby pictures, so I stayed back. I figured it was best not to give your mum any ideas."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Like she doesn't have them already? I'm hoping Bill and Fleur keep her distracted for another year or two."

"A year or two? Is that a subtle way of telling me that's when you want to start having children?"

"Ah, well, I thought I'd leave the actual _having_ part to you-"

"Naturally."

"But, I dunno, maybe at least thinking about it then?"

She smiled up at him, finding his nervously hopeful expression endearing. "I think that's possible. I also think I'd like at least one more dance with you before we sit down to eat."

They moved back out onto the dancefloor, where they spent the next hour dancing together, in between Hermione being stolen away by each of his brothers, both their fathers, and Harry. Both were quite tired but happy by the time it came to transform the tent once more for dinner, and their aching feet thanked them as they sat down. Although she had help, Molly was in charge of the food, and the familiar smells wafting through the tent put them in mind of evenings in the Burrow, and helped ease some of the tension that came from being the focus of attention.

Under the table, Ron felt Hermione's leg bump against his, and, expression not changing, he bumped her back, before they shared a quick, secret smile. That had been a common gesture for them in the first few months of dating, and Ron was pleased to see some of those things coming back. The therapy hadn't just shone them things they needed to fix; it had also reminded them of things they both liked, and insight into the things that touched the heart of the other. It was amazing how small demonstrations of affection brightened your day, and not just when you were on the receiving end. While they were by no means telepathic, there was certainly a deeper level of intimacy-both in and out of bed.

"Ron, if you keep looking like that, your mum is definitely going to jump aboard the grandchildren train," Hermione whispered, smiling all the same.

It was difficult to keep up with the comments directed at them and to eat all at once, but thankfully most people didn't seem to expect much of a reply. Mostly some sort of thanks for well wishes, a laugh in the right place, and a blush or two when jokes bordered on matters of a personal nature, but for the most part people were pretty well contented to hear themselves talk. Which suited them both fine; the sooner people lost interest, the sooner they could-why was Harry standing up? Why was he asking for everyone's attention? No need to ask why they were giving it to him. To most of the Wizarding World, he would always be The Boy Who Lived, and while he still didn't like the focus on him that came with that, he was getting better at dealing with it.

"Can I get everyone's attention for a few minutes? Thank you. As the best man, I'm supposed to give a toast, or speech at this point. I had one all planned, but now it just doesn't seem right, so I'm afraid I'm going to wing it."

"Isn't that what you usually do, mate?" Ron said, ignoring Hermione's elbow nudging him.

Harry laughed along with everyone else, then sobered as he began to speak. "You know, they say that to truly love someone, you have to know them. I've known Ron and Hermione since I was eleven years old, and the truth is, they were two of the very first people to show what love was to a kid that had been severely lacking in that department."

Harry's voice shook a little, and Ron felt himself blush; Harry didn't normally get sentimental, especially in public, so his words meant a lot. Beside him, Hermione gave a hiccupy sort of sob; he reached under the table and took her hand.

"I got to watch them as they got to know each other, and I got to watch as their feelings for each other deepened-even if I was thick about the signs sometimes. It was such a natural thing, that I don't think either one of _them_ really noticed it; the way they could carry on an entire conversation without words-I take partial credit for that, by the way-or how Hermione always passed Ron the food she knew he liked before it was all gone, and how he let her have the seat with the better reading light in the common room. In fact, most people couldn't figure out why they didn't get together sooner, when they were so obvious. I'm still not sure, but maybe it's because they didn't know themselves as well as they knew each other."

There was a pause, and both Ron and Hermione were struck by how true that was. It hadn't been hard to fall in love with the other. Scarily easy, in some ways. But their age in general, combined with their own unique issues, made seeing themselves in the same light much harder. It wasn't until each of them had come to really accept themselves that they had been able to reach out to the other.

"Whatever it was, though, they moved past it, and are closer than ever." He sighed dramatically, green eyes sparkling, "Sometimes I even feel like a third wheel."

The crowd laughed at that, while Ginny, sitting in the chair beside him, reached up to pat his arm in mock consolation before he continued.

"I think they know each other as well as any person ever can know another; the things about each one that leaves the rest of us baffled, the other can understand." He raised his champagne flute. "To Ron and Hermione; may you always love each other as well as you know each other."

Under the echoes of the toast around them, Hermione leaned closer to Ron. "Ron, you didn't tell him..."

"No! I...that's weird. But...sort of fitting, yeah? I don't reckon two people can know each other more than that. Or, at the risk of sounding thoroughly soppy, love any more than that, either."

With complete disregard for the crowd around them, Hermione leaned closer and kissed him soundly on the lips, ignoring Harry's muffled words of, 'Here we go again!'

The festivities began to break up soon after, and Ron and Hermione, after a quick word to both sets of parents, slipped back to the Burrow to get ready to leave. They waved across at Ursula Fletcher and her fiance, who were already walking back home with her cousin-second cousin-Luna.

Just as they reached the door, there was a loud crack and high pitched whistle, and they both spun around to track the noise to the sky. There, hanging in the night, was a large firework display in the shape of a heart, with the initials R+H in the middle. Both grinned, recognizing it as the larger version of the ones George and Fred used to flash Hermione behind Ron's back.

"Now that's one trick I don't mind," Ron commented, as they turned back once the last light faded.

"Did we remember to say goodbye to everyone?" Hermione fretted, entering the quiet building.

"Everyone who mattered. Don't worry, most of them are still at the FIrewhiskey, and by morning won't remember if we did or not."

"I suppose that's true; our families will, though, and I didn't want to leave without telling them."

Ron helped her with her dress on the stairs, careful not to snag it on the wood. "Yeah. Could've done without Mum sobbing all over me about 'her sweet baby boy,' though."

"Oh, you love it when she makes a fuss over you, don't deny it!"

"...Maybe a little. Still, I prefer it when it comes with food."

"Ron, we just had a huge meal; how can you even move, let alone think of wanting more?"

"I expect I'll be needing the energy for later," he said, giving her an exaggerated leer as they came to the landing.

She laughed. "You act like we don't have sex on a regular basis already."

"Yeah, but, this is honeymoon sex. Never had that before," he informed her happily.

"And that's different, is it?"

"Yup; just like office sex is different, and make up sex, and sleepy sex, and sex against a wall, and-"

"I think I get the general idea," she said, as they finally made it to his room to change. "So I take it this means you're looking forward to being married?"

Ron paused in the middle of taking his shoes off. "If I wasn't looking forward to it, I wouldn't have done it. And, I mean, the sex is brilliant, but obviously I'm looking forward to more than that."

Hermione began the long process of peeling herself out of her dress. "Ah yes; my centered nose, I believe it was?"

"Not gonna lie, that was a compelling reason, but not just that. I was thinking more along the lines of what Harry said earlier. You know me; the best and worst I have to offer. You bring out the best parts, and accept the grimy bits. Not everyone is lucky enough to have someone like that," he said, ridding himself of his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

"Help me with this?" She asked, having finished undoing her dress, and needing help lifting it over her head. "We are lucky, aren't we? Although, to be fair, we put a lot of work into it. Still, that part about loving someone the more you know them is true. I've loved you for years, but when we went for therapy, I found all of these new reasons, and built on old ones."

Careful not to damage things, she began to hang up her clothing, for Molly to drop off at their flat while they were gone. She took out her mother's diamond earrings, and carefully put them in a small jewelry box, but kept on the thin, silver bracelet that had been a gift from Harry and Ginny. She put on the outfit that she had set out earlier this morning, and turned around to face Ron, only to find him dressed, and staring at the wall with an odd expression.

"Ron? Is something wrong?"

He gave a start. "What? No. I was just thinking. I spent a lot of my life in this room, you know? I remember the first time I wrote you a letter, and how mental I thought you were for reading our books before school started. I remember how I sort of slowly started looking forward to seeing you, then going to downright missing you. Trying to deal with the fact that I fancied you, and trying to figure out how to get you to feel the same for me."

She walked over to him, and put her arms around his waist. "Did you ever think we'd be here, like this?"

Ron laughed a little. "Married? Not while we were still at Hogwarts. It was hard enough to imagine you wanting to be with me at all. After...yeah, there were definitely a few times that I let myself hope."

"I'm glad you did. I know there were times when you thought you might as well give up, but it means a lot to me that you kept trying."

He leaned down to kiss her. "You were worth it."

"You were, too," she said, pulling away and lifting her bag from the floor. "Are you ready? I think the Portkey is about to go off."

Ron put one arm around her, and his other hand on the Muggle soda can she held out. "I'm ready for anything, love."

As they waited for the Portkey to activate, Hermione looked up at him, snuggling a little closer. "Now that you're older, and this is all over, what do you think?"

He grinned, just as the can began to glow. "Hermione, if you think anything's over, you haven't been paying attention!"

There was a flash of light, and the couple disappeared, one chapter of their lives closing with a small pop. They had come so far, from two eleven year olds on a train; there had been laughter and tears, pain and sorrow. Their love had been tested and proven time and again, and they had been nearly pulled apart before finally coming together. But happily ever after doesn't end with 'I do.' Ron and Hermione knew that, and the prospect was more thrilling than any adventure they had ever had.

_After all, there was still so much more about each other to know...and still much more to love._


End file.
